Chapter Text
It was not a particularly good use of his time, and Edge knew it. There were a thousand things that needed doing in Underfell, people who relied on them for the tenuous safety he and his lazy brother could win for them with tooth and claw and magic. But…
But Red was safe, enjoying a few hours with his new friends as much as his scarred soul would allow him to. Snowdin was, if not safe, at least stable; the Dogi were competent and loyal, his traps were a vicious bulwark against incursion, and fewer bellies were gnawing in impotent hunger than at any point in living memory thanks to recent improvements in their supply lines. Undyne held Waterfall and The Bay. It was acceptable, as he had been reminded by certain of their alternates, for him to take a night off from his endless duties once in a while. Acceptable, and optimal - as Blue had pointed out to him, occasional leisure time lubricated the mental processes and led to better attentiveness and creativity in the long run.
So, Edge had allotted himself one evening per fortnight wherein he disengaged from his beleaguered world and pursued his own interests. Often, he would travel to Underswap to participate in Blue's cooking nights. That had been… something of a revelation. To imagine that his alternates had such ready supplies of nutritious food that they could experiment with them. Edge had come up in the world striving to produce the greatest amount of food from what meagre ingredients his brother was able to procure through semi-legitimate dealings. Their pantry was full of emergency broths, curries, and savoury breads. Only for the most special occasions could he scrounge up the requisite noodles, sauces, cheese and screw-back spikes required to assemble a lasagne masterpiece.
But as mesmerizing as Blue and Papyrus's creations could be, Edge had skipped tonight's gala to spend the evening in glorious solitude as he attended to his other hobby.
Miniature painting required a deft hand and a clever mind, particularly here in Underfell. Even with their newfound connections it was near-impossible to get the requisite selection of purpose-made paints and tiny brushes, but Edge had learned to make do with what he could find in the dump or fabricate himself.
Tonight was set aside to work on one of his most favourite tasks. His mismatched troops were all painted and ready to be displayed, he had only to decorate the their tiny territories; tonight he made bases.
He had already meticulously cut a series of precise squares from whatever suitable materials he had been able to acquire over the past weeks. Now he sat at their kitchen table - carefully shrouded in a paint-spattered drop cloth - surrounded by numerous small containers of sand, sawdust, liberated carpet fibres, pine needles from the forest… an entire buffet of choices for creating visual verisimilitude in his miniature army.
He was just beginning to layer pebbles onto the base for his harlequin farseer when he heard the banging.
His brother's machine was, as far as he could tell, not entirely a construction of logic. One of its odd qualities was that the various alarming sounds it produced never quite sounded like they were coming from the correct place. Today, the sharp, echoing pop sounded like it came from inside their unplugged fridge. A moment later, the parallel clicks of a shortcut announced that his brother, or possibly one of their alternates who shared his brother's slothful aptitude for teleportation, had materialized upstairs.
Edge carefully sealed his glue bottle and returned the container of pebbles to its assigned place between its siblings. Red was not due back for hours yet; it was possible that he had simply returned to retrieve some inane geegaw from the trash heap he called his bedroom for the entertainment of his idiot cohorts. But it was also possible that something had occurred that would require his attention. And if it was one of the adjacent reality chucklefucks boldly trespassing in his home, well, that would require a certain amount of attention as well.
Edge crept up the stairs, silent and careful.
His sharp earholes easily picked up the sounds of fabric rustling coming from beyond his own closed bedroom door, accompanied by the familiar sound of muttered curses in his brother's basso growl.
Edge kicked the door open.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM, RED, YOU MISERABLE, UNDERCOOKED CRE-"
Edge took in the sight of his brother, arms loaded with not-their-blankets, hunched over Edge's narrow bed that was already stacked high with pillows and fleeces and any number of soft things. Red flinched at the sound of the door smashing into the adjacent wall and dropped his armful of blankets. Crimson magic flared around his sharp fingertips, ready to be sculpted into an attack, but his eyelights were huge and fuzzy in his sweat-streaked face.
"hi paps," Red said neutrally. He seemed to be unaware of the way his chest was heaving like he just ran here from New Home.
"AH," said Edge. He began the three-stage process of removing his indoor boots.
"good, boss. you get comfy up here. i gotta go check the traps."
Grumbling, Edge stood his footwear nearly at attention at the end of the bed and crawled into his brother's hastily compiled nest. Experience had taught him that there really wasn't much use in trying to talk his brother out of his seasonal urge to coddle. It wasn't that he couldn't overrule his brother in this matter if he truly wanted to. Once, early on, he had insisted that Red was being ridiculous and asserted his right to go about his life as normal regardless of whatever magical imbalance his snaggletoothed gargoyle of a brother was currently enduring. He had felt quite proud of asserting his leadership role - after all exactly which of their throats was decorated with a collar here? Yes, he had felt proud, right up until he came back from his scheduled patrol to find his older brother miserably huddled up on the living room couch, his claws chewed ragged and his eyelights pale with worry. The way Red's face had crumpled with relief when he stepped through the door, shameful crimson tears welling up in his sockets…
Well. Edge couldn't allow that to occur again. It was too embarrassing (painful) for both of them.
