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Papyrus trudged through the forest of Snowdin, trying to find a place to rest, to finally have some peace.
He was so, so sick of that stupid flower. Flowey had been pushing him to the limit, testing him, hurting him. His legs ached from dodging vines that had come far too close to his soul.
He found a small, concealed clearing with a flat rock buried in the snow that he sat on.
And for the first time in a while, or at least, that's what it felt like, he took a deep breath. Then he sat in complete silence.
He was bone-tired–the kind of exhaustion that made him want to curl up and never move again but he couldn't. Flowey had hammered that lesson into him too well: never let your guard down. Never trust anyone. Especially not him.
He wished– futilely –that he had never met that.. that wretched flower, never turned himself a toy for Flowey’s amusement.
Flowey could reset whenever he wanted and hurt everyone that Papyrus loves, over and over and over and over again, until the concept of happiness felt like a joke.
Papyrus just wanted him to stop. He wanted to be naive and blissfully ignorant again. Even if he wasn't in the Royal Guard, it wasn't even worth it if he didn't enjoy it. It just felt empty, meaningless without the joy that used to fuel every boast, every pose.
Why is he doing this to me? He thought, staring at the snow between his boots. What did I ever do to deserve this?
“Heya, Pal!”
Papyrus froze. Dread slammed into his chest like an icicle.
No. No, not now. Please, just leave me be-
“Whatcha doin’ out here, all alone?”
It was almost like Flowey wanted him to feel completely helpless. No, scratch that. He definitely wanted Papyrus to feel helpless against him.
“I'm just.. taking in the view," Papyrus managed to choke out. He didn't turn around.
If he didn't look, maybe he could pretend his soul wasn't vibrating against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“I brought you something!” Flowey chirped, the sound like a serrated blade against bone.
A vine snaked into Papyrus's peripheral vision, holding a single, slightly wilted Echo Flower. Papyrus didn't just jump; he scrambled backward, his boots skidding in the snow, arms coming up instinctively to shield his skull.
The silence that followed was heavy. Papyrus's breath came in ragged, shallow hitches. He looked at the flower, then at Flowey’s wide, unblinking eyes. He didn’t see a gift.
He saw a trap. He saw a hidden thorn, a sting, a new way to make him scream.
“Golly, Papyrus! You're awfully jumpy today,” Flowey said, his voice tilting into that faux-concern that made Papyrus's stomach churn. “I’m just being a good friend.”
Papyrus lowered his arms slowly, his fingers still curled into tight, trembling fists. He didn't smile back. He couldn't remember how to make the expression reach his eyes anymore. Even the Royal Guard armor felt like a cage now– heavy, cold, and utterly useless against the monster in front of him.
“Thank.. you,” Papyrus whispered, the words tasting of ash. He didn’t reach for the flower. He knew better than to reach for anything Flowey offered.
Flowey didn’t attack. He didn’t even move. He simply watched, his petals swaying gently in a breeze that Papyrus couldn't feel.
A few weeks ago, Papyrus would have been shouting, striking a pose, and telling Flowey he “still believed in him”. Now he just looked down at the snow, feeling dirty. Hollow. Used.
“That’s more like it, buddy! You aren't as useless as you used to be, thanks to your best friend Flowey’s help! You're in the Royal Guard now, right?” Flowey said, leaning into Papyrus's face. “Can you ever imagine getting here without me?”
Papyrus shook his head. He felt like a hollowed-out shell, his armor a heavy weight he no longer had the spirit to carry. “no..”
“Speak up.” A vine snapped around his forearm and twisted. The bone groaned under the pressure.
Papyrus yelped, quickly answering with a desperate “No! I can't!”
Flowey giggled, a sound that Papyrus had come to hate.
He kept bending the bone, ignoring Papyrus's sharp cries of pain that shot through the otherwise quiet forest.
“Nonono please stop! It hurts–!” Papyrus howled in distress as the bone snapped with a sharp sound, the loud break of the bone echoing through the snowy terrain. He fell to his knees as he cradled the shattered arm while tears spilled down his cheekbones before he could stop them.
“Royal Guard members don't cry now, do they?” Flowey asked mockingly before cackling. The voice was distant, warping in and out as the pain got to his head, leaving him dizzy.
Papyrus tried to say something, but he couldn't let out anything more than a choked sob as he held the broken limb.
