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The lingering, bone-chilling terror of a nightmare shakes Papyrus out of his usual restless slumber. His magic surges through his bones, lighting up his room as he shoots straight up in his bed. The cold air burns in his chest with his startled gasp, the pips of his eyelights sparking to life and darting around in his panic.
No shadowy specters, no cruel laughter, no flashes of silver in the darkness—
...Nothing.
Papyrus draws his radius along his brow, wiping away the drops of magic that had formed there in his sleep. His hand falls to rest against his clavicle, phalanges brushing curiously against his vertebrae. The magic there buzzed – almost angrily – beneath his fingers.
It… burned?
Disturbed, he lets out his breath in a shaky sigh, dropping his hand to rest in his lap as he takes stock of himself and his surroundings.
He was tangled in his blankets, his thrashing having yanked them from their original (neat, tucked) position. The off-white of his bare toes peek from beneath the loose edge of his blanket. He wiggles them, surprised, before turning his attention to his room. His magic must have reacted negatively to whatever he had dreamed about; his bookshelves look like they had been moved, and a few of his books and action figures had fallen to the floor. The house itself was still and quiet save for the occasional creak as the old wood settled on its foundation. Judging from the dim crystallight filtering in through his window, it was still quite early.
Well, he was certainly…awake now.
…No Point In Lazing About!
Stretching, he taps the tip of his bare toes against the plastic footboard of his bed (three times, tap…taptap, like always) before swinging his long legs onto the floor and standing fluidly to his feet. First thing, he turns and begins making his bed— fluff his pillow, then straighten his sheet, blanket, then quilt. Now re-tuck the corners, and fold the sheet neatly over the quilt.
A Bit Of Structure To Start The Day…
Grasping at the gentle comfort of routine to stop his hands from shaking.
Bed made, Papyrus turns towards the mess of books and figurines on the floor. He gently plucks them up and delicately, dutifully returns them to their designated spots, positioning (and re-positioning) them in his own precise manner. The figurines are placed in strict order of presumed battle prowess; the books are organized by size, largest on the left to smallest on the right.
With everything in its Proper Place™, the skeleton heads into his closet to change out of his pajamas and into the clothes he’s set aside for his workouts. He’s already rather sweaty, he figures; might as well get some training done. Papyrus pulls on his usual knit cutoffs (modified from a pair of sweatpants— In A Fight One Must Be Able To Move Freely!! ) and his favorite crop top before he grabs his trusty, beat-up running shoes.
Hm… Might Have To Scavenge For A New Pair Soon…
Outfit donned, Papyrus strides from his room, closing his door softly as to not disturb the early-morning quiet. The stairs squeak threateningly as he makes his way down to the first floor, and he curses under his breath, glancing up at Sans’ door. The continued sound of his brother’s ghastly snoring relieves him of his worry and he continues his descent.
… Perhaps He Should Fix That?... Hmm. A Project For… Not Now!!
He stops by the kitchen to grab himself some water before sitting on the couch to put on his shoes, the ever-present jangle of something caught between the cushions causing him to roll his eyelights. Will he ever be free of the awful, endless clutter?? Or is this simply his lot in life and he’ll forever be plagued with the lovely…gifts…his dear brother leaves about the house? Sigh.
With his shoes triple-laced and his water in hand (as Undyne always says, hydrate or die-drate!! ) Papyrus steps outside. Though he can tell that the air around him is likely frigid, the cold is relatively unnoticeable to him save for a distant, dull sensation he can easily ignore. The Benefits Of A Fleshless Existence.
The skeleton performs a series of useless stretches before setting off at a brisk jog through town. As he runs, he begins to feel the tingly-rush of his magic activating in response to his exertion, and he allows himself to fall gratefully into the mindless trance of exercise. He observes proper running form, of course , his spindly arms curled and swinging smoothly against his ribs.
The cozy cottages of Snowdin Town begin to fade away as he increases his speed, performing a smooth loop through the center of town. Sweat once again gathers against his skull, and he lets out a huff of laughter in-between his labored breaths.
He… enjoys this. His thoughts are always so loud and chaotic, slipping through his teeth before he can catch them and he finds himself truly appreciating the chance to disperse that manic energy. Of course, the super-cool leg muscles he’s building to match his biceps are an added bonus, along with an easy way to distract him from—
…
His… least favorite nightmare.
The smooth gait he has been maintaining stutters and he stumbles, his soul twisting in his chest.
Ah, Another Time! Focus!
Determined, he pushes himself harder, turning the bend on the path towards home. He can see the black fabric of their house-flag flapping gently where it hangs from the corner of the roof. The twinkling lights that Sans found at the Dump last Gyftmas and never bothered to take down cast a gentle, welcoming light against the white powder blanketing the street.
Almost there, but—
…the shadows seem to elongate and deepen around him, darkness creeping in on the edges of his vision, and it feels like he’s struggling to take in air.
No, No, No —
He whips his skull back and forth, trying to shake his thoughts away with a physical motion, and—
—he thinks he catches a glance of movement, a small being shifting in the corner of his eye.
Silver, Sharp, Cruel Eyes, Burning, Boiling Animosity, How…H-How Could You H A T E Me That Much—
He turns abruptly, blind panic driving him into the perceived safety of the grove of trees behind the house. Magic buzzes angrily through his limbs, rising to meet the perceived threat and causing his panic to heighten.
