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The first thing he knew was the sensation of cold. A tired, soul-deep cold. Then there was a hand in his, equally as cold.
A round face was looking at him. Small pinpricks of light were searching his face for answers that he didn't have. But he did know two things; he couldn't leave the round face alone, and they couldn't stay in the cold. If asked to explain, he wouldn't have been able to.
He finds nametags on their shirts. Sans and Papyrus.
Papyrus says nothing when he takes him by the hand and travels through the streets. They wander quickly, going from place to place until their sneakers hit dirt instead of walkways and roads.
Papyrus says nothing for months. Sans doesn't push him, but he nearly leaps five feet when Papyrus makes a clumsy motion with his hand for the first time. He understands it. Papyrus is telling him that he's tired. Sans responds with his own motion, less clumsy like he's been doing it for longer than Papyrus. Rest soon, he signs. Papyrus relaxes, discomfort bleeding out of him like marrow in the water. Sans doesn't think about why he knows what that looks like. They sleep in an abandoned shed that night, curled up with old straw and each other for warmth.
They've been living in the shed for days now, scrounging for anything useful they can carry back to it. Teamwork is easy between them. Papyrus trusts Sans and Sans trusts his instincts. This works in their favor when an old lady finds them in an alley. Sans had his back turned for a minute, just one minute so he could dig through a trash can.
"Oh, you poor dear. Come with me, hm?"
Sans doesn't know that voice. Doesn't like that voice. He turns around to see a stranger dragging Papyrus by the back of his shirt. The lady is bringing him to the mouth of the alley. Papyrus squirms in her grip, clawing and trying anything to escape. A thick and cloying scent wafts off the woman.
Sans doesn't think. It's instinct.
One moment he's next to the dumpster, and the other, he has his teeth buried in someone's arm. Sans shakes his skull like a dog. He doesn't think about dogs and why he knows they shake their head. No, his entire focus is on the threat. The woman screams. Before she can react, Sans picks Papyrus up by the hand and makes a run for it.
They don't stop running until they can't anymore. Finally, their feet hit dirt and the smell of the forest. Papyrus trembles from head to toe. He wraps his hand in Sans' shirt with a vice grip. Sans falls onto his knees, bringing Papyrus into a shaky embrace.
"B-bro," Sans chokes on his words. "'m sorry."
'Brother?' Papyrus signs. He's gotten better at singing clearly from practice, but this one is perfect on the first try (that they can remember). Sans realizes just what he had said. He hadn't done it consciously.
"Yeah. Brother."
They hug until they stop shaking.