Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Papyrus’s daughter is born—well, big enough to come out of the tube—is the best day of his life.

And Dad isn’t there to see it.

Papyrus invited him, just like he invited everyone. He’s had the date on the calendar for weeks now. But even though Dad lives with Asgore, and Asgore is one of the best at getting Dad to come out of the house, when Asgore shows up at the front door with a present and a camera, Dad isn’t with him.

Papyrus waits a while, but he already knows, from the look on Asgore’s face, that Dad isn’t coming.

It hurts a little. Or … maybe a lot.

But it’s still the best day of Papyrus’s life, and nothing is going to ruin it.

Everyone other than Asgore already lives in the house and has seen the tube many, many times, but they still look especially excited when they gather in his room. They stay by the wall to give him plenty of space—all except for Sans, who is right at Papyrus’s side. Papyrus is glad for that. Sans smiles at him, warm and soft, and Papyrus returns it.

Asgore turns on the camera and fiddles with it for a minute before Toriel takes it away and holds it up properly.

“Alright, Papyrus,” she says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Papyrus gives the camera a quick smile and wave, then takes a deep breath and turns to the tube.

And to the little eye sockets watching him from behind the glass.

She—he’s known for a while that she’s a “she”—seems to know that something is different. She’s touching the glass with one tiny hand, her little head tilted to the side. Her legs are still curled toward her in what Toriel calls the “fetal position,” which is fine, because Toriel also says she won’t be able to walk on her own for a while.

Papyrus puts his hand where hers is. His whole face softens. 

“TIME TO COME OUT, BABYBONES.”

She tilts her head the other way. Papyrus smiles.

He and Sans start pressing the buttons they’ve already practiced a few times, draining some of the liquid from the tube. The baby squirms and looks around her, and Papyrus touches the glass again, murmuring reassurances. His eyes glow orange without him even having to think, and seconds later, she glows back—her own beautiful color of light, sunny green.

It only takes a minute to drain half the liquid—enough so she can still float, but also plenty of air so she can be reached. Sans presses another button, and the tube hisses, the top of it detaching. Papyrus lifts it away and sets it on the ground, then looks back to the baby.

He’s … nervous. But good nervous? Excited, but in a different way than he’s ever felt before. It’s like the whole world is shifting around him, but at the same time, the rest of the world is gone.

Papyrus climbs onto the step stool next to the tube—because even though he’s very tall, he wanted the tube to be at eye-level while she grew. She turns her head to look up at him, her sockets wide and curious. Papyrus reaches his hands down, not even flinching when the blue liquid gets all over his gloves. With the most care he’s ever used in his life, he puts his hands to her tiny ribs and lifts her up as slowly as he can.

The second her skull hits the air, she squirms, and he moves faster, shifting her into his arms, head supported in the crook of his elbow, the rest of her cradled just like Toriel showed him with a doll. She’s thinner than the doll, and she moves more, but she settles into that spot like she’s always belonged there.

She stills. She coughs a little, blue liquid dripping out from between her teeth.

Then she blinks and stares up at him.

Papyrus can’t breathe.

That’s happened many times before. So many times. So many times when he was scared or confused or in pain, but … he’s not any of those that. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling now. It’s too many things. His eyes burn with tears that are happy instead of sad, his head is spinning, his chest is warm and heavy but not like blue magic, and his whole body buzzes with something that isn’t quite like magic either. It’s everything , all the good things, all at once, and it hurts a little but it’s a good hurt and he never wants it to stop.

He looks at her. And she looks back.

She’s here.

She’s right here.

After all the waiting, all the thinking, all the planning and the wondering …

She’s here.

It shouldn’t be so different from the tube. He’s been interacting with her for weeks. Ever since she opened her eyes and started moving around. He’s talked to her, waved at her, tapped little patterns on the glass. Watched her. Smiled at her. Sung to her. Pressed his forehead against the tube and wanted to hold her so badly it ached.

And now … now she’s here.

She’s in his arms, she’s real, he can hold her and touch her and feel her weight. She’s so small. She barely weighs anything, her bones are thin and fragile like they could snap with the slightest movement but she’s not scared. She looks so strong, so brave, she’s in a brand new world but she’s already reaching out her tiny hands, touching his gloves, his chest plate. 

Something brushes his arm, and he blinks, turning his head just enough to see Sans holding out a blanket. Papyrus blinks again. He has to shuffle a little, moving the baby further into the crook of his arm, but he takes the blanket and wraps it around her.

She’s still dripping with the blue liquid from the tube. The blanket will probably be ruined, but he doesn’t care. He’ll keep it anyway, because it’s hers. He uses his freer arm to wipe the cloth over her skull, her ribs, her arms and her legs, her impossibly tiny feet and hands. She kicks her feet and flexes her hands, but he’s as gentle as he can be, and he swears she leans into the touch.

She keeps looking at him, like he’s the only thing here. Like he’s the only thing that matters.

Like he’s her whole world, almost as much as she feels like his.

He doesn’t really notice himself stepping down the step stool. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, looking down at the baby while she stares back up at him. But then someone moves, and he finally remembers that there’s more than three people here. That so many others came to be with him in the best moment of his life.

He looks back up.

Sans is standing closest, of course. He’s giving them space, but watching both of them with the gentlest expression Papyrus has seen on his face in a long time. Sans. His brother. This new baby’s … uncle. That was what Sans decided he wanted to be. An uncle. They’ve never had an uncle before. But even if they did, Papyrus knows Sans would just figure out how to be one in his own Sans way.

He’ll be good.

He’ll be the best.

He’ll be lazy and make too many bad jokes and pranks and probably nap half the time, but he’ll be the best uncle she could ever have.

And she’ll have an aunt. Undyne said that’s what she wanted to be, and Papyrus likes it, because that means she’s like his sister. Since Alphys is her wife, that makes her an aunt, too. Aunts that will teach cool things like how to make spaghetti and cool things like complex puzzles and not-quite-as-cool things like anime. 

Both of them are smiling. Undyne is beaming, but it’s not her usual big smile that takes up half her face. Her eyes are open, and almost as soft as Sans’s, and Alphys … Papyrus thinks Alphys would be squealing, if she didn’t have her hands in front of her mouth to muffle the noise.

Asgore is crying. He’s not trying to hide it, but he’s quiet. He looks at Flora like she’s a miracle. And she is a miracle.

He was good to Papyrus and Sans, when they were young and everything outside the lab was new. He’ll be good to the baby.

Toriel … Toriel is looking at both the baby and Papyrus. Back and forth between them, even as she holds the camera steady. She’s not crying, but her eyes shine. She’s a good mom, and she told Papyrus all about how to be one, too. She told him he would be a good mom, and that she would be there every step of the way.

Frisk stands next to her, their expression warmer than usual—and they’re a very warm person, generally. They’re a teenager now, but next to Toriel, they still look very small.

They’ll be a good … cousin? Sibling? Papyrus isn’t really sure what the word for them would be here, but whatever they are, he’s sure they’ll be a good one.

Everyone will be. His baby will have a good family. The best family.

Maybe Dad isn’t here right now, but … later. She’ll meet Dad later.

Papyrus looks down at her again and runs a finger down her cheekbone. She tilts her head toward the touch, then opens her mouth and makes a tiny, quiet coo.

And Papyrus sees it.

Her font.

He freezes, and so does Sans, standing close enough to see the words—well, letters—too. Sans steps to the side, though his eyes stay locked on the two of them, like he thinks they’ll disappear if he looks away.

“one sec, let me look at the book—”

“FLORALIA.”

Sans stops and turns back to face him. “huh?”

“I REMEMBER THIS ONE,” Papyrus says, letting his gaze settle completely on the tiny skeleton in his arms. “HER NAME IS FLORALIA.”

He spent a lot of time looking at the fonts, trying to imagine which one would be hers. He liked that one. He thought it was pretty. Lots of flowers. He likes flowers.

He likes seeing her real font so much more.

“Which one is that, dear?” Toriel asks.

Sans keeps staring for a few seconds. Papyrus can only kind of see him without looking away from Floralia, but he knows Sans, and he can feel his eyes watching them.

Then he hears the padding of slippers on carpet, and the sound of Sans picking up the skeleton book and flipping through it.

“here,” he says, after not very long at all. “this one.”

Toriel walks over to look. Papyrus doesn’t lift his head to face her. He hears her breath, though. A little sharper than usual.

“Oh … she uses a cipher font,” she says, and even though she’s trying to keep her tone even, Papyrus hears the change in it.

He looks back up. 

“IT’S BEAUTIFUL,” he says, looking Toriel straight in the eyes and holding the baby bones in his arms just a little closer. “HER FONT IS BEAUTIFUL.”

Toriel blinks. Then she smiles, her eyes sad.

“Of course it is, Papyrus. She’s a beautiful baby with a beautiful font.”

Papyrus wants to smile, but he’s still frowning a little. Still holding his baby— Floralia —closer to his chest. He looks around at the rest of his friends. His family. Her family. No one says anything, but Papyrus knows what they’re thinking.

He’s read the skeleton book. He read the whole thing two times over, because now that he has glasses, he’s very good at reading.

And he didn’t need to read the book to know about cipher fonts. He remembers learning how to use his real font, because no one could understand his first one. He remembers asking Dad why his font looked different from everyone else’s. Why no one else could understand it.

He remembers the way Dad flinched before going into a long explanation about fonts and their history and their meaning, like he always does when he wants to avoid saying what he really thinks. He remembers how Dad sounded really proud, like Papyrus does when he wants to be proud but he’s actually scared and unsure.

He knows that having a cipher makes Dad’s life harder.

But he also knows that this is his babybones, and it doesn’t matter whether his babybones uses a cipher font or not. It doesn’t matter, because she’s beautiful and her font is beautiful and Papyrus is going to give her an amazing life.

“You’ll call her Floralia, then?” Toriel asks, pulling Papyrus out of his thoughts.

“might want a nickname,” Sans says. “i can see some of the human kids trippin over that one.”

Papyrus runs a finger over Floralia’s brow bone. She tilts her head to look up at his hand, and her little arms twitch like she wants to reach up and grab it. His face softens further.

“FLORA.”

Flora looks up at him and blinks. She tilts her head, and he smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, Sans shrugs.

“i was gonna go with lia, but flora works, too.” He steps forward, and Papyrus looks up enough to see his face. He’s smiling for real, warm and gentle and fond. His left eye is glowing green. “she’s perfect, bro.”

Papyrus stands up straighter, and only then does he feel himself glowing, too.

“OF COURSE SHE IS. THE GREAT PAPYRUS’S … D-DAUGHTER.” His voice cracks. He swallows. “OF COURSE SHE’S PERFECT.”

Sans puts a hand on his arm. “yeah.”

He smiles a little wider, and Papyrus smiles back.

He looks around the room one more time. Everyone looks … happy. Still excited, still giddy—still crying, in Asgore’s case—but all of them happy. Later on, Undyne will probably noogie him, and Alphys will talk about all the fun gadgets she’ll build to help with baby care, and Frisk will offer to babysit and Asgore will give him a teary hug and Toriel will give him a gentler but just as big hug. But for now … everyone just looks happy.

Even Sans looks happy. Happier than he’s been in a really long time, and he’s usually at least a little happy nowadays. He looks between Papyrus and Flora with warm affection in his single glowing socket.

Papyrus looks back down at Flora, and Flora keeps staring up at him. She’s glowing back at him now, more green than her neutral color. Her eye sockets are so wide and bright that Papyrus wants to stare at them forever. 

He imagined this moment so many times. But even his great imagination couldn’t even come close to the real thing.

“IT’S SO GOOD TO MEET YOU, FLORA,” he says, his voice only shaking a little. “MY NAME IS PAPYRUS. I … I’M YOUR MOM.”

Chapter Text

“I WANT TO HAVE A BABY!”

It’s not the first time Papyrus has seen Dad spit out his drink, but it’s the first time in at least two years.

Considering how much he used to spit out his drink in the early days, after they left the lab, Papyrus thinks that’s a very good streak. Even if he’s a little sorry that it’s broken now.

Dad coughs for a few seconds, setting down his glass and not even bothering to look at the mess he left on the table. Instead, he looks at Papyrus, his good eye so wide it’s a little silly.

“… what ?”

Papyrus beams.

“I’LL JUST DO IT HOW YOU DID IT!” he says, exactly as confident as he feels. Then he pauses and tilts his head. “HOW’D YOU DO IT AGAIN?”

Dad blinks. Once. Twice. He stares a little longer, and Papyrus gets the feeling he didn’t really hear what he said before—or maybe he thinks he imagined it instead.

He still does that a lot, even years after leaving the lab. He’s said a few times that Papyrus just sees the world differently than him—differently from most monsters—and he’ll never really understand it, but Papyrus doesn’t mind. Dad is listening, and that’s the most important part.

“I … Papyrus, that’s …” he says. He pauses again. Looks down at his hands, then back up to Papyrus. “There are no other skeletons.”

“OTHER THAN US,” Papyrus corrects. “I KNOW.”

Dad looks at him like Papyrus is supposed to know something because of that, but Papyrus doesn’t think there’s anything to know. Dad frowns deeper. “So you can’t … make any more.”

Papyrus tilts his head. 

“YOU DID IT, THOUGH. YOU MADE TWO OF US!” He smiles and stands up straighter. “SO I CAN DEFINITELY MAKE ONE.”

“That doesn’t—”

He clamps his mouth shut and drops his eyes to the table. He breathes like he does when he’s trying to calm down, and Papyrus waits patiently, because calming down is important when you’re having a conversation.

Dad lifts his head. “ Why do you want to have a baby?”

Papyrus … has to take a second to answer that.

Or maybe a few seconds.

He fidgets with his hands, trying to avoid the edges of the metal plate under his glove. He doesn’t like being reminded that it’s still there. He knows Dad would take it off if he could, but he said Papyrus might lose fingers, and Papyrus doesn’t want to lose fingers. And he doesn’t want to have his plate off if Sans can’t, too, and Dad says he could die if he tried, so …

He forces his mind back to the question and takes a deep breath.

“I’VE BEEN WATCHING LADY AS—TORIEL.”

She keeps reminding him to call her that. It’s a little tough to remember, but he’s getting the hang of it!

“SHE’S A VERY GOOD MOM,” he goes on.

Dad tenses and looks away. He does that a lot when they talk about parents. Papyrus only kind of understands why.

“Yes,” Dad says, matter of fact. “She is.”

Papyrus smiles. 

“AND I’VE HELPED OUT A LOT WITH FRISK! THEY’RE GETTING OLDER NOW AND DON’T NEED A BABYSITTER, BUT I WAS A VERY GOOD BABYSITTER WHEN THEY DID NEED ONE! SHE SAID SO! MANY TIMES!”

Dad’s face twitches. He still doesn’t really like Frisk, but he doesn’t really like any humans, so that makes sense, even if Papyrus doesn’t like it. There are so many nice humans on the surface, and Papyrus thinks Dad would like them if he tried.

“Yes,” Dad says. “I’m sure you were.”

“SO!” Papyrus claps his hands together. “I WAS THINKING. I … REALLY LIKED TAKING CARE OF THEM. I REALLY LIKED DOING THE MOM THINGS THAT TORIEL DOES!” 

Dad doesn’t look up. Papyrus fidgets and tries his best to keep smiling.

“AND LOTS OF OTHER MONSTERS HAVE BABIES,” he goes on.

“Many of them, yes,” Dad says, with a funny tone that makes it sounds like there’s more he’s not saying.