So, though the sloth of it all made Edge's soul itch, he settled himself into the blankets and pillows. Downstairs, he could hear miscellaneous thumps and crackles as Red prowled around the house, refreshing the Intent on the household wards and checking their more mundane defences. It was familiar, restful almost. Not unendurable by any means, as long as it was only a few times per year.
His phone chimed on the nightstand. Not his regular chime, but the one that indicated a call that routed through the machine.
It was an incoming video call. Edge held the phone above him and accepted. The weird wail of a cross-universe connection resolved into his brother's handsome idiot friends.
They were just staring at him. The adorably short one said "um."
Edge would have thought that his time was already at the greatest degree of wastedness it could attain and was not pleased to be corrected.
"YES? WHAT IS IT?" he demanded politely. "YOU ARE INTERRUPTING THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS'S SEMI ANNUAL NAP."
Sans was barely in the camera's field of view, standing on his tiptoes to appear in the same frame as Stretch (or, as Edge liked to think of him, Tall Sans). "sorry to bother you edge," not sorry enough if you are doing it, "it's just that red was here this evening and he, kinda ran away?"
The gracefully tall one added, "forgot his weed and everything."
Edge felt a moment of irritated confusion. Was it somehow not obvious to them that Red had retreated to his inner sanctum to wait out his thaumic imbalance? Surely, they had not known Red for a particularly long time but the signs should be obvious to anyone at this point. Not even Red perspired quite that profusely without some kind of instigating circumstance.
He chose his words carefully. "OH! IS THAT ALL. YOU MAY CATEGORIZE YOUR CONCERNS AS UNJUSTIFIED." There, that should put an end to it.
Except that it did not. Sans kept talking. "so, did he go home? is he gonna come back tonight…?"
Edge bristled. Was the cute little idiot actually trying to imply that Edge would leave his heat-addled brother to their tender mercies!? The scandal!
He answered their impudent questions in order. "YES, AND HELL NO.'
The tall pretty one spoke up. "look, could you like maybe try 'n' explain what's going on here? 'cause this is super weird."
Ah. Edge realized that he had made a strategic misstep. Never condemn as malice what can be explained by stupidity - it seemed that they actually were so oblivious that they had not noticed his brother's condition. Almost unbelievable - he would have thought the reek of corn chips would have clued them in if nothing else?
"BAH." He was going to have to say it. Did indignity know no depth? "THE RUNT IS FINE. IT'S JUST…" he took a breath, then forced the rest out in one rapid blurt of sound. "Just That Time Of The Season."
"huh?"
No. Clearly the pit was bottomless. He tried again. "You Know. His Auncle Serg Is In Town."
"huh?"
An unspecified crash came from probably the kitchen. Edge spared a feeble hope that Red hadn't gotten into his art supplies. "hey!" came a rough shout from below. "are you still in the nest, kid?"
"YES RED, I AM STILL LYING DOWN. I PROMISE THAT I AM VERY SINCERELY COMFORTABLE."
His brother subsided into muttered vulgarities that were mostly muffled by their floor.
"edge?" Sans's pleasant baritone emanated from his phone, and Edge returned his attention to it. "it seems like you think you're explaining somethin' but i really have no idea what you're trying to tell us." Tweedle Dee and Tweedle 'Dorable exchanged a look.
"ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?"
"surprisingly, no."
Sigh. Sometimes he forgot for a second how different their universes were. Not the obvious stuff, like how in Blue's universe Muffet was the local snack peddler instead of Grillby, and how in Papyrus's universe Grillby was their friend and neighbour rather than a hot-tempered asshole who could only loosely be called their ally. This must be one of those times when they just didn't have the same idioms. Nothing for it but to call a murder a murder. "WHATEVER. OKAY. FINE. MY BROTHER IS IN HEAT."
Sans and Stretch stated unblinkingly into the camera. Edge waited for the inevitable flash of humiliation as the realization of just how deeply they were prying sunk in.
It never came. Instead, Sans said handsomely: "you're still really not clearing anything up, edge."
Edge's patience abruptly snapped. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THEN WHAT DO YOU CALL THE INCONVENIENT PART OF YOUR REPRODUCTIVE CYCLE?"
The cornchips Stretch limply dropped on the basement floor were likely to remain there until someone with some fucking standards - likely Papyrus when he returned home from Underswap - had the misfortune to pass through. Edge winced.
Sans picked up the conversational slack for his willowy counterpart. "yeah so, now it's really seeming like you're the one who's screwing with us, buddy,
Edge could hear his brother stomping back up the stairs. The bathroom door opened and closed. Edge abruptly decided that it was past time for him to strategically disengage from this conversation.
"I CAN SEE THERE IS SOME KIND OF FUNDAMENTAL MISUNDERSTANDING HAPPENING HERE BUT I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WALK YOU THROUGH CAREER AND LIFE MANAGEMENT CLASS. AND ALSO I DON'T WANT TO."
Some frustrated thuds came from the washroom, and Red shouted: "hey boss, i can't find the bone butter. you seen it?"