“please.. go away..” he hiccuped, shaking.
“And who exactly put you in charge, friend?” Flowey responded, wrapping a vine around the injury and tightening it, which got a wail that melted into a broken sob.
“I-I’m sorry, Flowey! I'm sorry-!”
A vine wrapped around his shin, tightening. His pleas were ragged, hoarse and desperate, and his chest heaved as he begged the flower to please stop, and he’ll do better, and he's a great friend, and–
C-Crack!
The sound of his own tibia snapping was a wet, sickening, sound, louder than the first one. It wasn't just a sound; but a white-hot vibration that flared through his entire frame, turning his vision into a blurred, static mess.
Papyrus collapsed forward, his skull hitting the cold snow with a dull thud. He didn’t scream this time. He'd learned that only made it worse.
The snow, one a source of pride for The Great Papyrus – the canvas for his puzzles and the stage for his patrols – now felt like a shroud.
As he lay there, his skull pressed against the frozen ground, the cold began to seep into his marrow. It was a strange, biting mercy.
The freezing temperature numbed the jagged edges of his broken bones, turning the agonizing pang into a dull, rhythmic throb that matched the frantic beating of his soul.
“There,” Flowey, cooed, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly soft, motherly tone.
He slithered closer, a vine tracing the jagged crack in Papyrus's arm with a fake gentleness. “Do you feel that, Papyrus? That's the feeling of reality.”
Papyrus closed his eyes, nodding slowly, terrified that making any sudden movements would for sure cause him to black out.
“Great! See you tomorrow, best friend.”
With a wink and a rustle of leaves, he vanished into the earth, leaving the clearing quiet except for the howling wind that was deafening to him now. His head was throbbing now, and even the sound of his soul beating against his ribs was excruciating.
Papyrus was alone again.
He lay there, watching a single snowflake land on the tip of his nasalbone. It didn’t melt. He was losing his inner warmth, the magic that kept a skeleton animated. He found himself focusing entirely on the texture of the drifts– how the tiny crystal felt like shards of glass against his cheek, how the white was slowly being stained by the dim, flickering glow of his own fading magic.
He didn’t want to get up. The snow was indifferent; it didn’t mock him, it didn’t break him, and it didn’t ask him to be a hero. It just wanted to bury him.
For one fleeting, terrible moment, Papyrus thought that being buried sounded like the most peaceful thing in the world.
Then he forced himself to think of Sans – probably asleep on the couch, but he would soon wake and begin to wonder where his brother was. He couldn’t let Sans find Papyrus like this.
With a trembling breath that hitched in his scarred ribs, Papyrus forced his magic to stir. It felt thin and brittle, like old parchment.
He focused on the fractures, the jagged breaks in his radius and tibia. Slowly, glowingly, the bones began to knit back together. The physical gaps closed, but the ache– the deep, thrumming marrow-pain–refused to fade.
Healing magic didn’t erase the memory of the break.
He pushed himself upright, his limbs shaking so violently that he nearly fell back down.
The Echo Flower that Flowey had “gifted” him still lay nearby, and now replayed his screams and wails. He already knew sleep wouldn't come tonight, or any night soon. When it did, his mind was ravaged by nightmares. He always ended up screaming with no memory of waking up, Sans at his side, voice gentle but eyes far too observant lately.
Sans’s demeanor had drastically shifted recently. He was quieter than usual, and he was starting to ask questions, none of which Papyrus could answer. It was torture, having to keep quiet for the sake of his brother's safety.
His armor clattered– a hollow, mocking sound. He looked at his arm; it looked fine now, white and smooth, but it still ached, and he could still feel the phantom pressure of the vines crushing the life out of him.
He had to get home. He had to put on that smile, had to be The Great Papyrus!
…Because if he wasn’t –if Sans saw a single crack in the facade– Flowey would turn that malice toward the sentry station.Towards their house.
Towards everyone Papyrus still loved.
Papyrus stood on his aching legs and began the long, slow trudge back towards the lights of Snowdin.
“I am fine,” he practiced, his voice a dry rasp in the cold air. “I am.. The Great Papyrus. And everything is wonderful.”
He repeated it until the words almost drowned out the throbbing in his bones.
Until he almost believed it, that he was still The Great Papyrus, and everything was fine, everything was fine, everything was fine.
….Almost.