Chapter Text
There are only two times a year that would see Killer fully awake and marching through the halls of the castle well before even the earliest of risers.
The first is Gyftmas, where Killer would stake out the grand hall on the eve of, hidden in a variety of places while keeping a careful socket on the giant pine tree set up and decorated to the brim with shiny tinsel, bright lights and colourful balls.
Heh, balls.
He would wait for the chance to ambush Error, to finally catch the glitch in the act of depositing hand-made stocking stuffers for everyone. Error always vehemently denies the implication that he has a metaphorical heart, like the grinch he is, but it’s become something of a game between the two. Error gets more and more crafty in the ways he sneaks into the castle, forcing Killer to get more cunning to keep up. It’s an arms race, see. A festive cold war, if you will.
But it’s not Gyftmas this time, not even close.
The second time of year sees Killer wide awake and making his way down the hall with an arm full of snacks, drinks and a laptop loaded with all the latest pirated movies and shows from across the multiverse. His target is the same year after year, and just as he does every time, Killer forgoes the door when he comes to it, and just shortcuts right in.
He’d kick the door, as per usual, but his goal today is not to wake the occupant early.
Cross chose to sleep alone the night before, as expected. When Cross sleeps alone, he curls up under the covers more than usual, as if he were cold and seeking warmth. Seeking comfort is more like it, and Killer isn’t the only one who wishes that Cross wouldn’t be so damned proud and poised to martyrdom when it comes to asking the others for what he wants.
Killer is silent as death as he sets up the food and drinks for easy access later when needed, working in the dark, only the crimson glow of his exposed soul providing any light in the pitch black room. Then, once he’s satisfied, Killer just as silently slips into the bed and curls in behind Cross.
He gives in to a selfish temptation and lightly winds his arms around Cross’ waist with enough delicacy as to not wake the sleeping skeleton. Killer rests his skull against his upper back, and takes a moment to listen to the soft hum of Cross’ soul. It’s soothing in the quiet of the dark, but Killer has to remind himself that he’s not the one who needs soothing today.
The goal is to be here when Cross wakes up, and to keep him here instead of going about his ‘usual’ routine. Sure, Killer could have slept with him the night before, but all that would have accomplished is setting off all of Cross’ alarm bells, leaving him suspicious of Killer’s actual motives. It’s just not the right day for that tactic, and everyone knows it. Besides, Killer would have just fallen asleep during the night anyway, and again, the goal is to be awake before Cross gets up.
Because today is the day he doesn’t want Cross to go about his ‘usual’ routine.
Most Papyrus’ across the multiverse share a birthday, and - as of about five hours ago - today is that day.
Cross’ brother was one of them.
In his first year as a part of Nightmare’s crew, Cross ‘celebrated’ his (murdered) deceased brother’s birthday by hardly sleeping, and then spending all of his waking hours locked in the training room working out to the point of self-injury, eventually passing out from exhaustion. Cross was sick for a straight week after that, and if you thought Cross would allow himself bedrest when sick, then you would be sorely mistaken.
When he did the exact same thing again the following year, Killer’s little brain got to thinking of ways to stop it from happening a third time.
Never again.
When Killer feels the first shift of the mattress, Cross extending his legs as he slowly crawls out of slumber, Killer rolls onto his back and boots up the laptop. He presses play for the first video in the queue and balances the laptop on his chest, making it look like he’s been there watching videos for a while. Cross sighs in the dark, then looks over his shoulder to the source of the noise.
He’s long stopped looking surprised by now, and just like every other time they’ve done this, Killer draws no attention to the fact that this day isn’t like all the others. Cross’ eyelights focus on the screen, watching the opening of a Ghost Hunters episode Killer’s probably seen a million times already, but it doesn’t matter. When Cross eventually rolls fully over so he can lay with his skull resting on Killer’s chest, Killer knows his ploy worked again.
Cross won’t talk much today, if at all. Won’t eat on his own either, but that’s what the snacks are for. Nightmare will pop in with actual meals throughout the day, finger-foods and things that are easy to eat mindlessly. It’s the one day Cross won’t care about garbage tossed to the floor, because it’ll all be gone by morning once Killer cleans everything up, after Cross falls asleep again. It’s the one day Killer doesn’t mind doing chores, being useful, moving about and staying awake.
Because the truth of the matter is… this is Killer’s brother’s birthday too. And before Cross came along, Killer would just hole up in his room and drown in misery and guilt, begging for his soul to revert and go back to feeling numb as the liquid hate would gush from his sockets and cover everything in a thick layer of tar.
But Killer doesn’t like seeing Cross in pain, and has a funny feeling that Cross feels the same. Today is the one day where it becomes practically impossible to care about themselves, but that care for one another still burns strong and keeps their souls humming.
One day, this anniversary might become more synonymous with a normal day; a day of junk food and garbage entertainment, of the hours spent in the company of one they care so deeply about.
And that, Killer believes, might be a day worth looking forward to.