Don’t, C-CAN’T LET THEM SEE—
Several yards into the thicket, the hysteria reaches its peak and the magic within him reacts, pulsing from his body with a deep, powerful thrum . Jagged bones shoot out of the snow, impaling the trees around him with a deafening – CRACK! – that echoes faintly against the distant cavern walls.
Suddenly depleted, he lets out a grunt as his shaking legs give out and deposit him into the snow.
Papyrus lays there for several moments, taking in several heaving breaths as he tries to calm himself. The expulsion of magic has left him exhausted and sleepy, but the anxiety and terror he still feels won’t let him give into it.
“... Papyrus .”
The quiet voice startles him out of his spiral, and he shoots up from his prone position, locking eyes with the small plant monster that has curled its roots around his talus.
“OH. F-FLOWEY?” He shifts nervously, hoping desperately that his only friend hadn’t seen him lose control of his magic. How Embarrassing…
The other monster simply watches him, its small, beady eyes squinting at him as it takes in his shaky, disheveled appearance.
“Are you…alright?”
THEY’RE JUDGING YOU, THEY CAN SEE , SAY SOMETHING REASSURE THEM–
“OF COURSE! JUST OUT FOR A LITTLE, AH, MORNING JOG! AND I WAS… S-SUDDENLY VERY TIRED AND ALSO HOT SOMEHOW??? SO I DECIDED TO LAY IN THE SNOW FOR A REST AND TO COOL OFF! NYE-HEH, I’M!! REALLY F-FINE!!!” He cringes at his stutter and the thin, elevated pitch of his voice, hoping his words weren’t actually as shaky as they sounded.
The flower hums softly, still observing him.
“Of course you are. You’re… The Great Papyrus . The gallant hero. Nothing makes you angry, or upset. Always…personable. Agreeable.”
“Y-YES? …RIGHT!”
The terror has nearly gone now, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake. Something about the dull, emotionless tone of the other monster’s voice is oddly calming.
“...Do you ever get tired of pretending?”
The words hit him like a particularly tenacious magical bullet, bringing his thoughts to a halt. The roots around his leg tighten slightly, the flower’s speech soft and barely-there, but Papyrus could feel the Intent behind the words, clear as crystal.
“I…"
He pauses, trying to find the right words.
“If I Try Hard Enough…And Keep Trying…Someday It Won’t Be Pretending.”
Papyrus reaches out, tentatively patting the other monster atop its petal-crowned head.
The flower is quiet, and very, very still.
“...A-ANYWAYS, THIS WAS A NICE ‘BREAK’ BUT I REALLY SHOULD GO DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE.”
The winding roots release him and he stands up, brushing the snow off of his shorts and hands.
“WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME—OH.”
The other monster is gone, no trace of yellow petals or even disturbed snow to mark its passing. Papyrus scratches at the side of his skull, concerned, but decides to let it go. His friend just does that sometimes. He won’t judge.
The skeleton turns with a tired sigh and begins walking towards where the twinkling lights of his home shine through the haze of falling snow. He touches the poor tree closest to him, mournfully running his phalanges over the singed and slightly smoking bark as he passes.
“I’m Sorry, You Didn’t Deserve That. I’ll Be Better Next Time.”
His footsteps crunch softly as he approaches the house, and he pauses briefly to check his mailbox—empty, but it never hurts to check. One of these days he’ll finally have something there to greet him!! He pointedly ignores his brother’s overflowing mailbox.
Papyrus thoroughly stomps the snow off of his shoes and wipes them on the welcome mat before stepping inside. He deposits his wet footwear on the specially designated mat beside the front door before tip-toeing to the bathroom to clean off.
One brisk shower later, he’s dressed and prepared to greet the day. Downstairs, he makes himself some tea—lemon and three teaspoons of honey, the extra sweetness a guilty pleasure he allows himself with no-one around to see.
The skeleton savors his warm drink as he moves through the motions of making his oatmeal. The warmth suffuses through his bones, chasing out the last of his fear and calming his anxiety to a manageable level. As he eats, he ponders the day ahead and the projects he has planned to keep himself busy. His swirling thoughts come to rest on his brother, likely still sleeping like the dead (Ha!) upstairs.
Sans… was sleeping quite a lot lately, yet he always had those tired shadows beneath his sockets. With every day that passed, it seemed as though he spent less and less time at home, and Papyrus was concerned that, with his brother’s weak constitution, something terrible could happen if he continued on this path.
…Well. He had some extra time this morning, and despite his constant nagging, he knew his brother wasn’t truly as lazy as he had been acting. Perhaps if he increased his efforts at brotherly care, things would improve. He Just Had To Make Sans Give Up Giving Up!!
Decision made, he stands smoothly from the table and deposits his dishes in the sink to soak. As he rummages through the cabinets to gather his supplies, he resolutely shoves his own emotions and anxieties in a nice, neat box to revisit never later.
Sans needed someone strong and responsible to take care of him, after all.
…
“BROTHER! I … BEGRUDGINGLY … MADE YOUR FAVORITE FOR BREAKFAST! YOU’D BETTER COME DOWN AND APPRECIATE IT BEFORE IT GETS COLD AND I FEED IT TO YOUR PET ROCK OUT OF PURE SPITE!”