Papyrus keeps smiling, though, because one of them has to. “AND I KNOW I WOULD BE GREAT AT IT! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD BE A GREAT MOM!”

Dad … doesn’t say anything.

It hurts a little bit, even though Papyrus tries not to let it. Sans always told him not to let what Dad said get to him. Even now, he says it sometimes, because Dad is still learning the whole “being nice” thing even though he mastered the “not torturing” part years ago. But Papyrus still hopes that Dad will get better at it, and it hurts a little every time that hope doesn’t come true.

He has gotten better, though! And Papyrus has to remember that. If he’s gotten better before, he can keep getting better now.

He can.

Papyrus believed in him, and he stopped hurting them. If he can do that, he can do anything.

“Papyrus …” Dad’s voice snaps his attention back to him. He’s staring down at the table. At his hands, clasped over the papers he seems to have forgotten. “What I did was … it’s not something you should go through.”

Papyrus frowns.

“WHY NOT? YOU DID IT,” he says. Dad winces. Papyrus hesitates. “YOU … DIDN’T HAVE TO HURT SOMEONE, RIGHT?”

“No,” Dad says, in his actually-telling-the-truth voice. “Not … not anyone else.”

“OH.” Papyrus thinks that over for a second. “SO IT … HURT YOU TO MAKE US?”

Dad still won’t look up at him. “Yes. It was a very painful process.”

“OH,” Papyrus says again. Then he smiles, even though it’s a little shaky. “WELL … THAT’S OKAY! I’M VERY GOOD AT DEALING WITH PAIN!”

Dad flinches, a full-body jerk. Papyrus wonders if he shouldn’t have said that. Sans likes to talk about how Dad used to hurt them, but Sans is also a lot more angry about everything that happened than Papyrus is. But … it’s a little hard not to talk about what happened when it was his entire life for a very long time.

He clears his throat.

“THE POINT IS … EVEN IF IT HURTS, I STILL WANT TO DO IT.”

Dad finally lifts his head. He looks at Papyrus. He doesn’t speak or move. He just looks, and his face gets softer and sadder. His next breath comes out as a sigh.

“… you always have been determined,” he says. His voice sounds tired. “But there are … you need to …”

He looks away again. His face changes a lot, so many emotions moving over it that Papyrus doesn’t really know what to make of them. 

He’s talked to Dad a lot over the years, and he’s gotten very good at telling when Dad is going to listen and really talk to him and when he won’t. This is definitely one of the second kind of times. And Papyrus doesn’t really like it, because he wants to finish talking about this, but if Dad needs time, then Papyrus can give it to him.

“I’LL TALK TO TORIEL ABOUT IT,” he says, smiling sympathetically. “SHE KNOWS A LOT ABOUT STUFF LIKE THIS! AND THEN WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN AND YOU CAN TELL ME HOW YOU DID IT AND WE CAN FIGURE OUT HOW I CAN DO IT, TOO!”

Dad doesn’t say anything to that, but Papyrus isn’t surprised. This has been a big conversation, and sometimes Dad needs time to think about big conversations. Especially when he’s wearing a face like that. Papyrus turns back toward the living room.

Then he stops and looks at the drink Dad spat out, still sitting in a messy puddle on the table.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO CLEAN THAT UP?”

Dad sighs and puts a hand to his forehead.

“No, thank you, Papyrus. I’ll get it.”

Papyrus frowns, but nods. He stays there for a few seconds longer. Dad doesn’t move. Not to clean up the spill, or to go back to his papers, or even to look up at him. He just stares at the table, his expression far away.

Finally, Papyrus huffs a quiet sigh and heads out of the kitchen.

Sans and Toriel get along well. Maybe it would be worth all the puns to see if they can both spend some time at her house.

Chapter Text

Being a mom is absolutely, completely, undoubtedly the best thing Papyrus has ever done.

It is also just ever so slightly tiring.

Tiring in the best way, of course! But still a little tiring.

But the good thing about being so great is that he has a lot of people around to help him be a mom, which makes it a lot less tiring than he thinks it would be otherwise.

And of course, everyone loves Flora. Not quite as much as he does, because he doesn’t think anyone ever could, but almost as much, which is still very much indeed.

They all had their own separate houses for a while after they settled onto the surface, but Toriel suggested they move in together after they found out Flora would be born. And even though Papyrus liked his and Sans’s old house, he likes this a lot better. He likes going downstairs in the morning and hearing everyone close by. He likes the nice breakfasts and lunches and dinners Toriel makes. He likes hearing Undyne practice piano and Alphys talk about anime, because she’s very excited even if the cartoons are silly. He likes greeting Frisk when they come home from school and seeing them grow a little more every day.

He likes that, if he ever needs to stop holding Flora for just a minute, he can hand her to someone else instead of finding someplace to set her down.

And even though Asgore lives in a different house, he comes over almost every day. Papyrus thinks that he’ll bring Dad with him, since they live in the same house and everything. But as the first month goes by, then the second, then the third, Asgore always comes alone.

Part of Papyrus wants to take the initiative and just bring Flora over to Dad himself. But … another part of him knows that he should probably let Dad come when he’s ready. Sometimes Dad needs a little push—or a big push—when it comes to things like this, and sometimes it’s best to give him time. Papyrus gets the feeling now is the second kind of time.

Besides! Papyrus can still reach out in other ways.

Dad doesn’t answer his phone very much, but Papyrus can still send him texts. And he does, every day, as often as he can.

With plenty of pictures attached.

FLORA PUT HER HAND IN HER MOUTH!

TORIEL GAVE FLORA A BATH TODAY!

THIS IS SANS NAPPING WITH FLORA. I HATE THAT HE HAS A GOOD EXCUSE TO NAP SO MUCH NOW!

UNDYNE IS TEACHING FLORA HOW TO SCREAM VERY LOUD. SHE IS VERY GOOD AT IT!

BEHOLD FLORA AND HER GREAT MOM! (WHO IS ME)

ALPHYS IS TRYING TO INTRODUCE FLORA TO ANIME, BUT FLORA HAS TASTE, SO SHE FELL ASLEEP.

ASGORE CRIES EVERY TIME HE HOLDS HER. FLORA LOOKS WORRIED AND GLOWS AT HIM, BUT THAT JUST MAKES HIM CRY MORE.

Dad doesn’t say much in response. He’s definitely getting the the texts—Papyrus can see the read receipts on his phone—but the most he ever says is “She seems to be doing well.” Which is true, but not the sort of response Papyrus is hoping for.

Still. At least he gets to see her.

That’s the important part.

Besides, Papyrus has plenty to do in the meantime!

“SANS! FLORA IS AWAKE NOW! DON’T KEEP SLEEPING!”

Like this.

Flora coos up at him from Sans’s chest, and Sans, of course, keeps right on sleeping. Papyrus makes a frustrated sound through his teeth. Flora giggles and kicks her legs, and immediately, Papyrus’s frustration fades.

Then Sans makes a snorting sound in his sleep, and Papyrus huffs a sigh, scoops Flora up in his arms, and carries her out of the bedroom and back downstairs.

He’ll give Sans a bit of extra leeway for napping today, but only because he helped so much last night when Flora woke up at four in the morning.

Alphys left to run errands a while ago, and Papyrus thinks Undyne is in the backyard, but Toriel is in the kitchen, so he goes there. Flora is much more alert after her nap and looks around the house with curious eyes. She’s seen this house every day for her whole life now, but she always seems to find something new and exciting about it. He can’t wait until she’s old enough to tell him exactly what.

Papyrus steps into the kitchen to find Toriel putting muffins in the oven. She’s probably the best cook Papyrus has ever met, and she’s taught him so many fun recipes, even if he doesn’t have as much time to make them now. He’s not as fond of sweets, but the muffins smell delicious. Toriel is even humming as she moves away from the oven. She pulls off her oven mitts and turns toward him, then jolts.

It takes only a second for her surprise to melt into a smile.

“Oh! Hello, Papyrus. And hello, there, little Flora. Did Sans fall asleep?”

Flora reaches out a hand toward Toriel, and she comes closer, letting Flora grab onto her furry hand.

“WELL, AT FIRST IT WAS EXPECTED, AS FLORA WAS NAPPING, TOO,” Papyrus says. “BUT THEN FLORA WOKE UP AND SANS CONTINUED TO SLEEP!”

Toriel chuckles, running her other hand over Flora’s skull. “Yes, that does sound like Sans. Is she hungry?”

Papyrus gives Flora a considering look. She has a very particular whine when she’s hungry, and usually starts trying to put things in her mouth. She’s grabbing quite enthusiastically at Toriel’s hand, but not trying to eat it. He shakes his head.

“NO, I DON’T THINK SHE IS.”

“Well, then, are you hungry?” Toriel asks.

Papyrus pauses and thinks. “PERHAPS A BIT.”

She chuckles again as Flora finally lets go of her fur. “The muffins won’t be ready for a while, so I’ll make a snack.”

Papyrus smiles, and Toriel turns it. She gives Flora one more gentle head stroke, then heads over to the fridge.

Just as she opens the door, Papyrus hears the sound of a key in a lock. He turns around and walks back into the living room, just in time to see Asgore stepping through the front door.

It’s a familiar sight by now, but one that always makes Papyrus beam. Partially because he likes Asgore, and partially because Asgore looks at Flora like she’s the most perfect thing in the world. Which she is, of course, and it’s nice for someone else to really see it.

Asgore looks at Flora like that now, with a soft smile and warm eyes, but he doesn’t come over to see her right away. He holds the door open behind him. He looks back outside, and Papyrus follows his gaze and watches as someone else walks into the house.

Someone Papyrus knows.

Someone he’s almost stopped hoping he would see here anytime soon.

Dad.

It’s … Dad.

Dad’s here.

He’s here, and Flora’s here, and … 

Papyrus knows that he should do something. Say something. But all he can do is stand there and stare.

It’s been months since Papyrus saw Dad. More than three months, definitely, because that’s how old Flora is, and the last time Papyrus saw Dad, Flora was still in the tube.

Dad … Papyrus thinks he looks the same. He can’t pick out anything specific that’s changed. He’s still wearing the same clothes. His face still looks tired. He looks … worn, in a way Papyrus doesn’t like to think about.

He’s using the stick thing that Papyrus saw him use the last few times they met. Asgore said it’s called a cane, but it’s definitely not a cane, because canes sound like something that humans and monsters use when they’re getting old, and Dad isn’t old. Or not very old. Or … well, he is old, but it doesn’t matter because he’s already lived longer than most monsters have been alive.

It’s not a cane.

It’s a stick he uses to walk, because he’s not feeling well. That’s all.

“Hello, there, Papyrus!” Asgore calls, and Papyrus snaps his head to face him. The door is closed now. Asgore is still smiling, even more warmly than usual. “How are you doing today? How is little Flora?”

It’s a lot harder than it should be for Papyrus to reply, like he does every day. But he pulls together all his willpower, takes a deep breath, and smiles back.

“WE ARE BOTH DOING VERY WELL, THANK YOU, ASGORE!”

Asgore smiles wider. “I’m so glad to hear it. As I’m sure you can see, I convinced someone to come along with me today. It’s long past time for him to meet his granddaughter!”

Papyrus nods several times fast. It has been too long. Three months too long. But Dad is here now. Dad’s here. He’s finally here to see Flora and … that’s a good thing. That’s a very, very good thing.

It is.

Papyrus just can’t figure out why it’s so hard to keep smiling.

Dad isn’t saying anything. He’s standing by the door, and he keeps standing by the door, even as Asgore comes over to let Flora play with his big furry hand. He stands there, looking at Papyrus, looking at Flora, and looking at the ground, like he can’t bring himself to look at either of them for more than a few seconds at a time.

When Flora gets bored of poking at Asgore’s hand, Asgore uses that same hand to give Papyrus a very gentle pat on the head. He smiles at him, then glances at Dad, giving him the same soft, meaningful look. Then he heads out to the backyard, where Papyrus can hear Undyne doing her mid-morning workout, leaving Papyrus and Flora and Dad in the living room.

Alone.

Papyrus … really wishes Asgore hadn’t left them alone.

But here they are. And Dad is here, just like Papyrus has been hoping for months now. Just like he wants him to be.

Dad is here, glancing around the room even more awkwardly than he usually does.

Papyrus has always been the one to break that awkwardness. To take the first step. To get things moving.

So … he needs to do that now.

He does.

He will.

Flora kicks her legs, and he looks down at her, his whole face softening. She makes another cooing sound, and he breathes a little easier.

He lifts his head, and his smile is finally real.

“UM … HI, DAD.” 

Dad looks up. He’s tenses, just a bit. He stares at Papyrus, but less like he’s looking at him and more like he’s trying not to look at someone else.

“IT’S REALLY GOOD TO SEE YOU,” Papyrus goes on. Dad still doesn’t say anything. Papyrus smiles, a little more shakily, and lifts Flora high enough so Dad can’t help but see her. “THIS IS FLORA.” 

Sure enough, Dad’s good eye lands on Flora, and this time, he doesn’t look away. His eye goes wide, his brow bone lifted. His face is still very hard to read.

Papyrus clears his throat.

“DO YOU WANT TO HOLD HER? EVERYONE LOVES TO HOLD HER!” 

Dad doesn’t even seem to hear him. He’s just … staring at Flora. His eyes flicker with a second-long glow, too fast for Papyrus to pick out the color. 

Papyrus swallows and takes a step forward. Then another, and another. Dad finally looks at him, blinking. Papyrus smiles a little wider, with a little more effort, and holds Flora out in front of him, barely more than a foot away from Dad. 

Dad lets his not-cane settle against the wall, his weight shifted to his other side. His arms twitch. Papyrus smiles, but for some reason, it’s harder than before. 

“HERE, YOU JUST NEED TO MAKE SURE TO SUPPORT HER HEAD BECAUSE SHE’S STILL LEARNING TO DO IT HERSELF, AND PUT YOUR HAND UNDER HER BACK AND … AND …”

His voice trails off. He tries again to speak, but the sound dies before it can even leave his mouth.

He can’t speak.

He can’t move.

He can’t … breathe.

He can’t …

He’s holding Flora like he always does when he passes her to someone else, but he’s frozen, stuck, Flora is squirming and whining, she doesn’t like being held like this and Papyrus needs to finish handing her over to Dad but he …

But he …

Dad’s hands are lifting up. They’re close to her. So close. Bony hands with holes in the middle.

The hands that turned on the laser.

The hands that put a saw to his neck.

The hands that held the drill.

The hands that glowed blue and lifted him into the air and—

Dad stops, too, lifting his good eye to look at Papyrus.

And Papyrus runs.

He holds Flora close to his chest, as close as he can get her, covers her with both his arms like a shield. And he runs.

He doesn’t know where he’s running. He doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, he has to get out, has to get away—

He runs up the stairs, down the hall, through the door to his bedroom. The door is open and he doesn’t close it behind him, he runs to the corner on the other side of the dresser, it’s not a real hiding spot but he doesn’t care, it never mattered, it never mattered where they hid, He could always find them, but he has to try, has to get away, has to keep her safe.

He curls up in the corner, knees tucked close to his body, arms even closer, Flora pressed against him. His breath comes fast, his magic pulsing so loud that it feels like ages before he can hear the sound of her whines.

She’s here. She’s safe.

They’re here. They’re safe.

All of them.

It’s over.

The bad stuff is over.

It was over a long time ago.