"IT'S IN MY NIGHTSTAND, BROTHER," Edge shouted back. He briefly hoped that his brother's friends wouldn't speculate over-much on that.
To his annoyingly attractive interlocutors, Edge stated, "I AM HANGING UP THIS CALL NOW." Something about their pathetic confusion gave him a little twinge about the soul, so Edge added, "WHY DON'T YOU IDIOTS CALL SLIM. HE ALMOST CERTAINLY ISN'T DOING ANYTHING TIME SENSITIVE."
Slim would probably steer them basically right; he was the closest thing they had in their circle of alternates to a medical specialist, and Edge knew he knew what Heat was after the Blackberry Cobbler Incident. Edge decided that he had helped these attractive stooges as much as he intended to and ended the call, dropping the phone onto an unoccupied pillow just in time for Red to storm back into his bedroom.
His brother pushed the door shut with a swing of his hips, his hands occupied for the moment. A few of the lines of tension eased away from between his eyes when he saw that Edge was still securely ensconced in his pillowy prison. He dropped the bucket he was carrying on the nightstand with a hollow thunk and held out a hand peremptorily.
"yer gloves, boss." He was making very direct eyelight contact.
Edge reluctantly obeyed, skimming off his gloves, and Red placed those on the nightstand too, taking surprising care to arrange them neatly. Then Red was peeling back the blankets and worming his way into bed. He snuggled into the pillows at Edge's shoulder level, half-propped up against the headboard, and guided Edge to rest his head in his lap. His clawed phalanges were uncharacteristically careful as he stroked gently over the dome of Edge's skull.
"good man," Red growled. "don't gotta do nothing but stay safe 'n warm, boss. i gotcha." He curled and uncurled his fingers so the sharp tips of his claws skimmed across Edge's parietals, catching on the squamous suture and dragging featherlight across his temporal bones. Half a year of tension melted out of Edge's spine in a shivery rush.
"Nyeh," Edge said quietly. He let his sockets drift shut as Red continued his gentle massage, shivering fitfully until a barely audible purr sparked in his bones. One hand left his head, and there was the sound of objects rattling around in the plastic bucket, followed by the sound of a bottle opening. Then the hand was back, and instead of the sharp tips of his claws Red was using the round knobs of his smallest knuckles to rub bone butter into Edge's skull. Red's hands roamed freely, working the moisturizing compound into the porous bones. He found those places that were prone to flaking, like the hollows behind Edge's sharp zygomatic arches, with practiced familiarity. They didn't do this often; Edge only allowed this during Red's heats. For that matter, Red only allowed this during Red's heats. Not during Edge's own; he tended to need different treatment during the inconvenient part of his magical cycle. But Red almost always manifested this intense focus, pouring his excess magic into comfort and care.
Now he was tending to the bones of Edge's face, taking particular care to smooth a thin coating of bone butter into the rough edges of the parallel scars over Edge's left socket. His thumb circled the orbit.
"open your eye, boss," Red growled softly. Edge complied, looking up at his brother looking down at him, upside-down from his point of view. Red gazed at him with single minded focus, assessing.
"ya still gettin' halos on this side?"
"Not Often Anymore," Edge admitted. "Only When I Visit The Brightest Caves In The Other Waterfalls." Or when he was exhausted, but he didn't want Red to get the idea that the fifteen or so weekly hours of sleep Edge allowed himself were not enough.
Red made a pitiful little growling noise. It was cute. The injury to Edge's skull was old now, almost ancient, the edges of the cracks smoothed by time and diligent moisturizing, and Edge had a dozen newer scars and worse ones beside. But, it marked the first time Edge had been injured badly enough to need to seclude himself in order to recover, and Red could get weird about it when he wasn't himself. For tonight, he seemed to reign himself in and just gently thumbed at Edge's sockets to encourage him to close them again.
Then Red's claws were teasing at the leading edge of his maxilla, skirting along the line where tooth erupted from bone. It didn't tickle exactly, but it was a strange sensation to have his brother's claws in an area that usually only encountered toothbrush bristles. Red had nothing to grumble about there; Edge had excellent teeth.
Edge was nearly asleep by the time Red worked his way down to his hands. He spent a long time there, massaging strain out of the tiny bones one by one, bending and flexing his fingers until the magic between them felt warm and smooth.
He wasn't so relaxed that he didn't notice Red lifting one of his hands toward his mouth.
"Use The Emery Board, You Visigoth," Edge murmured sleepily.
"picky," Red growled back, amiable. But he used the emery board.
Edge lost some time while Red smoothed and polished his claws, the rough sound of the grit lost beneath the deeper rasp of his purr, and Red's. He stirred a little when he felt Red lean out of the bed to replace the bone butter and the nail files in the bucket of coddling supplies. He'd probably wake up in an hour to find Red obsessively filing the corns off his metatarsals or something, but for now his brother seemed content..
Edge leaned up on an elbow to let Red slip an arm under his ribs, and settled down. Red was curled up at his side, the bulk of his magic soft and warm. He didn't smell that bad.
"take a break, edge," Red urged.
Edge did.