It’s over, so why …

Dad won’t hurt them. He doesn’t do the bad stuff anymore, he stopped, he won’t hurt Papyrus, he won’t hurt Sans, he won’t hurt Flora, but he can’t … he can’t …

His breathing is still coming fast, and Flora is still whining, and he’s still tucked into the corner. And he still can’t stop seeing those hands, with the saw and the laser and the drill and the blue.

He can’t stop seeing Flora in front of him, inches away from the hands that caused so much pain.

Flora.

His daughter.

His daughter is the most important thing in his world.

Tied with Sans. But it’s different than with Sans—Sans might be small and fragile and Papyrus has to protect him sometimes, but he can still stand on his own. 

Flora can barely lift her head.

And she’s his . His little babybones. She’s precious and perfect and he’d give up anything in the world to protect her. And she’s … she’s not hurt. She’s never been hurt. She doesn’t have any scars and she’s not afraid of blue magic and she’s never been in a cell or locked up alone and no one’s ever drilled a plate into her tiny beautiful little hand and—

He can’t. He can’t, he—

“bro? papyrus, c’mon, say something. i’m right here, just … talk to me, okay?”

Papyrus looks up.

Sans is there. Right next to him, hand on his arm, glowing his good eye. He’s right here, he’s safe, he’s here, they’re here. They’re now. Papyrus knows that.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come out. He tries, tries again, he stops and looks down at Flora, holding her as close as he can.

“I … WHY CAN’T I DO IT, SANS?” he asks. His voice breaks, and he finally feels the tears dripping from his sockets. “I WANTED HIM TO SEE HER. I WANT HIM TO SEE HER. SO WHY CAN’T I …?”

He hiccups on a sob. Flora whines and clutches his shirt, and he bends his head to press his teeth to her skull. More tears come, and he turns his head toward his shoulder to try to wipe them away.

Sans’s hand squeezes his arm.

“papyrus,” he says, voice louder and clearer than usual. “hey. look at me.” 

Papyrus doesn’t want to move. But Sans’s hand stays on his arm, and slowly, Papyrus lifts his head to face him.

It almost feels like they’re back in the lab. Sans telling him that he’s not stupid. That He couldn’t be trusted. Those were the only two things he was ever really sure about, even when he gave up on everything else. Sans looks at him with that same certainty now, his eyelights bright and fierce.

“it’s okay. you don’t have to let him see her.”

“BUT I WANT HIM TO SEE HER!” Papyrus blurts out. Without really thinking about it. Sans keeps looking at him, and Papyrus blinks, looking back down. “I DO. I JUST …” 

Flora is still staring up at him. She looks so confused. He knows she can understand things even if she can’t talk yet, and even if she can’t understand his words, she knows that he’s upset, and she’s upset, too.

He hates seeing her upset. He wants her to be happy. He wants her to feel safe and secure and content. All the things he …

All the things he didn’t feel, when he was young and helpless.

His breath hitches. He runs a hand down her cheekbone, and she leans toward it. She’s so unafraid. Because nothing has ever hurt her.

“I FORGAVE HIM,” he says, his voice distant, almost automatic. “I FORGAVE HIM A LONG TIME AGO. I KNOW HE WON’T DO ANYTHING BAD, HE’S GOOD NOW, SO WHY …”

His tears drip onto his hands. Flora’s sockets light up in their familiar yellow-green, and only then does Papyrus realize he’s glowing, too. 

He lifts his gaze to his brother. To Sans, who is still glowing his one good eye. One good eye because Dad … Dad broke the other one. And maybe it was an accident, maybe he didn’t mean to, but he still broke it, and if he could do something so bad by accident, then … then …

Sans’s smile trembles. He stares back at Papyrus, warm and sad and pained.

Then he leans forward and wraps Papyrus in a hug.

It’s awkward with Flora in his arms, but Sans is still small, and he manages to tuck himself against Papyrus’s side without bumping into her. It feels so different than it did in the lab, but at the same time, so familiar. This was Papyrus’s only comfort once. This was the one thing that soothed him when he was so scared all the time. His brother has always been there, through the best and the worst.

And he’s still here now.

“you’re a good mom,” Sans says, his voice barely muffled against Papyrus’s shoulder. “you’re the best mom. you’re taking care of her just like you said you would.”

Papyrus sucks in a shaking breath. He ducks his head low, so his skull is touching both Sans’s and Flora’s.

“BUT SANS, HE WON’T … HE …”

“papyrus,” Sans cuts in. He presses his own head further into Papyrus’s, hugging him tighter still. “you’re a good mom.”

Papyrus opens his mouth, but no words come out. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t think he could make himself say anything, even if he could find the words.

So he closes his mouth and closes his eyes and leans in toward Flora and Sans and feel the warmth of five glowing eyes wrap around him. The fear is still there, distant and muffled, but Sans’s words echo in his skull, over and over until Papyrus finally understands what he’s trying to say.

He loves his dad. He loves him so much. He forgave him, long ago, despite all the bad things. He looked past them for himself, even though he could never, ever forget them.

But …

His daughter is the most important thing in the world.

And no matter what else he wants … no matter what promises he still holds close … he has to keep her safe.

Chapter Text

“OH, WOWIE! THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS HERE!”

“Yes, there really are.”

“AND THESE ARE ALL FOR BABIES?”

“Babies and young children, yes.”

“THIS IS SO COOL! HOW MUCH CAN WE BUY?”

“Well, I’m not sure how much you’d like to buy before you have the child, but … how about we look around and see what you like?”

“OKAY!”

Papyrus loves shopping with Toriel.

He loves shopping in general, but shopping with Toriel is especially fun. Sans rarely agrees to go with him, and if he does, he usually falls asleep halfway through the trip and makes Papyrus carry him, and he never has opinions on what to buy. Undyne is … well, she’s definitely exciting to shop with, but she’s gotten banned from a few stores for breaking their things before she bought them.

Toriel is a nice, happy medium.

And best of all: she’s the best at shopping for baby supplies of anyone he knows.

Even though she says she hasn’t had an actual baby in around a hundred years.

And she says they didn’t have baby stores like this back then.

But still! She’s undoubtedly the best qualified for the job.

The store isn’t the biggest that Papyrus has seen on the surface—Frisk had a lot of fun showing him the “supermarket” for the first time, and he still loves to visit it!—but it’s still very big, considering it’s only baby things. He doesn’t even know what half of it is, and it’s almost all humans shopping here, so it’s probably mostly for human babies. But Toriel says there’s a lot of overlap between human and monster babies, and he should still find plenty of what he needs.

“SO WHAT ARE BABY SKELETONS LIKE?” he asks, once they’ve walked through a couple of aisles. “I’VE NEVER SEEN ONE!”

Toriel turns to him, blinking. Her eyes look a little sad.

“Well … I’m afraid it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen one as well,” she says, in her usual gentle tone. She puts a finger to her chin and looks up. “They aren’t too different from other monster babies. They’re quite small, and helpless when they’re first born. They need to be carried everywhere until they learn to walk. They need to be fed only liquids until their magic develops enough to handle solid foods. Let’s see, what else …”

She talks for a while about baby skeletons, and other baby monsters, and Papyrus listens as carefully as he can. He wishes he brought a notebook, but he can always ask her again later. And he’s got a very good memory! These things are all important, and he won’t let himself forget a single one.

He enjoys the store, too. He likes Toriel telling him what the things are for, and which ones he’ll probably need. He knows he’s not supposed to buy too many things, but he puts a few in his basket, because they’re really nice and he’s not sure if they’ll be there next time.

A red blanket with yellow stars on it, and another blue one with rocket ships, like the kind Sans likes.

A stuffed bunny that looks like the one from his favorite book.

A wooden stick with little balls that slide along it.

Little red socks that look just like his own boots.

With every one, he imagines what it will be like to give them to his very own baby skeleton. To give them even more things as they grow. To show them how to be a good skeleton, how to make bone attacks, how to … well, maybe he’ll wait until they’re a little older for blue magic. But lots of other things! How to make puzzles and wear cool outfits and cook and dance around the room to fun music.

And all the while, Toriel keeps talking. She’s gone over everything specific for skeletons, he thinks, and is talking about things like good foods to make when the baby gets older and how to keep them out of danger when they start to walk. All very good information. All things he’ll need to know—he hopes—very very soon.

But right in the middle of telling him about the very important business of how to baby-proof the house … she stops.

She stops talking, and she stops walking, right at the end of the stroller aisle.

She turns to look at him. Her smile is gone.

“You haven’t mentioned, Papyrus … as there aren’t any other skeletons aside from your father and your brother, how are you planning to have a baby?”

Papyrus blinks at the sudden serious tone, but grins.

“DAD KNOWS HOW! HE’S VERY SMART AND KNOWS HOW TO DO STUFF LIKE THAT.”

Toriel doesn’t smile back. She still looks thoughtful, and a little bit worried. “So you have … spoken to him about this?”

“OF COURSE!” Papyrus pauses. His smile slips. “WELL … A LITTLE? WE NEVER FINISHED THE CONVERSATION …”

That was … a long time ago now. Papyrus isn’t sure exactly how long. At least a year. The idea sort of got put on the back burner for a while. Getting a job and moving into a new house with Sans and generally living on the surface has taken up a lot of his time. But the idea has never fully left his head, and with every day that goes by, the closer it gets to the front.

Which is why he’s here now, in a baby store, with Toriel. Even though he doesn’t have a baby to buy things for just yet.

Toriel gives him a very long look, like she’s searching for something on his face. He doesn’t think she finds it, because when she speaks again, he can hear the same worry in her voice as he sees on her face.

“So you’ve talked about … giving up your immortality?”

Papyrus frowns. “GIVING UP MY WHAT?”

Toriel stares.

She looks confused for a second. Then her face shifts, her brow lifting, her mouth ever so slightly open.

“Your … Papyrus, you … you do know that your father is a Boss Monster, correct?”

“HE IS?” Papyrus asks.

He’s heard that term before, but only about Asgore and Toriel. Not very much about it. Just that Boss Monsters are a special kind of monsters. Papyrus didn’t know there could be skeleton Boss Monsters, but, well, there aren’t very many skeletons he can ask.

Toriel nods, slowly. 

“Yes … that’s how he’s lived so long. Only a few monsters who lived during the war are alive today.”

“OH.”

Papyrus doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that. His mind is working around the new information, and he understands it, he understands all of it, but there’s something he … isn’t understanding all the way. He’s not sure if he wants to understand it. He doesn’t like the way Toriel said it. He doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him now.

“And since your father is a Boss Monster, you and your brother are as well,” Toriel goes on, just as slowly as before.

Papyrus blinks, maybe a few times more than he needs to. “… AND?”

Toriel … winces. He tries to think of a better way to put it, but he can’t. She looks at him with very sad eyes, then reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, as gently as if he were made of glass.

But he’s not made of glass. He’s made of bone, and he’s strong. He’s always been strong. He’s been through so much and made it, he’s suffered and hurt but he made it. He’s fine, and he doesn’t like that look she’s giving him, like she thinks he’s going to break, and he opens his mouth to tell her exactly that.

Then she starts talking.

And Papyrus stops, his mouth still open.

He hears the words at first. He hears every single one, and he knows what they mean, but he doesn’t want to understand them.

But she keeps talking. She repeats what she says, over and over. She explains it very slowly, and he doesn’t like it because it feels like she’s explaining something to one of her very young students. He hates when people talk to him like that, because he’s not stupid, and Toriel knows that, she’s said that so many times, she knows he’s smart but her face is so sad and she’s talking so carefully about … about …

Boss Monsters.

Immortality.

Children.

Aging.

His dad.

Sans.

And … him.

They’re Boss Monsters. She’s saying … they’re Boss Monsters.

Boss Monsters don’t age.

They grow up. They become adults.

And they don’t age.

They only age when … when …

Papyrus hears a clatter. Toriel jerks, and Papyrus looks down to see his shopping basket on the floor in front of him.

He stares at it for a long few seconds.

“Papyrus?” Toriel asks, her voice so careful. So distant.

Papyrus lifts his head back up. He blinks.

Toriel opens her mouth.

“I-I HAVE TO GO,” he says, his voice shaking, stammering, stumbling out even as his feet start to move.

“Papyrus!” Toriel calls after him.

But Papyrus is already running. Through the aisles, past the checkout, out the front doors. His car is in the parking lot but Toriel was holding the keys in her pockets and he doesn’t want to drive anyway.

So he runs.

He runs out of the parking lot and down the street, past confused and startled humans, back down the long path leading toward his house.

His chest aches and his legs sting and tears burn his eyes, but he keeps running the whole way home.

Chapter Text

“MOVE DER!”

Flora picks up her piece and slams it down in another square. Papyrus nods and hums in appreciation. She’s not technically moving by the rules of chess, but they do this with a lot of games. They make up new rules that are more fun for Flora. Usually there’s no winner, just a lot of fun patterns and “mini-wins” and cheering.

Maybe she’ll want to learn the usual rules someday. Maybe when she’s five or ten or fifteen or something like that. But for right now, she’s still three months shy of her third birthday, and as far as Papyrus is concerned, she can play these games however she likes.

It’s fun for him either way.

“VERY WELL!” Papyrus says, picking up his own piece and moving it close to hers. “THAT IS MY MOVE!”

Flora nods and hums in a very good mimicry of Papyrus himself, and it takes all he has not to squeal in delight. His sockets definitely light up a little, though, but Flora is too focused on the board to notice.

Then she clambers to her feet—he’s still amazed at how good she is at walking, even though she’s been doing it for well over a year—and points to the kitchen.

“I GET SNACK NOW.”

Papyrus smiles and waves, and Flora does the same back. Then she toddles off across the living room, toward where Toriel is making what smells like an especially delicious lunch.

“PIE!” she shouts, once she’s in the kitchen. “PIE, PEEZ!”

Toriel pauses. Papyrus can hear her stirring pause, but her response takes just a little longer than it should. 

“I … I’m sorry, Flora, I can’t understand you,” she says, in the gentle, almost embarrassed tone Papyrus has heard before. “Could you please sign for me?”

Flora makes a frustrated sound. Papyrus gets to his feet and follows her. Even from behind, he can see her little face scrunched in a frown. 

“PIE. WANT PIE, PEEZ,” she repeats, just as loud, but slower, as she tries her best to enunciate the words. Toriel’s eyes are sad, and she lifts them to Papyrus in silent question. Flora turns to face him, frowning deeper. “MOMMY, SAID PEEZ!”

Papyrus bends down to put a hand on her skull, stroking over it. Then he looks back to Toriel and does his best to smile.

“SHE SAID SHE’D LIKE SOME PIE. SHE SAID PLEASE, TOO!”

“Oh.” Toriel’s shoulders fall. She smiles back, then turns to Flora, her expression warm. “Of course, my child. I’ll get you a slice of pie now. Pie.”

She signs the word “pie” as she says it. Flora doesn’t sign back.

Instead, Flora presses her teeth into a deeper frown, curls her hands into fists, and all but stomps back into the living room. Papyrus shares one more sad glance with Toriel before he follows behind her. 

Flora plops herself down in front of their game, her arms crossed tight over her ribs. She glares down at the board like it’s personally offended her. Papyrus gives her a couple of seconds to sit there and breathe, then takes his own spot across from her—a little closer than before, so he can place a hand on her tiny shoulder.

“WHAT’S WRONG, BABYBONES?”

He knows what’s wrong, of course. They’ve done this before. More often nowadays, as she’s gotten better at talking. But just like him, she likes to tell people what’s wrong instead of them just assuming.

Flora doesn’t look back at him. She stares at the game even harder. He told her once that if she wants to throw a board game on carpet, or knock the pieces over when she’s angry, then that’s okay. As long as no one is close by to get hurt, and it’s a thing that doesn’t break easily like glass, then she can let her anger out like that.

She doesn’t, though. She just keeps glaring.

“DIDN’T ‘DERSTAND,” she says at last, her voice quieter, almost grumbling. She looks up, and he can see the hints of desperation behind her anger. “SAID PEEZ!”

Papyrus nods. He always says please and thank you to her, and she’s been picking it up very easily. She doesn’t quite understand why adults are so happy when she says it, but she’s good at seeing when people are happy, and she loves it just as much as he does. 

He takes a moment to think, rubbing his thumb against her shoulder.

“I … I KNOW, FLORA,” he says. He smiles. “SHE JUST NEEDS YOU TO SIGN!”

Flora gives him a Look that looks a little too similar to the one Toriel sometimes gives Asgore. Then she drops her eyes back down to the board.

“MOMMY ‘STAND ME, DOH.”

“YES … THAT’S BECAUSE I’M A SKELETON,” Papyrus tries again. “ME AND SANS CAN UNDERSTAND YOU JUST FINE.”

Flora’s shoulders slump down. Her anger fades, and underneath it, she just looks disappointed.

“WHY NO TORI?”

Papyrus’s chest aches. One thing that’s become clearer and clearer over the past almost-three years is that seeing Flora upset is even worse than seeing Sans upset. He didn’t think that was possible. But now all he wants is to give his daughter the world. And she doesn’t even want the world! She just wants people to understand her when she’s trying very hard to speak and be polite.

Just like she sees everyone around her doing, without any need to sign.

“WELL … SHE’S NOT A SKELETON.”

“SHE ‘STAND YOU,” Flora mutters.

“YES.” Papyrus frowns and pauses. “WELL … MY FONT IS DIFFERENT.”

“FONT?” Flora asks, looking back up at him.

She knows the word. They’ve talked about it before. But maybe she forgot, or maybe she wasn’t paying attention. Toriel did say that sometimes young children need to hear things a few times before they really understand them.

Papyrus smiles. 

“YES, MY WORDS.”

Flora’s expression falters. She blinks a few times.

“FLORA WORD BAD?”

“NO!” Papyrus blurts out. Flora blinks again. Papyrus puts both hands on her shoulders, shaking his head and barely stopping himself from scooping her up into a tight hug. “NO, NEVER! YOUR WORDS ARE BEAUTIFUL. THEY’RE PERFECT, JUST THE WAY THEY ARE!”

Flora frowns. “DEN WHY NO ‘STAND?”

Papyrus hesitates. He thinks. He remembers the skeleton book Dad wrote, the one he read so many times before Flora was born. But the book was all facts, history and physiology. Not stuff like this.

So when he speaks again, he makes his words different.

“IT’S … SOME MONSTERS DON’T HEAR YOU RIGHT,” he says. Flora blinks at the look of her own font in his voice. He’s done his best to learn it, and he’s very good! Even if he’s the only other one in the world who speaks it. “THEY TRY AS HARD AS THEY CAN, THEY WANT TO UNDERSTAND YOU, BUT … THEY CAN’T.” 

Flora stares at him, silent. Papyrus gives her a sad smile and lifts his hands.

“BUT THEY UNDERSTAND YOUR SIGNS,” he says, making the signs for each word as he speaks. It’s a little difficult to sign and speak Flora’s font at the same time, but he manages. “YOUR HANDS.”

Flora pouts again. Her eyes flicker her neutral yellow-green almost too fast for him to catch.

“DUN WAN HANDS.”

Papyrus lets his fall to his lap. His smile turns a little sadder.

“I KNOW, FLORA. IT’S OKAY.” He puts one hand back on her shoulder and gives it a gentle rub. “I’LL TALK FOR YOU TODAY, IF YOU WANT.”

That’s usually enough to make her feel better. To give her a bit of relief from her constant frustrations. But today, it isn’t.

She crosses her arms again and looks down,. “WAN DEM ‘STAND.”

“I KNOW.” Papyrus holds back a sigh. “I KNOW.” 

They sit in silence for a minute. Papyrus gives Flora time to feel her emotions, because that’s important, just like it’s important for him to be there with her while she deals with them.

Finally, he asks, “DO YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO OUR GAME?”

Flora shakes her head. Papyrus frowns and thinks over some other options.

“WELL … DO YOU WANT TO—”

Then the front door opens, and Papyrus and Flora both turn to see Frisk stepping through.

They look around for a moment before their eyes land on the middle of the room. They grin.

“Hey, Pap! Hey, Flora!”

“FRISK!” Flora squeals, leaping to her feet and running across the room to hug their leg. “FRISK HOME!”

Frisk laughs, then bends over and pulls her into a hug. Flora isn’t signing, but they’ve heard her font enough to recognize the most common words.

“Yep, back home! And I brought some gifts from Asgore.”

Flora bounces in their arms. “ASGORE!”

Frisk picks her up and spins her around, and she squeals again, kicking her legs and beaming. Papyrus smiles, warm and relieved, and his shoulders fall.

He was right about Frisk being a good big sibling. Sans says they’re technically more like a cousin, but Papyrus thinks “big sibling” works better. They always have a good way to cheer Flora up or distract her from things like this. It’s going to be hard when they move away to university next year, but Papyrus will just have to make plans to visit them regularly. And do lots and lots of video calls.

They’re so big now. It’s hard to believe they were so small when they freed the entire underground.

He wonders if it will feel like this when Flora gets that big, too.

“What perfect timing, Frisk!” Toriel says, stepping out of the kitchen. Papyrus turns to find her balancing three plates of pie on her arms.

Frisk beams. “I didn’t know you were making pie today, Mom!”

Papyrus decides not to mention that Toriel makes pie almost every day of the week. Frisk knows that better than anyone. 

But Flora squirms in Frisk’s arms, and they set her down. She runs over to Toriel, holding out her arms and jumping to reach for the pie. Toriel chuckles and sets all three plates on the floor.

While Frisk and Flora take theirs, chattering away about Flora’s day—or, well, Flora pointing to things around the room as she talks and Frisk listening, even though they probably only understand a little—Toriel gives Papyrus a soft, questioning look. He smiles, a little sadly, and nods.

The living room is very close to the kitchen, after all, and Toriel is very good at knowing when to let a conversation play out on its own. 

“The rest of your lunch will be done soon,” Toriel says as she gets to her feet. She presses a kiss to the top of Frisk’s head, and Frisk leans up to give her a one-armed hug. Flora whines. Toriel gives her a head-kiss, too.

She heads back to the kitchen, and Frisk and Flora keep talking and eating their pie. Papyrus takes a bite of his own, thoughtful.

His phone is on the coffee table, only a few feet behind him, so he moves over and grabs it. His lock screen is still Flora’s six-month baby photo. He needs to take a new one, but sometimes it’s nice to remember how small she was not all that long ago.

He unlocks it and opens his messages app. Sans is the most recent contact, of course. Undyne after that, then Toriel and Frisk and Alphys and Asgore, and a couple of Papyrus’s human friends. And underneath all of those is Dad, his avatar a photo Papyrus took when he wasn’t looking. He isn’t smiling, but he looks … relaxed, Papyrus thinks. It’s a good photo. One of Papyrus’s favorites of him.

It’s also more than four years old.

The last text was sent almost a month ago. 

Dad never responded.

They talk on the phone, of course! Sometimes. When Dad picks up. But Papyrus doesn’t try to call as much as he used to.

He’s … been busy. He has! That’s just … maybe not the whole reason why he hasn’t called as much.

He wanted Dad to be a part of Flora’s life. He asked him to be a part of Flora’s life. And Dad agreed. And he came over that one time.

More than two years ago.

Since then … Papyrus has seen him. But only when Dad knows Flora will be with someone else.

Which isn’t very often.

Papyrus isn’t even sure how long it’s been since he saw Dad in person.

Even though they live only a few miles apart.

And this … this would be the perfect reason to invite him over. Dad uses a cipher font. He has to sign so people who aren’t skeletons can understand him. He’s the only person who can really understand what Flora is going through. He’s the only person who might make her feel like she’s not alone.

Papyrus taps on Dad’s message history and opens a new text. He starts typing. He types, “HI DAD!”.

He … doesn’t type anything else.

He tries to. He thinks very hard about what else he could say. How he could invite Dad to come over and talk to Flora about what it’s like to speak in your font and have no one other than skeletons understand you. Dad was the only skeleton for a really, really long time, and for that whole time … no one could understand his font. So Dad would definitely understand Flora.

He would.

He definitely would.

Papyrus tries to type.

But he can’t.

The words won’t come out.

Because he imagines Dad walking through the front door. He imagines Flora running up to say hello, just like she does with every new person.

Dad wouldn’t hurt her. He doesn’t do that anymore, Papyrus knows that, but …

When he imagines Flora getting close to him, all he can hear is her voice screaming.

All he can see is her tiny hand with a plate drilled into it.

All he can see is her eye socket broken or a scar on her neck or her fear when he or Sans use blue magic.

Dad wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t do that anymore. Papyrus isn’t scared of him.

He isn’t.

Even if he never stopped flinching if Dad touched him too suddenly.

Or told him to stay still.

He’s not scared.

He’s not.

But … but …

He looks at the last message he sent to Dad. A picture of Flora holding a stuffed bunny. She’s beaming. Her eyes are bright. She’s never been really scared of anything in her whole life.

She’s never been hurt.

And Papyrus … he … he can’t …

“MOMMY?”

Papyrus blinks. He looks up to find Flora watching him with worried eyes. Frisk is watching him, too, their eyebrows scrunched. Their expression is a bit more knowing, though. Or maybe a lot more knowing. They do tend to know a lot more than Papyrus thinks they should.

“COME PLAY?” Flora asks, pointing at the abandoned chess board.

Papyrus glances down at his phone and the unfinished message. Flora’s face smiles at him from the photo. Dad’s face stares back at him from the contact avatar. Papyrus clenches his teeth.

He presses the button to delete the text.

Then he looks back up and smiles at his daughter.

“YES, FLORA,” he says, scooting back across the floor toward her and Frisk. “LET US CONTINUE!”

Chapter Text

Toriel spends five minutes knocking on the door, begging Papyrus to talk to her, before she finally leaves him be.

It takes fifteen minutes after that for Papyrus to stop sobbing into his pillow.

The tears don’t stop completely, but his magic feels drained. Like just lying on his bed crying has worn him out.

He doesn’t want to get so lazy that he gets tired from crying, but for the first time in maybe his whole life, he can’t make himself care.

He feels a little bad for leaving Toriel at the store. She had the keys to his car and she does know how to drive, but he did drive her to the store and that comes with the implication that he’s going to drive her back. But she didn’t sound angry. She sounded worried, just like she sounded worried at the store, and he should probably call her and tell her that he’s okay. He’s fine. Even if he maybe isn’t fine at all.

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t want to talk to Toriel. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t want to get up from his bed and go out into the world now that he knows what he does. 

It doesn’t even feel like the same world anymore.

He wants this to be a dream. A really bad dream. A dream that started good and then went terrible. He wants his brother to shake him awake and ask him what’s wrong and Papyrus tells him and Sans says “that’s a funny dream” and makes a pun about it and Papyrus yells at him and then they hug. He wants that more than anything.

But he doesn’t wake up.

He just lays here in this awful reality and wishes he could forget it, even though he knows he never will.

Part of him wishes Toriel hadn’t told him. He doesn’t think she wanted to tell him. And he can see now, looking back, how she tried to avoid it. She didn’t want to meet his eyes when she talked, and even when she finished, it took her a long time to lift her head and look at him.

He wonders how long it took her to stop being sad about it herself.

He wonders if she’s still sad now.

Later, he’ll probably ask her. Later, he’ll probably feel bad for how long she’s had to feel that way without anyone to talk to about it—because she still doesn’t talk to Asgore very much. Later, he’ll probably wonder if this is how she felt when she first realized what she was, and what that meant for the rest of her life. What that meant for everyone she loves. 

Papyrus’s breath hitches, but his sockets are too tired to make new tears. Even though he kind of wishes they weren’t.

He wants to cry. This is a thing that is very worth crying over.

Because … everyone is going to die.

They’re going to get older. And older. And older and older until they’re really old and then they just …

Undyne is going to die. Alphys, too, and Frisk, and all the other monsters and humans Papyrus has come to know and love. The little monster child that’s his biggest fan and Mettaton and the nice ladies at the car repair shop and the people from his job.

Dad.

Dad is going to die.

He’s going to die because he has children.

He’s going to die … and Papyrus and Sans are going to keep living.

Just like Toriel and Asgore.

They’re going to live forever.

There’s a very quiet knock on the door, but Papyrus doesn’t lift his head. He knows that knock. Quiet—lazy—and bonier than everyone else’s hands, except for Dad’s, and he knows it isn’t Dad. He doesn’t respond, but the door opens anyway. Fluffy pink slippers pad along the carpet, and a few seconds later, the mattress squishes just a bit under the familiar weight of his brother.

Sans’s hand rests on his back and rubs little circles. He can barely feel it through his battle body, but he knows it’s there, and somehow that’s almost as comforting. 

Papyrus doesn’t ask if Toriel called Sans or if he was already home when Papyrus got here and just wanted give him some space. It doesn’t matter.

For the first time in a very long time … it’s hard for him to remember that anything does.

“DID YOU KNOW?” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Sans moves his hand up to rub Papyrus’s skull. He’s been doing it for most of their lives, comforting him like this, and Papyrus wants to lean into it. Wants to let himself feel better. Wants to remember, just like he always has, that everything will be alright. 

He wants to. So badly.

“i heard some stuff. but i was never sure,” Sans says, his voice far-off and empty. He would probably sound a lot worse, but Papyrus knows he’s trying to hold himself together for him. “didn’t … really wanna know.”

A tiny, tiny part of Papyrus wants to be mad that Sans didn’t tell him, if he had even a little idea. But he already knows that anger doesn’t make sense here. This isn’t one of those “Papyrus can’t handle it” things. This is a “Sans can’t handle it” thing, and Papyrus can’t blame his brother for those.

He lays there for a while and focuses on Sans petting his skull. He can’t see the blue with his face in the pillow, but he can feel the warmth of his brother’s good eye glowing. It feels like a long time since his brother has glowed to comfort him. It feels like a long time since either of them have been upset enough to need that kind of comfort.

His breath hitches again, and he holds the pillow tighter.

“THEY’RE GOING TO DIE, SANS” he says, his voice a little louder but just as unsteady as before. “THEY’RE GOING TO … UNDYNE AND ALPHYS AND FRISK AND … AND DAD …” 

He swallows the fresh wave of tears, but a few slip out anyway. His pillowcase is already soaked. Sans’s hand pauses on his head, but doesn’t move away.

“THEY’RE ALL GOING TO DIE AND WE’LL JUST …” 

Finally, he turns, shifting his head from the pillow and leaning back enough so he can meet his brother’s eyes. Sans’s face is pained in the way it only gets when Papyrus is upset. He told him once that Papyrus’s pain hurt worse than his own, that he would rather suffer through something a million times worse rather than see Papyrus hurting. 

Papyrus doesn’t need to tell him he feels the same. Sans already knows.

“WHY, SANS?” he asks, the line of his mouth wobbling. “WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS?”

Sans looks away from him and stares at a random spot on the bed. His eyelights remain in place, but they look distant, fuzzy, like he’s somewhere far away. Or maybe some when long ago.

“i dunno.”

Papyrus swallows hard. “I DON’T WANT TO BE A BOSS MONSTER.”

Sans’s hand curls against the back of his head. “me neither.”

Papyrus doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Sans. They have a lot to talk about, but neither of them really want to talk about it. Papyrus wants to sit up and hold his brother close, just like they used to in the cell when they needed comfort, but right now, he can’t even bring himself to move.

Because even as the initial pain fades, just a little, it only opens up a brand new pain underneath it.

The whole reason Toriel told him any of this in the first place.

The only reason he really needed to hear it now, before he went any further down the journey he’s been hoping to pursue for so long.

He can’t have a baby.

He can’t.

Because if he has a baby, then he’ll age, he’ll get older until … until he dies, too.

He’ll die, and he’ll leave Sans all alone.

He can’t do that. Not to his brother. He can’t leave him. And … and Dad knew that. Dad knew that when he asked. That’s why … that’s why he didn’t want him to do it. That’s why he knew he wouldn’t, when someone finally told him the truth.

Because Papyrus can’t leave his brother.

Dad is going to die. Undyne and Alphys and Frisk are going to die. Toriel and Asgore won’t die, but … Papyrus knows that’s not enough.

His brother is strong. Stronger than he believes. Stronger than he’ll probably ever know.

And maybe he could keep going without Papyrus.

But Papyrus can’t do that to him.

Not for this. 

Not ever.

He loves Sans more than anything in the world, and he could never leave him for something like this.

So he lays on the bed with Sans’s hand on the back of his head, both of them silent, both of them lost in their own overlapping worlds. 

Finally, Sans lays down next to him. Papyrus’s arms move on instinct, wrapping around him tight as Sans tucks his head under Papyrus’s chin.

They stay there for a long, long time, holding each other tight, clinging to the one constant in a world that’s still finding new ways to hurt them.

Chapter Text

When Papyrus steps out into the backyard, carrying his very famous, beautifully perfected lasagna that will definitely not be stolen by a certain white dog, the first thing he does is look for Flora.

They’ve only been apart for around twenty minutes, because she got bored in the kitchen with him. But he doesn’t really like leaving her for any amount of time. She’s figuring out her independence in a way that Toriel assures him is very normal. And Papyrus wants to support that! He really does. But he still worries sometimes.

“Sometimes” meaning “all the time.”

He scans the backyard on his way to the table Toriel set up, and in only a few seconds, he finds her, sitting on Sans’s lap in a lawn chair next to the garden.

The worry melts away like the cheese on his lasagna in the oven.

He smiles and goes to set his dish on the table.

He can’t help but keep looking in their direction as he does so—but in affection rather than worry this time. It’s been more than three years, but he’ll never get over the sight of his two favorite people in the world getting along so well.

Papyrus always knew Sans would be a good uncle. Well, at first, he had thought Sans would be a good dad, but Sans didn’t really like the idea of being a dad, so he’s an uncle instead. And he’s good at it. Even better than Papyrus thought he would be.

For the first few months after she was born, Papyrus thinks that Sans only liked Flora because she was Papyrus’s. He never said it, but he seemed to think of her as a kind of “mini-Papyrus.” She only meant something to him because she meant so much to his brother.

But then, bit by bit, things changed. Sans saw Flora do something like drop her food on the floor or figure out a new toy, and his eyes lit up. She said her first word—“MAMA”—and Sans’s smile stretched across his whole face. She babbled, and he babbled along with her. She grabbed one of his fingers in her own, and he watched her hold it like he was watching one of the greatest wonders of the universe.

Then Flora said her second word, and it was “SANS”—or the closest she could manage. Sans stared at her with his eye sockets blown wide, his smile stunned, his body frozen.

From that day on … he changed completely.

He looked at Flora, and he saw a brand new skeleton, who wasn’t Papyrus, and he loved her for being Flora instead.

He’s still lazy, of course. He’ll probably always be lazy, no matter how much Papyrus tries to change it. But he’s a different kind of lazy now. He still takes a lot of naps, but he takes them when Flora is tired, and they settle together on the couch or the racecar bed, Flora zipped up inside of his hoodie. He asked Toriel to modify his favorite one so he could tuck Flora in the back and carry her around without having to use his arms. He’s not very good at playing her running-around games, but he’ll always sit close and watch her and tell her she’s doing a good job.

And sometimes, Papyrus will find Flora asleep but Sans still awake, holding her close against him, tracing his fingers over her skull. His eyes are always soft, his left sometimes glowing green, and he stares down at her with more love than he’s ever shown for anyone.

Except for Papyrus.

Sans doesn’t want children. Not his own. He doesn’t want to be a dad. But he does want to be an uncle, and Papyrus thinks he loves Flora just as much as he would love his own child.

Neither of them are asleep now, though—by some miracle. Sans looks like he might take a nap soon, but for the moment, he’s awake, helping Flora put together a flower crown to match the one she’s already plopped on top of his head. They’re talking about something, their voices too quiet for Papyrus to make out. He could read their words, but he doesn’t bother. They sound happy, and Flora’s giggles carry across the yard, brighter than the sun.

Papyrus takes a little more time than he needs to walk back to the house, and he’s smiling the whole time.

The next time he comes outside, some of the guests to the neighborhood barbecue have arrived, and the backyard is slightly crowded. Sans is actually asleep in his lawn chair now, and Flora is riding around on Undyne’s shoulders as she greets everyone. 

People keep arriving over the next half hour or so. Toriel really did invite the entire neighborhood, and a few people who aren’t in the neighborhood, and it looks like most of them said yes. Which is wonderful! All of them love parties.

Well, except Alphys, who is probably inside watching anime. But she does that a lot on weekends.

Everyone outside is having fun, though. More and more people arrive, and Papyrus says hello to them, and those who try his lasagna give him a lot of compliments, because Toriel’s lessons have made him even better at cooking. It’s sunny, it’s warm, and there’s plenty of talking and smiles and laughs.

It’s all so busy that Papyrus doesn’t notice Dad until Asgore comes up to say hello. 

Asgore still comes over almost as often as he used to, and seeing him is normal. But while Asgore is asking how he and Flora are doing, his eyes shift to the side of the yard, and Papyrus follows his gaze to find a single chair next to the fence.

And the skeleton that’s occupying it.

Dad is trying very hard not to look at anyone. Papyrus gets the impression that he’s here because of Asgore, not because he wants to be. But still. Asgore said once that he tries to get Dad to go places all the time, and Dad rarely agrees.

But here he is.

Papyrus saw him a week ago, when he visited Asgore’s house. But it’s the first time in three years that Papyrus has seen him here.

At this house.

With Flora in the same yard.

It’s a very big yard, but …

He’s happy. He is! This means Dad is stepping out of his comfort zone. It means Dad is willing to try again. It means …

Papyrus is happy. He tells himself that, over and over. He smiles very wide to prove it.

But he doesn’t go to say hello to Dad.

That’s only because he’s busy, though! He’s helping to run the barbecue, and it’s a very big event, with lots of humans and monsters all getting to know each other. Even years after coming to the surface, interspecies diplomacy is still very important. He’ll say hi to Dad soon.

An hour goes by. Papyrus is still very busy, and Dad is still in the chair.

But everyone is very happy at the barbecue. Family members have been taking turns holding Flora or walking around with her or sitting with her, but she’s done a very good job talking to people all on her own. Signing is easier for her now, and even if the person she’s talking to doesn’t sign, there’s always someone to translate. She’s with Toriel at the moment, sitting in the crook of her very large arm, waving at those she passes and getting high-fives from a few.

She looks happy, too.

So Papyrus can’t be too upset that he still hasn’t said hello to Dad.

He goes back inside to get another tin of lasagna, since the first is long-finished. Several people are already in line to get some as soon as he sets it down, and he beams at their compliments and appreciation even after they head off with their plates.

“MOMMY?”

Papyrus looks down. And there’s Flora, standing next to his leg, staring up at him with big, curious sockets. He’s not sure when she got away from Toriel, but he smiles anyway.

“YES?”

“WHO’SAT?” she asks, pointing across the yard.

Papyrus … kind of already knows who she’s pointing at. He knows the yard. And he knows who was in that direction. But he still looks, a little slower than usual, and sees her finger pointed right toward Dad.

He swallows.

But his daughter is waiting, and he holds himself taller and makes himself smile, even if it isn’t quite as wide.

“THAT’S, UM … HE’S YOUR …” He pauses. It’s been a long time since he had to think about this. A long time since he used the word, even in his head. “YOUR … GRANDPA. YEAH. HE’S YOUR GRANDPA.”

“OH.” Flora gives Dad another considering look, then turns back to Papyrus, beaming. “HE A SKELETON!”

Papyrus smiles back. It’s easier to smile when he’s looking at her. “YES. YES, HE’S A SKELETON.”

“LIKE ME!”

“YES,” Papyrus says, smiling wider. “JUST LIKE YOU.”

Flora looks back to Dad and stares at him for a few seconds. Her face scrunches a bit, like it does when she’s thinking hard. She nods to herself, decision made.

“I GONNA SAY HI.”

It takes quite a lot of effort for Papyrus to keep smiling.

He tells himself that he’s not scared. He tells himself that this is what he wants. He tells himself that Dad has had many years to prove he won’t do anything bad, and Flora is a little older now, and Papyrus is with her, and everything is fine.

He tells himself that, very hard, several times over. He only sort of believes it.

But he keeps smiling, and when Flora looks up to him, he forces the smile a wider.

“UM … OKAY,” he says. He holds out his hand for her to grab. “I … I’LL GO WITH YOU TO SAY HI!”

Flora gives him a funny look, because even at three years old, Flora notices things—especially things about Papyrus. But she doesn’t say anything. She nods and takes his hand, and the two of them walk forward, past a few other people, toward Dad’s chair.

The first few steps are difficult, but after that, Papyrus pulls himself together. It’s going to be fine. Everything is fine. They’re safe. They’re with a lot of other people. He’s with Flora, so Flora is safe, and they’re just going to say hi.

He wants Dad to meet her.

So they keep walking, step by step, until they’re maybe ten feet from Dad’s chair.

Then Dad looks up.

He sees Papyrus first, which makes sense. Papyrus is very easy to pick out in a crowd, and Dad has always been good at finding him and Sans, even though he says he doesn’t use the plates anymore.

But then his good eye moves down, and he sees Flora, holding Papyrus’s hand and walking toward him.

He stares.

Papyrus opens his mouth and lifts his hand, ready to call out a greeting.

But before he can—before he can even decide what he wants to say—Dad pushes himself up from his chair, grabs the stick that is definitely not a cane, and walks away.

He’s not very fast. He’s not running, or even close to a run, and it would be easy for Papyrus to scoop Flora into his arms and catch up with him.

But he doesn’t.

He stops, and Flora stops at his side.

They both stand there, watching as Dad slips through the door in the fence, leading out into the driveway.

He disappears. The door falls shut behind him.

And Papyrus and Flora stare at the empty space with matching wide eyes.

Flora is the first one to move. To turn and look up at Papyrus, her little face scrunched in confusion.

“MOMMY?” she asks, her voice quieter, and painfully sad. “DOES HE NOT LIKE ME?”

“NO!” Papyrus blurts, before he can think. Flora blinks a few times. “NO, FLORA, IT’S NOT … OF COURSE HE LIKES YOU.” 

Or … he would. Papyrus is sure Dad likes what little he’s seen of Flora. The updates. The pictures. Dad might not say these things, but Papyrus knows how to read him.

But Flora is still staring up at him, her face twisted in disappointment. Papyrus pauses and tries not to clench his teeth.

“I THINK … HE’S JUST FEELING A LITTLE SCARED TODAY.”

Flora tilts her head. “‘M NOT SCARY, DO.”

Papyrus winces. “NO … NO, OF COURSE YOU’RE NOT SCARY.”

Her brow bone scrunches.

“BUT HE’S SCARED.”

“YES,” Papyrus says, his voice coming out defeated, despite his best efforts. Flora doesn’t look away. She looks at him like he has all the answers in the world, even though, right now, he doesn’t feel like he does. He thinks for a long moment, then breathes in and out, pulling his words together. “YOU KNOW HOW … DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN TORIEL BUILT YOUR BOOKSHELF?”

Flora’s disappointment fades, her eyes lighting up and her smile returned.

“YEAH! I HELPED!”

“YES YOU DID.” Papyrus smiles back at her, almost painfully fond. He hesitates. “DO YOU … REMEMBER WHEN SHE DRILLED THE HOLES IN THE WALL? TO MAKE THE BOOKSHELF STAND UP.”

“YEAH,” Flora says, smile falling. “YOU GOT SCARED.”

Papyrus swallows and gives her little hand a squeeze.

“YES,” he goes on. He lifts his head higher. “BUT TORIEL ISN’T SCARY! AND … AND THE DRILL ISN’T BAD. IT’S JUST A DRILL. SOMETIMES … SOMETIMES PEOPLE ARE SCARED OF THINGS, OR PEOPLE, AND IT’S NOT ABOUT THE THINGS OR PEOPLE. IT’S ABOUT THEM.”

He’s not really sure if she’ll understand. She’s very young, and he knows that sometimes, she’s just not ready to understand things. Like people needing her to sign when she talks, why there are only a few skeletons, or why Toriel sometimes gives Asgore harsh looks when he’s only ever been nice to Flora.

“OH,” she says. She looks down at her feet. She doesn’t look as worried as before, and he thinks, maybe, she sort of understands it, even if not all the way. But her smile is still gone, and when she finally lifts her head again, her eyes are sad. “I WANTED TO SAY HI.”

Papyrus’s chest twists. His eyes soften to match hers.

“I KNOW, FLORA.”

He wants to tell her that she will. He wants to tell her that she’ll get to say hi very soon. He wants to tell her that they’ll chase Dad down and say hi even if Dad doesn’t want to.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Flora is very young, and there are things she’s not ready to hear. But Papyrus knows what it’s like for people to tell him things that aren’t true. For people to give him hope that things will be true, even if they don’t believe it, and he has to find out later that they were lying.

He doesn’t like that feeling.

And he doesn’t want to do that to his daughter.

So instead, he gets down on his knees and pulls her into a hug.

He doesn’t give her any warning, but she doesn’t flinch, even for a second. She hugs him back, not as tight, because she’s still so small and can’t hug as tight as a grown skeleton. But she will someday. Someday, she’ll be all grown up, and will probably hug better than anyone in the world.

He presses his teeth to her skull, then leans his forehead against it, tucking her against his chest. She’s already grown so much, even though she has many years to go.

“I LOVE YOU, FLORA.”

His voice is quiet, but Flora is close. She giggles, the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I KNOW, MOMMY,” she says, because she does know. Because Papyrus tells her every day. Because she’s been flooded with love since she was born, and never had anyone make her doubt it. “LOVE YOU TOO.”

Papyrus’s breath hitches, and he holds her tighter still.

They’re here. They’re okay.

They’re going to be just fine.

Chapter Text

Papyrus is so focused on the engine of his car that it takes him three entire rings to answer his phone.

He almost hits his head on the hood, too, but manages to avoid it—he’s very good at avoiding car-related injuries now—and jumps into the front seat, grabbing his cell phone and lifting it up to his head.

“HELLO! THIS IS PAPYRUS!”

“Papyrus, I need you to come to my house right away.”

Papyrus blinks. Usually the person on the other end of the line starts with “hello.” Especially someone who’s normally extremely polite.

“ASGORE?” he asks. “I HAVEN’T TALKED TO YOU SINCE LAST WEEK!”

“Papyrus, this is very important,” Asgore says, and for the first time, Papyrus hears the panic in his voice. “I need you to come right over. Something’s happened to your father.”

Papyrus’s chest sinks.

“DAD?” He blinks a few times. His brow bone scrunches. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH DAD?”

Asgore … is trying to tell him what’s wrong with Dad. He’s trying, but he’s stumbling over his words a lot, and he can’t seem to decide whether to make it sound better or worse, and all the while, Papyrus has no idea what to imagine is happening at Asgore and Dad’s house.

All he knows is that he’s already back in his car, the hood shut, the engine running, speeding down the road as fast as the human legal system will allow.

And maybe a little bit faster.

When he pulls up in front of Asgore and Dad’s house, he barely takes time to shut off the car before he clambers out of the driver’s seat and races to the front door. He doesn’t need to knock. The door is open, Asgore standing there, moving aside just in time to avoid Papyrus running straight into him.

His face is pained, and Papyrus’s chest squeezes, but he keeps moving, through the entryway and starting up the stairs.

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

“He … he collapsed,” Asgore says, following right behind him. “He came upstairs from his lab this morning—he’d been in there for hours already, I was getting worried—but he finally came out and he looked exhausted. He was limping. So I took him up to bed, but he collapsed along the way and …”

They reach the second floor. Asgore doesn’t say anything else, and Papyrus looks over his shoulder even as he continues toward Dad’s room.

“BUT HE’S ALIVE?” he asks, his voice shaking despite how hard he tries to keep it steady. His feet stumble on his next step. “HE HASN’T …”

“No,” Asgore cuts in, his voice firm for the first time since Papyrus answered the phone. “No, he hasn’t Fallen Down.” 

He pauses. Papyrus walks faster.

“Not yet. But that’s what I need you to help prevent. You’re the most talented healer I’ve ever come across. If anyone can help him—”

Papyrus swings open the door to Dad’s bedroom and walks inside, leaving Asgore stumbling over his own words.

Dad is there.

On the bed.

His eyes are closed, his arms laid over his ribs like Asgore moved them there, and he’s …

He’s not moving.

No. No, Asgore said he didn’t Fall Down. He’s okay. He’s still okay, he just … he just needs healing. Papyrus can do that. Papyrus is good at that. Papyrus is the best healer Asgore knows.

Asgore is still talking, but Papyrus moves forward, hands out, and sits on the edge of the bed.

One hand on Dad’s head, the other clutching his hand.

The room lights up with green.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t need to. He heals Dad like he healed his brother the first time. He pours everything he has into it, reaches through all the barriers, screaming with every part of his being for Dad to come back.

He can’t go. Not now.

Not yet.

For minutes, Papyrus stays where he is, but finally, slowly, the glow fades. Dad isn’t waking up, but Papyrus can feel him stabilize. He holds on for a minute longer, just in case he missed something. 

Then he lets go.

He opens his eyes and looks down at Dad.

He’s still sleeping, but his face looks smoother now. More relaxed. More normal. Papyrus has seen Dad sleep plenty of times, and this looks almost just like that.

Papyrus breathes out and feels his shoulders fall with the breath.

Something moves to his left, and he turns to see Asgore watching him from the doorway. His eyes are wide, his mouth pinched. He’s known Dad for a long time. Since Dad was a kid, he said once. He worries about him a lot even on good days.

Papyrus does his very best to smile.

“I THINK … I THINK HE’S OKAY NOW,” he says, pushing himself up to stand. “I THINK HE’S TIRED. HE NEEDS TO SLEEP FOR A WHILE.” 

Asgore nods, but doesn’t say anything. Papyrus glances back to Dad.

“YOU SAID … YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?”

Asgore looks down and shakes his head.

“No, I … he just collapsed.” His face pinches further. “I’m not sure if he was doing something down in that lab of his …”

Papyrus frowns. He knows Dad still does science stuff in his new lab, even though it’s not for his job. He has a good job at the monster university, where he does talks and research and doesn’t hurt anybody. He doesn’t hurt people anymore. He said that. He said he wouldn’t.

That was supposed to mean he wouldn’t hurt himself either.

But … maybe it was just an accident.

Papyrus hopes it was just an accident. 

“HE SHOULDN’T SLEEP IN THESE CLOTHES,” he says, because the silence is uncomfortable and he needs something to do. “WHERE ARE HIS PAJAMAS?”

He likes pajamas. He likes the idea that he gets to wear something special at night. And pajamas are always comfortable, and Dad always seems uncomfortable, so maybe the pajamas will help.

Asgore turns toward the dresser by the wall. “Hmm … I’m not sure, let me look …”

Papyrus moves down to the end of the bed and starts working off Dad’s shoes. They’re the same shoes Papyrus remembers him wearing in the lab. He really needs to get some new ones.

He gets the right shoe off, sets it to the side, and works off the left.

Then he stops.

And he looks.

There’s … a hole.

A perfectly-cut, smooth, round hole.

In Dad’s left foot.

“ASGORE …” Papyrus’s voice sounds very far away. Like he’s watching all this happen on a TV screen instead of in real life. “WHAT IS THIS?”

“Hmm?” 

Asgore walks over and looks. It doesn’t take a lot of looking.

“Oh … oh dear …” Asgore leans in. He reaches out like he’s going to touch Dad’s foot, but stops before he can. He shakes his head. “I … I’m not sure, Papyrus. It looks like … goodness, it’s like when he got those holes in his hands years ag—” 

He stops.

He looks at the hole in Dad’s foot.

His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide, and Papyrus swears he can see the pieces fitting together in his head.

“Oh my …”

Papyrus wants to ask what he means. He wants to ask a lot of things. Asgore knows things, things he doesn’t talk about, things he doesn’t want to tell them. Just like Dad does. There’s so much they never tell him.

But now there’s a hole in Dad’s foot.

And the last place Dad was before it happened was …

Papyrus’s legs are moving.

“Papyrus? Papyrus, wait a moment!”

But Papyrus keeps going.

He knows this house. Not as well as his own house, but after Dad moved here, Papyrus insisted on visiting as much as he could. And Dad was busy a lot—or pretended to be busy—so Papyrus had plenty of time to explore the house.

Dad probably didn’t want him to know about his secret basement lab.

But after Asgore mentioned it offhand over dinner, it took Papyrus only a couple of tries to find the right door.

It’s not locked, and he swings it open, flicking on the light and running down the stairs. It’s not a big lab. Nothing like the old lab, with different rooms and space to do the kind of experiments he swore he would never do again. This is just one room with some tables and chairs and small machines, where he couldn’t hide two children even if he wanted to.

It’s a small room, so Papyrus only needs a moment to see what’s sitting on the table by the wall.

A tube.

Not as big as the tubes they were made in. But kind of like it. Small enough to pick up. Filled with blue liquid, and … something white in the center.

Papyrus walks the rest of the way down the stairs and crosses the room to stand in front of it.

He frowns.

Well. At least now he’s sure where the piece of Dad’s foot went.

And the piece of …

It takes Papyrus only a second to figure out what it is, but another ten for him to accept it. Because he’s only ever seen souls in their whole form. Full hearts. Sometimes chipped or cracked but otherwise whole.

Not just a tiny piece, floating next to the piece of Dad’s foot, like it’s bound to it.

Papyrus stares.

He stares for a very long time.

He looks at the bone. At the soul. 

At the tube that looks too familiar to be comfortable.

Dad punched a hole in his foot.

Dad carved off a piece of his soul.

Dad put them together in the same blue liquid that Papyrus and his brother were grown in. The liquid Sans went back to for healing or certain tests. The liquid that would nourish and grow whatever was put inside it.

Dad never told him how he made them, when he asked. But it’s been years since then, and Papyrus can put pieces together.

He’s seen pictures of Dad before they were born. He’s seen his hands, before the holes. 

There are two holes in Dad’s hands. And he made two skeletons from them.

This time … there’s only one.

There’s only one because … because …

Dad doesn’t want more kids. Papyrus thinks it took him a while to even decide he wanted them. Dad doesn’t really like doing dad stuff and he said making them was painful and the whole reason he made them was because he wanted them for tests but he doesn’t do that stuff anymore.

There’s only one.

There’s only …

“bro?”

Papyrus turns around.

Sans is there, on the stairs, making his way down. He looks worried. Not worried about Dad, though. If he was worried about Dad, he’d be upstairs.

But he’s down here. With Papyrus. Walking across the room with wide eyes and a tense smile.

“asgore called, he said something happened. i was over at tori’s so i was close, what—” 

He stops, right at Papyrus’s side.

And his eyes lock on the blue tube Papyrus must have been blocking when he came in.

Sans stares, his eyelights shrinking to pinpricks, his smile so tight it looks like it hurts his face.

“what is that?” he asks. His voice sounds very far away.

Papyrus looks back to the tube. He stares at it, like he wants to make sure that he and Sans are seeing the same thing. Like he wants to make sure all of this is real.

“IT’S PART OF HIS FOOT,” he says at last. He works his mouth a few times, then swallows. “AND … PART OF HIS SOUL.”

Sans looks between him and the tube a few times. His brow bone is scrunched together.

“why? why would he …”

He stops.

Papyrus isn’t looking at him, but he can still make out the tiny shifts in his expression as he puts the pieces together. As he works out the same thing Papyrus did, probably with more pieces than Papyrus has, because Dad has always told Sans things he never told him.

“what, does he think he’s gonna do it all again?” Sans spits, turning to stare at the tube with so much venom it almost hurts. “just make another one so he can start the project back up? the barrier’s broken and he’s still gonna—”

“SANS.” 

Again, Sans stops.

He looks at Papyrus, but Papyrus keeps his eyes forward. His face feels oddly even, impossibly calm, even though he feels anything but.

“THERE’S ONLY ONE,” he says. 

Sans’s browbone scrunches. “i know … i know, bro, but i don’t—”

“THERE’S ONLY ONE … BECAUSE I SAID I WANTED ONE BABY.”

Sans blinks.

He looks at the tube. To Papyrus. Back to the tube.

And he sees what Papyrus sees for the first time.

His shoulders fall. His eyelights go out completely. He stands there and he stares, silent and lost. Papyrus reaches over and takes his hand, and Sans gives it a small, shaky squeeze.

Neither of them move for a very long time.

But when they finally go back upstairs, Papyrus carries the tube with him.

Chapter Text

For most of his life, Papyrus didn’t really like sleeping.

He’s not really sure why. It was just one of those things that was always true for him. Sleeping meant that he wasn’t getting anything done—even back in the cell, when there really wasn’t much to do. A little later on, sleeping meant that he wasn’t awake to watch over his brother, to make sure that he was safe and unhurt. Later still, there was a whole big world to explore—the underground, then the surface—and why would he sleep when there was so much to do?

But now … sleeping isn’t quite so bad.

Maybe because, even though Toriel says Flora is an “exceptionally energetic four-year-old,” she still sleeps a lot. Maybe because she doesn’t like going to bed for the night unless Papyrus is with her. And maybe, just a teensy, tiny bit, it’s because Papyrus is just the smallest bit more tired nowadays than he used to be before.

Just a bit.

But mostly the other things.

Getting ready for bed is nice, too. They don’t have a strict routine, but it’s all familiar, in a warm and cozy kind of way. Flora has a fun time playing in the bath, even if she tends to splash water everywhere, and she has a lot of pajamas—half of them handmade by Toriel, half of them store-bought clothes customized by the Great Papyrus—so she enjoys picking out which ones she wants to wear. Sans has kept up the bedtime story routine, because he’s really very good at it, and their book collection has grown immensely now that they have someone else to read to.

Flora doesn’t usually fall asleep during the story, though. Just like Papyrus, she likes to stay up to listen to the whole thing. Only then does she finally start getting tired enough to properly wind down.

And now is right about that time, with everyone in their pajamas and the book returned to the shelf. Papyrus is sitting on the bed, just about to help Flora into her spot to sleep, when she sits up, eyes wide, like she just remembered something extremely important.

“OH! WAIT!” She jumps off the bed and scampers across the room. “GOTTA PUT DA ANIMALS TO SLEEP TOO.”

“oh yeah?” Sans asks, leaning back against the bed frame with a lazy, content smile.

Flora reaches her stuffed animal collection, then turns and gives Sans a very serious nod.

“YEAH! THEY NEED HUGS!”

She then proceeds to start her nightly routine of hugging each and every one of her stuffed animals. Always in a different order, because she doesn’t want to play favorites. Sans chuckles, and his eyelights soften.

“she’s so much like you,” he says, a little quieter, so only Papyrus can hear.

Papyrus’s chest feels warm. “YES.”

“you’ve given her a lot, too.”

Papyrus huffs and holds back an eye roll.

“I KNOW SHE HAS A LOT OF TOYS, SANS, BUT I DON’T THINK THAT’S—”

“i don’t mean the toys,” Sans cuts in. Papyrus turns to him, frowning. Sans shrugs. “or, well. i don’t mean just the toys.” 

He looks around the bedroom. It’s a lot bigger than any of their rooms before now, because they helped pick out the house, and they knew that three people would stay here until Flora is ready for her own room. Even though Sans had a separate bedroom at their old house, he never really used it, so they didn’t bother with making one this time. They just expanded the racecar bed and added higher railings so Flora couldn’t roll off in her sleep—though they’ve honestly done more good for Sans than for her.

More space means more room for toys, and another bookshelf, and a large area on the floor for Flora to play, even though she usually plays in the living room. She already had a lot of toys even before she was born—both gifts and things Papyrus found in the baby store—and her collection has only grown since then, to the point that they’ve had to start putting some of her toys in storage.

She’ll be turning five in a few months, and that’s bound to be a big party with lots of presents. She’ll have even more toys after that.

“but i’m not gonna complain about how much she’s got,” Sans goes on, drawing Papyrus’s attention back to him. “we woulda loved all this stuff.”

Papyrus’s face softens, even though his chest hurts at the reminder of where they used to be.

“YES. I PICKED SOME OF THEM OUT BECAUSE … I THOUGHT WE WOULD HAVE HAD FUN WITH THEM.” 

The puzzles, especially. He bought three different color cubes, and a lot of things with bright colors and loud noises that Dad didn’t like when they lived with him.

“SHE LIKES MOST OF THEM,” Papyrus says. “NOT ALL OF THEM. BUT … I’M GLAD SHE CAN NOT LIKE SOME OF THEM. I’M GLAD SHE HAS CHOICES.”

Sans hums, his eyes still following Flora across the room.

She finishes up her stuffed-animal-goodnight routine and runs back across the room, clambering up onto the bed between Papyrus and Sans.

“ALL DONE!” she says, pointing at her well-hugged stuffed animals. 

Papyrus beams. “GOOD FOR YOU!”

“you like all your stuffed animals?” Sans asks. 

Flora’s face lights up. 

“UH-HUH!”

“your mom’s pretty great for getting you so many, huh?” Sans goes on, his smile even wider. He gives Papyrus a quick glance. “the best mom.”

“YEAH!” Flora shrieks, clapping her hands and turning her beaming smile toward Papyrus. “BEST MOM!”

Papyrus’s cheekbones flush. He pulls her into a tight hug, bonking his teeth against the top of her head. She giggles and hugs him back. Sans watches all of it with soft, fond eyes.

Once they’ve gotten their fill of hugs, they start rearranging themselves in their usual bedtime spots. Even with the new, upgraded racecar bed, it can still get a little cramped—especially since Flora likes to move around in her sleep. Despite the railings on all the other sides, she sleeps closest to the wall, with all the cracks next to the bed carefully filled as Toriel instructed when she was a baby. Papyrus sleeps in the middle, and Sans is on the outer side. It’s not all that different from how they used to sleep, but Papyrus likes it a lot more.

Not that he didn’t love sleeping next to just Sans. He did! It was one of his favorite things. It’s still one of his favorite things.

It’s more like Flora … opened up a whole new world of good things that Papyrus never could have dreamed of before. And now he gets to sleep close to his two favorite people in the whole world who he loves more than he ever knew he could love, and he gets that every single night.

It’s one of the many, many things he never imagined before he became a mom.

“UNCLE SANS?” Flora asks as she moves toward the head of the bed.

Sans turns. “yeah, lia?”

“IS THE PILLOW FLUFFY ENOUGH?”

“the pillow?” he asks, half of his brow bone raised.

“YEAH!” She points at the pillow closest to him—there are two now. “I FLUFFED IT EARLIER! TRY IT.”

Sans chuckles, but shrugs.

“okay then.”

He shifts away from his usual spot on the edge and, rather than lying down on the pillow like he really should, he sits right on top of it. Papyrus frowns and starts to tell him that pillows are not for sit—

Pffffffffft!

Both of them freeze.

The fart sound sputters and dies out. 

And Flora breaks down into hysterical laughter.

Sans and Papyrus stare, Papyrus open-mouthed, Sans wide-eyed, for a very long time as Flora’s laughter fills the room. It’s Papyrus’s favorite sound in the entire world, but now all he can focus on is the prank that his very own daughter put together.

Only as her laughter is finally starting to fade does Sans blink. His eyelights grow to twice their normal size, and for a few seconds, they actually flicker into stars.

He smiles so wide it looks like he’s going to split his face in two.

“look at you,” he says, putting both hands on Flora’s shoulders and beaming down at her. “you’re the best, you know that? right up there with your mom.”

Papyrus blinks, snapping out of his reverie. 

“SANS, STOP ENCOURAGING PRANKING!” he says, but can’t manage to put any weight behind it.

Sans just keeps smiling, Flora matching his grin.

“can’t help it, bro.” Sans shakes his head, a few more chuckles slipping out. “she got me with my own gag. this is the best day of my life.”

Flora smiles even wider, pointing one tiny finger at the middle of his face.

“GOT YOU!”

Sans snorts.

“yeah, yeah, you got me good. did you have that whoopee cushion under there this whole time? you little sneak, you got it without me even noticin.”

Flora giggles, clapping her hands together. Papyrus should really say something. Not to Flora, of course, but to Sans, for being such a bad influence. If he doesn’t say something now, his four-year-old daughter will probably grow up to be a terrible prankster like her uncle.

But he can’t. He looks at his brother, and he can’t say a word.

Because Sans looks so happy.

Papyrus has almost never seen Sans this happy before. But now … now he’s happy a lot more often. He’s happy when Flora says or does something for the first time. He’s happy when he’s holding her. He’s happy when they wake up from a nap together. He’s happy when she says a pun or giggles or, apparently, when she picks up his terrible pranking habits.

And … he’s part of her life. He’s there with her, every day. He loves her even more than Papyrus knew he would, and he makes her happy, too.

If that means Flora pranks people now and then … Papyrus thinks he can handle it.

It takes a long, long time to get Flora to stop giggling and Sans to stop beaming—not that Papyrus is that eager to get either of them to stop—but finally, they do, and the three of them settle into their usual spots on the bed. Papyrus lays on his back, and both of his favorite people snuggle in under his arms. Sans reaches a hand over his chest so he can poke Flora’s cheekbone. She giggles again and grabs his gloved hand with her own tiny, unmarred one. Sans’s whole face softens as he squeezes her hand in return.

“lights out,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

The voice-recognition system Alphys built still somehow picks it up, and the overhead lights dim and go out, replaced by the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered over the ceiling.

Flora hums. “NIGHT, SANS. NIGHT, MOMMY.”

“night, lia. night, bro,” Sans murmurs, his eyes already shut.

Papyrus’s chest warms.

“GOODNIGHT, BABYBONES. GOODNIGHT, BROTHER.”

Both of them snuggle closer, and rather than lying awake to watch the stars and think about the day, Papyrus closes his eyes, too. He swears he can feel the two bright souls on either side of him, safe and content.

And as he drifts off, he just wishes that little skeleton in the lab could see all of this, too.

Chapter Text

It’s three days before Papyrus visits Dad again.

He hears a lot about him in the meantime. Over the phone with Asgore, and with Toriel in person. And he wants to see him. He really does. He was worried, he was terrified, but every time he tries to walk out the door and get into his car, he just … can’t.

He looks at the tube he brought home, with the bone and the soul fragment inside, and he just can’t.

So he does what he always does. He keeps busy. He goes to work. He cleans the house. He cooks some of Toriel’s recipes. He nags Sans, and Sans makes a few too many puns, like he’s trying to help distract him.

He still spends too much time staring at the tube. The piece of bone still looks like a piece of a foot, without a particular form. He doesn’t know how long it will take to change.

And sometimes, at night, after Sans has fallen asleep against his side, Papyrus stares at the ceiling and thinks about everything Toriel told him.

Papyrus is the best healer, but Toriel is old. Very old. She knows how to read a monster’s health, because she’s had to, when Papyrus has only really had to worry about that with Sans.

She says Papyrus did a great job. The best job. She says that a lot, like she thinks he’s going to feel bad if she doesn’t say it. Like she thinks he’s going to blame himself for what happened.

She doesn’t know yet what he did. She knows about the hole in his foot, and the missing part of his soul, but she doesn’t know why.

She will soon, though.

Papyrus still isn’t sure if she’ll think it’s not his fault then.

She’s insistent about it now. She said Papyrus healed Dad better than any monster could have, even her, and that if he hadn’t … if he hadn’t, something much worse probably would have happened.

But it didn’t happen. Dad is alive, and he’s going to stay alive. At least, he will for a very long time.

He’s alive. He’s just … not the same.

Toriel says that his soul was already damaged. There were cracks in it that she’s pretty sure have been there for a long time, and when he took away more of it … he did a lot more damage. A healthy soul would be able to repair itself and get back to almost what it was before, but Dad’s soul wasn’t healthy. And even after healing, his soul is weaker. A lot weaker.

His health is worse, too.

Permanently, Toriel says.

She says … it’s like Sans. He can get as healthy as possible. He can be healed and try to get stronger. But the damage will never be undone.

He’ll have to be careful now, like Sans is careful. If something happens—or if he does something else like this—he probably won’t …

She doesn’t tell him what will happen. But Papyrus knows.

His body is different, too. Papyrus never noticed him acting weird because of the holes in his hands, but apparently it’s different with his feet. Or maybe he just wasn’t as careful. Either way, his left foot doesn’t work the same as his right one anymore. It doesn’t hold his weight the way it should, and he’s been using a big stick to help him get around. Toriel says he’ll need to look for a “cane.” 

He’ll never be able to run again. Probably for the rest of his life.

Papyrus doesn’t think Dad likes running very much. But the thought that he can’t , ever again …

Papyrus doesn’t cry. He’s feeling too much to cry right now. He looks at the tube and he thinks about what Dad’s life is going to be like now and he thinks about what his life is going to be like now and he doesn’t know how to sort through all the feelings. Sans doesn’t try to reassure him. Doesn’t try to tell him it’ll be okay, or that this is really a good thing. He sits with Papyrus. Hugs him. Sometimes he moves Papyrus so his head is lying in Sans’s lap and pets his head like he sometimes used to back in the cell. 

The cell feels like a world away now. But at the same time, it’s never felt closer.

On the fourth day, Papyrus calls off work—his boss is very, very surprised to hear that, but wishes him well—and goes to Asgore and Dad’s house instead. He parks his car in the driveway, just like he always has. When he goes to knock on the door, Asgore is already opening it, and he looks at Papyrus with warmth and sadness in his eyes that look older than Papyrus ever thought someone could be.

Then again … Asgore has lived a very long time. And he’s going to live a very long time yet.

Papyrus goes up to Dad’s bedroom without more than a few words. He knocks on the door, and waits ten seconds in silence before he opens it anyway.

And there’s Dad, sitting up in his bed.

Blankets tucked around him. A pillow behind his back. Still dressed in his usual white sweater.

There’s an empty plate and teacup on the nightstand.

Dad is staring at his hands, but Papyrus is sure he hears him walk in.

“HI, DAD,” he says, and his voice cracks, as hard as he tries to keep it steady.

Dad doesn’t say anything at first. He keeps staring at his hands. He looks almost the same as before with his foot covered, and awake instead of unconscious. But there’s something off about him. Something … more tired. He looks a little like Sans a while before he falls into one of his mini-comas.

Is Dad going to have mini-comas, too, now?

“You brought it back to your house, I assume?” Dad asks, very quietly, but loud enough to pull Papyrus’s attention back to the present.

Papyrus hesitates. He doesn’t know why.

“YES.” He clasps his hands together in front of him. “I PUT THEM IN MY ROOM.” 

He put them right next to his bed, so he can reach over and touch the glass at night. He’s started decorating the edges of the tube, too, and putting some stuffed animals nearby so they won’t be completely alone even when he and Sans aren’t there. They’re just a piece of bone and soul now, they can’t see or hear yet, but later …

He clears his throat.

“SANS … SANS GOT YOUR MACHINES SET UP SO THEY …”

He doesn’t finish, but Dad nods, like he knows what he means.

“Good. I thought he should be able to figure that out.” He looks over to the nightstand. There’s nothing on it except a lamp and his dishes, but he stares at it anyway. “I have another tube you can use later on during development and the magical fluid you’ll need to fill it. Other than that, care should be minimal until it—until they’re ready to be removed. I’m sure you’ll manage that fine.”

Papyrus doesn’t say anything. He knows what Dad is doing. It’s what Dad always does when he doesn’t want to talk about important stuff. He focuses on the facts. He focuses on things that can be controlled. Things that can be measured. He’s always been more comfortable with that.

But Dad also knows that’s not why Papyrus is here.

“WHY DID YOU DO IT?” Papyrus asks. His voice comes out a lot calmer than he expects it to. Maybe because he still feels kind of tired.

Dad still won’t look at him.

“You don’t have enough fused areas of your body for the procedure to be feasible.”

Papyrus clenches his hands into fists. “I WOULD HAVE FOUND A WAY!”

If he decided to do it. But he decided not to. He decided that months ago. He thought about it and he talked to Toriel and he learned … he wasn’t going to do it. He could have, because he could do whatever he put his mind to, but he decided he wouldn’t.

“Yes,” Dad says, huffing out a long breath. “Yes, you probably would have. It would have been excruciating and dangerous, but you would have, if you went through with it.”

Papyrus’s hands relax at his sides.

“SO … WHY DIDN’T YOU LET ME?”

Dad looks down at the floor.

“You weren’t going to anyway,” he says, and Papyrus frowns. So at least Dad knows that part. “But you still wanted to … have a child.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU HAD TO DO IT!” Papyrus says, his voice raising with his emotions. He could have adopted. Toriel adopted. He thought it would be fun to raise a baby skeleton but that doesn’t mean he had to raise a baby skeleton. 

Dad’s face doesn’t change. “No, it doesn’t.”

Papyrus pauses. He was kind of expecting more of an argument. But Dad doesn’t look like he wants to argue. He doesn’t look like he wants to do anything. Maybe he’s still tired. He looks more tired than Papyrus has ever seen him.

“SO WHY?” Papyrus asks, quiet once again.

Dad doesn’t say anything for a long time. He looks down at his hands in his lap. He looks so helpless lying in bed like this. It’s hard to believe that this was the same skeleton who used to hurt them so much. Who used to seem so powerful. Papyrus wonders when he got strong enough to make Dad look not so powerful anymore. He wonders whether being strong enough is what made that change.

“We are the only three skeletons in existence,” Dad says at last. “There are no other ways for more to be made, and your brother would die if he attempted it.” 

Papyrus flinches. He knows that, but it’s the first time anyone has said it out loud.

Dad sighs.

“Without children, the two of you are immortal, and if you had one … you would age. You would age and die and leave your brother behind, and we both know you weren’t going to do that.” 

Papyrus blinks a few times. He can feel the beginnings of tears in his sockets, but he doesn’t want to cry right now.

Finally, Dad lifts his head. It looks like it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever done. He meets Papyrus’s eyes, and he looks so tired it almost hurts to see.

“I’m already aging,” he says. “I’ve been aging since the two of you were … born. This changes nothing.”

Papyrus stares back at him. His sockets are still burning a little. He blinks a few times, but the tears don’t go away. He shakes his head.

“SO … YOU JUST WANTED THERE TO BE MORE SKELETONS?”

“No,” Dad says, a little harsher.

Papyrus’s brow bone scrunches. “SO …”

Dad breaks his gaze again. He looks at his hands, twisting them in his lap. Papyrus isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to knowing where the holes came from. Dad looks at the missing bone, and his face shifts into something Papyrus can only call sad. 

“You deserve … the chance to raise a skeleton child. And this is the only way for that to happen.” 

His hands curl in, hiding the holes. He takes a long breath.

“It will make no difference to the … to the child,” he goes on. “They will still be yours. You’ll still raise them, without my influence. They don’t have to know how they came to be. They … shouldn’t know.”

The first tears fall down Papyrus’s cheekbones. He doesn’t bother to fight them anymore. His breath hitches, and his hands curl and relax, and he shakes his head, like that’s going to change any of this. Like it’s going to stop it from being true.

“BUT …” He swallows. More tears fall. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO …”

He looks down. He watches the tears drip off of his jaw and fall down the floor. He tries to keep his breathing steady, but it still shakes.

“Papyrus.” 

Papyrus doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to see Dad sitting there, weaker than he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to be reminded that Dad will always be weaker now. That, just like Sans, something could just come by and … take him away forever.

That even if it doesn’t, he’ll keep getting older.

And older.

And older.

Papyrus feels the eyes on him, and finally lifts his head.

Dad stares back at him, with a mix of sternness and sympathy that Papyrus doesn’t think he’s ever seen.

“One day, I’m going to die,” he says, the words driving deep into Papyrus’s soul. “It probably won’t be anytime soon. But one day, I will.” 

Papyrus presses his teeth together, but he keeps his eyes ahead. Dad’s shoulders fall. He folds his hands in his lap, one hole over the other.

“And you, your brother, and … your child will be the ones to carry on skeleton kind.” 

He pauses, like he thinks Papyrus might say something. But Papyrus doesn’t. He can’t come up with a single word. 

Dad’s next breath comes out heavier, and he nods, like he’s nodding to himself.

“It’s best that way.” Finally, he looks down, his fingers curling against the blankets. “I’m sure you’ll do much better than I have.”

Papyrus wants to tell him that he won’t. That Dad has done a good job, even if it took him a long time to get there. He wants to say that, but the words won’t come out.

Because Papyrus is a bad liar.

He loves Dad. He loves him so much, but … he knows that Dad doesn’t really like being their dad. He knows what dads act like, and what moms act like, and other parents, too. He’s seen so many of them now, and they aren’t like Dad.

And when Papyrus thinks of the kind of mom he wants to be … it doesn’t look anything like what Dad has done.

But he still loves Dad. He loves him, and he doesn’t want to lose him. But he will lose him one day. He’ll lose him, and then it’ll just be Papyrus and Sans and … a brand new skeleton. 

A brand new skeleton who will grow up with a mom and an uncle who love them very much. Who take good care of them and play with them and never hurt them. And a dad … grandpa? … who … who …

Papyrus swallows and sets his face into a hard line, staring straight ahead.

“PROMISE ME YOU’LL BE THERE.”

Dad lifts his head. He blinks a few times, then lowers his brow bone. 

“What?”

“PROMISE ME YOU’LL BE IN THEIR LIFE,” Papyrus goes on, holding himself taller, his hands curled into fists at his sides, like he does when he wants to look brave. “PROMISE ME … THAT THEY’LL KNOW YOU. I WANT THEM TO KNOW YOU.”

Dad stares. He doesn’t look all that surprised. Papyrus doesn’t really know what he looks instead.

He stares at Papyrus, then lets out another long, heavy breath.

“If that’s what you want.”

Papyrus lifts his chin. “I DO.”

Dad doesn’t say anything.

They stay there for a long, long time. After a while, Papyrus pulls up a chair next to Dad’s bed and takes his hand to heal him further, and Dad lets him, staring at his other hand resting in his lap. The green glow is familiar and warm, but can’t quite fight the cold of the air around them.

Neither of them say another word.

Chapter Text

Toriel says that Papyrus might be going just a tiny bit overboard for Flora’s fifth birthday party.

Papyrus still thinks that he could do better. But Flora has already said that this is the best birthday party she ever could have hoped for, so Papyrus will take that as a success.

And he did spend a lot of time working on it. Making all the decorations by hand. Finding the best recipe for a cake and baking it with Toriel, since she has the most cake-making experience of anyone in the family. Picking out the perfect gifts and wrapping them with skeleton-themed wrapping paper. Making invitations for all the guests, and gift bags, and birthday games.

Hiring someone to make balloon animals.

Renting a bounce house.

He almost got a band, but Toriel talked him out of that. He still thinks he should have gone for it, though. Flora loves bands. Even if the backyard is already a bit cramped with the bounce house and the balloon animals and the games and twenty children and their parents. And the entire family.

Toriel, of course, is currently inside making some extra snacks. Undyne and Alphys are running a ring-tossing game with great enthusiasm—while Flora sits on Undyne’s shoulders and cheers on her friends. Sans is doing what he calls “supervising,” but is really just sitting on a lawn chair. Frisk is playing with the children, even if they’re no longer one themself. Asgore is letting the younger ones climb on him.

And … Dad is sitting on the opposite side of the yard, away from the children and anyone else.

Not saying or doing anything. Not even really watching the party. Just sitting there.

He got here over an hour ago—right after the presents were opened and the cake cut—but Papyrus is still a little surprised. Dad’s been invited to all of Flora’s birthday parties so far, but … he’s never shown up. He sends a gift—usually something very simple that doesn’t really match Flora’s tastes—or he just sends money for Papyrus to buy her something. Last year, Papyrus saw him poke his head around the gate of the backyard, but not long enough for Papyrus to even think of starting a conversation.

Not long enough for Flora to notice him.

But there he is now, sitting in the corner of the yard, under the shadow of a big tree. Flora asked about building a treehouse in it a few weeks ago, and Papyrus is already looking into how to make one. The shade keeps Dad out of sight of most of the children—though all the cake and games probably help with that, too. A few have noticed him, but his expression isn’t exactly the friendliest one, and all of them have run off before they could get too close.

Papyrus said hello, of course. He gave Dad a hug, which was a little awkward because he was sitting down. And he’s smiled and waved a few more times when he looks over and Dad meets his eyes. But that’s it.

He hasn’t said anything else to him, and Dad hasn’t moved. 

Papyrus tries to distract himself, because this is his daughter’s fifth birthday party, and she’ll never have another one, so he’s going to make it special. It doesn’t matter if he’s feeling just a little bit conflicted. He can deal with that later. For now, he talks to the guests and helps organize activities and makes sure everyone is having a good time.

And they are! Several of the other parents have told him how happy their children are to be here, and Papyrus has told them how happy he and Flora are that they could make it. He’s happy that she has so many friends. She’s good at making friends. She’s never wondered what it’s like to have a lot of friends because she’s always had lots and lots of people who love her, and who never hesitate to tell her so.

She’s happy.

She’s five years old, and she’s happy.

It’s everything he ever wanted. It’s all he could ever hope for.

He smiles to himself after he checks in on the bounce house and the five children—plus Frisk—inside it. She’s happy. He’s helped make her happy. Lots of people tell him he’s doing well, but … maybe he doesn’t need that. Because his daughter is happy, and that’s all the proof he needs.

He turns back toward the ring-tossing station, toward Undyne and Alphys and Flora, toward her bright eyes and happy smile and—

He stops, his eyes locked on Undyne.

His smile falls.

Flora’s not on her shoulders.

She was there a minute ago. Two minutes ago? Maybe three. Definitely no more than three.

He’s moving before he can think, weaving his way around the other children and their parents and toward the ring-tossing station. Alphys notices him first and waves, then frowns when she sees his expression. She pokes Undyne’s arm, and Undyne, currently shouting encouragement at a child throwing rings, blinks and turns to face him.

“UNDYNE?” he asks.

She gives him the same look as Alphys. Worried, and a little confused. “Yeah?”

“WHERE’S FLORA?”

“Oh yeah,” Undyne says. “She got bored of shoulder rides and went to play with some friends.”

Papyrus huffs a breath that he wants to be relieved, but which isn’t actually very relieved at all.

“THANK YOU!”

Undyne smiles, and he smiles back, but as soon as he turns away, his smile slips.

That’s fine. Of course it’s fine. Flora knows not to leave the yard without letting him know. She’s fine. She’s with a lot of her friends and adults who care about her. She’s fine, and he doesn’t need to worry.

He can’t see her.

He moves a little faster, turns his head to search the yard. Was it always this big? Were there always this many people? Flora’s grown so much, but she’s still small, and there are so many taller people here. Yellow dress. She’s wearing a yellow dress that Toriel made her two months ago. He can find that. Yellow dress. Yellow dress. Yellow—

There.

He sees her.

She’s stepping away from the main crowd, maybe twenty feet away from him. 

She’s walking toward the corner of the yard.

Toward the tree.

Toward … Dad.

Papyrus freezes.

And for a second, all he can do is watch. Only a second. But that second is all Flora needs to walk the rest of the way across the yard.

Only when she’s less than five feet away does Dad’s head finally jerk up, the movement yanking him out of his own mind.

His good eye locks on Flora.

He freezes, too.

Papyrus starts moving, but stops before he can get too close.

Dad stares.

Flora grins.

“HI!”

Dad blinks. He looks at Papyrus, then back at Flora, like he’s expecting something to happen.

But Papyrus just waits. Dad meets Flora’s eyes, his brow bone creased.

“Hello.”

Flora’s face lights up as she reads his words. She bounces in place.

“YOUR FONT’S DIFFERENT!” she shouts, pointing toward the spot where she must see his words. “S’LIKE MINE!”

Dad follows her finger. He’s still frowning, but his expression softens, just a bit. “Yes, I suppose it’s similar.”

“DO YOU GOTTA SIGN, TOO?” Flora asks.

Papyrus barely notices he’s holding his breath. Dad looks at him again, but Papyrus just keeps watching. Dad breathes a sigh.

“With other monsters, yes.”

Flora bounces some more. “SHOW ME!”

Half of Dad’s brow bone lifts. “Alright.”

His magic hands appear just above his head, signing a few simple phrases. Flora’s mouth falls open, and she follows each sign like she’s watching the most incredible thing in the world.

“YOU GOT BONUS HANDS!” she all but squeals. 

Dad blinks a few times. His frown is almost gone. “Yes.”

She moves closer to him. “HOW?”

“They’re magic.”

“I WANNA MAKE ‘EM TOO!” She’s bounces around in a circle, like she always does when she’s excited. “SHOW ME HOW!”

Dad presses his teeth together. He hesitates. 

“It’s … it’s easier when you’re older and have more experience.”

Flora stills. She gives him a face that’s close to, but not quite, a pout.

“PLEASE?”

Papyrus watches. Part of him wants to step in before Dad says something mean. He wants to step in before …

He doesn’t know.

But another part of him, a much older part of him, wants to wait. That part of him believed in Dad even when he did bad things almost all the time. That part of him believed in Dad until he really did do good things. Even if it wasn’t a lot of good things, it was a lot less bad things, and that still meant the world.

For five years, Papyrus has listened to the first part of him. The part of him that only thinks of his daughter. The part of him that only wants to protect her. The part of him that needs to be there, because there are bad things in the world, and Flora is too small to handle them on her own.

But now, the older part is a little louder. It’s a little louder because … Flora is older. Flora is making her own choices. Flora wants to see who Dad is. To talk to him. And Papyrus is close. Close enough to grab her before anything bad happens.

He waits.

Dad is silent for what feels like a long time, and Flora stares at him, her expression unshifting.

Dad sighs.

“Very well.”

And … he does.

Papyrus doesn’t pay much attention to the actual words. He just watches as his dad talks and his daughter listens, and asks questions, and stares at Dad’s magic hands. He watches them interact like there hasn’t been a wall between them for the past five years. Maybe not like grandpa and granddaughter, but … something good. Something entirely their own.

He doesn’t know how long they talk. How long Flora does her best to mimic what Dad does and says.

But suddenly, in what seems like no time at all, something blue flickers in front of Flora’s face.

And two wobbly, hand-like shapes fade into view.

Papyrus stares. Dad stares.

Flora beams.

“I DID IT!” she all but screams. She turns around, scanning the yard before her eyes land on him. She waves with both of her real hands—and one of her magic ones. “MOMMY! MOMMY, LOOK! I DID IT!”

And Papyrus is already beaming right back, his eyes bright, and suddenly nothing matters but seeing his baby bones so happy. Seeing her achieve something, seeing her so proud of it, seeing her happy and confident from something she learned.

“YOU DID IT!” he calls back.

“I DID IT!” she screams again.

“YOU DID IT!” he shouts, even louder than before.

She squeals and does a few twirls, her dress flying out around her. Her magic hands fizzle and disappear, but she doesn’t seem to mind. When she finally calms down enough to try again, the magic hands return—just a little more stable than last time.

Dad sits there, watching all of this with a face that Papyrus hasn’t seen in a long time. A face he’s only gotten a few glimpses of over the years since they left the lab. A soft face he saw once, before the plates, when his brother was asleep and Papyrus reached out in assurance.

His smile is small, but very, very real.

Flora spends another few minutes trying out her magic hands. Dad gives her a few tips, his voice quiet—maybe not friendly, but not mean either. It’s a little like Papyrus has seen Dad talk to Alphys when he’s showing her something new. Patient. Proud.

“I SEEN YOU BEFORE,” Flora says, when the magic hands stop being so exciting that she can’t focus on anything else.

Dad tilts his head. The smile remains. “Yes, you have.”

“I ASKED UNCLE SANS ‘BOUT YOU.”

Dad’s smile disappears. He doesn’t quite frown, but he does glance across the yard. Papyrus follows his gaze and finds Sans, sitting in his lawn chair. His eyes are locked on Dad, his expression carefully even. Papyrus once would have told him to stop being creepy, but … it’s a little reassuring, to know that his brother is watching out for his daughter, too.

“Did you?” Dad asks.

“YEAH,” Flora says, with a decisive and serious nod. “HE SAID YOU’RE OLD AS BALLS.”

It’s probably a good thing Dad never got a drink, because if he did, Papyrus thinks he would have spat it out.

He does choke a little—maybe on air?—blinking his good eye a few times while Flora stares back at him.

“Did … he.”

“YEAH.” Flora nods again, just as serious. Then she frowns. “WHAT’S OLD AS BALLS?”

Dad looks at Papyrus with what Papyrus can only call a pleading look. Papyrus doesn’t know what to say, so he looks at Sans.

Sans, who is currently grinning wide enough to split his face in two, his laughter muffled but still incredibly obvious.

Papyrus looks back to Dad. Dad’s expression falls, and he looks back to Flora.

“It’s … very old.”

“HOW OLD?” she asks.

He breathes out again. “Very old.”

“LIKE TWENTY?”

Dad blinks. “Older than twenty.”

“WOW,” Flora says, sockets blown wide. “THAT’S OLD AS BALLS!”

Dad doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Flora doesn’t mind.

She goes back to practicing her magic hands. She summons them and lets them go, sometimes only summoning one and focusing on it, sometimes summoning two and finding new fun tricks to do with them.

And the whole time, Dad watches. He answers her questions when she has them, but mostly he just watches her practice. He watches her with an expression that Papyrus can only call “happy pain.” Like he’s glad he’s here now, seeing this, but also like it reminds him of everything he never saw before.

Everything he lost, and everything he pushed away.

Papyrus watches, too. He watches Flora, and he watches Dad, and he’s not really sure how he feels about it. Maybe what he’s feeling is “happy pain,” too, for what he has now and what he never had when he was young. For the fact that Flora reached out, all on her own, and the fact that Papyrus can’t fully shake the echoes of fear in his bones.

But maybe … maybe that’s alright.

Maybe, just like Sans will never really forgive Dad, it’s okay if Papyrus never forgets what happened.

How much he was hurt.

And how he needs to protect his daughter now.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay with Flora spending time with him alone. He doesn’t like it, but … but maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay that Papyrus can forgive, but can never really trust him again.

Maybe it’s okay for him to never forget how much he was hurt.

Maybe it’s okay, when he has someone so important to protect.

Maybe it’s okay to let Flora get to know him like a stranger while her mom and her uncle watch from nearby. When she wants to. If she wants to.

Because … Flora is her own person, with her own life. If she wants to get to know Dad—as a stranger, as her grandpa, as another skeleton, or maybe even the person who made her—that’s her choice.

Papyrus will be there to protect her no matter what.

“MOMMY!” Flora calls out, waving to get his attention. “CAN YOU DO BONUS HANDS, TOO?”

Papyrus blinks. He looks at Dad, then back to Flora, stepping closer.

“UM … NO, FLORA. I NEVER LEARNED.”

Flora beams and waves again, this time toward herself. “C’MERE! I SHOW YOU!”

So Papyrus does. He closes the rest of the space between him and his daughter and takes a seat against the fence, next to Dad. Flora summons two magic hands, both of them still wobbly, but even sturdier than last time. It probably won’t be long at all before she’ll be able to sign with them.

“You’re … very talented, Flora,” Dad says. The words are hesitant. Awkward. Like he doesn’t know how to say them. But he’s not lying. He means them. He really, really means them.

He looks at Papyrus, his face pained but soft.

“You have a good mother.”

“YEAH!” Flora agrees, and turns to face him with a wide, beaming grin. “BEST MOM!”

Papyrus smiles back at her, tears prickling at the edges of his sockets. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, but he thinks she understands.

She’s always known how much he loves her.

Flora starts explaining what Dad explained to her. How to focus magic into hands. How to shape them and control them. Her wording is different—he thinks—and she forgets steps, and it’s all perfectly and beautifully her own. And Dad watches her with one soft eye, fonder now that he doesn’t think anyone is watching.

Papyrus looks at his daughter. At his dad. At his brother, always there, even at a distance.

He looks at his strange, imperfect, precious family.

It won’t last forever.

Sometimes it’s complicated.

There are memories that can never be erased. Things that can never be undone.

But it’s his. The one he’s fought so hard to bring together. To raise. To keep.

And he wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.