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annaisu · 7 years

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Cutthroat Kitchen: Prepare Nyehself!

AN: Cutthroat Kitchen is under rights of Food Network, and I make no claims to it as such. Alton Brown is a real person, and I have no claim to him, either. Papyrus, however much I would love him to be real and to lay claim to him, is in fact created and owned by Toby Fox.

This is a work of fiction created for @undertailfanficcontest starring Papyrus in the humor category! And let me tell you, this was the first time I’ve ever lowered my word count on purpose.

Tags: Humor, one of the characters is a bastard, just deserts, friendship

Summary: Papyrus is quite pleased to be part of a cooking competition where he can show off his skills – only his opponents are paying for him to wear a catsuit and cook with aluminum foil utensils?

Tonight, hopes would be crushed, dreams would be shattered, pride would take a mighty fall, and these chefs were going to spend all their money making sure that the other cooks were the ones to suffer. Alton Brown surveyed his domain, feeling a sadistic glee begin to grow. Yes; this would be quite the fun show.

His introductory speech began playing in the background, just the thing to set the mood as he pulled out a metal briefcase. “I have $100,000 of cold hard cash; four chefs get $25,000 each. But if they want to leave the kitchen with any of this cash, they have to survive three culinary challenges – and each other. In a game where sabotage is not only encouraged, it’s for sale.” Memories of past challenges passed through his mind – ice cream made with liquid nitrogen, ramen without any noodles, his victims forced to cook while stuffed in cumbersome and humiliating ‘superhero’ outfits, cooking in canoes – good times, good times.

The host smiled in the anticipation of the poor, unsuspecting chef’s future frustrations. They thought they knew – they always did – but they were always wrong. Tonight, there was something even more special than normal – something that had never been seen on this show before. They would be host to a true monster – and only time would tell if he was a monster in the kitchen as well.

He hid just out of sight, watching as the four contestants descended from his ‘tower’, one at a time. They had all given their biography to the camera before this event, and he recalled the pertinent facts as they paraded across his kitchen – let them prance while they still have the chance.

Dave was first; a big, burly southern guy. He’d discovered a taste for cooking as a kid and learned his craft from his grandma’s hip – classic southern boy. He was here to show off that country strength, to have fun and make some money. He laid out his fine array of steak knives and cooking utensils, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of preemptive defiance.

Hank was next; he was much slimmer than the first, well dressed with hair slicked back. He walked as if he was the second coming of Gordon Ramsey, and had the attitude to go with it. He was so proud to serve his food only to the elite, seemed to think that they were the only ones deserving of his work. His little chef kit was well made – likely tailored and made of expensive leather. Alton didn’t bother to hide his grin – he did so love making this type of person suffer.

Their special guest came next, bounding into the room with disturbing levels of energy for what looked like the dead. A tall skeleton, dressed in red booty shorts and a white crop top, proudly took his place behind his stand. He pulled out what looked like a homemade bag, containing his cooking utensils with… faces and hearts stenciled on top? And stickers of spaghetti? The apron he was wearing, somehow securely wrapped around his skeletally thin – and just skeletal in general – body looked well-made and well-loved. Little patches had been torn and sewn up, and there were messily embroidered pictures of… a human and a skeleton holding hands at the bottom? And the words “COOLEST CHEF” splayed across the chest? Well, this Papyrus was certainly going to be a fun contender.

Papyrus was here to show off his cooking skills and represent monster-kind – “WELL, MYSELF MOSTLY, BUT ALSO MY TEACHER AND FRIEND UNDYNE! AND MY FRIEND THE HUMAN, AND MY BROTHER THE SLOVENLY SLOB – SANS, IF YOU’RE LISTENING, PICK UP YOUR SOCK RIGHT NOW! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE EMBARESSING ME WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE!” The sheer force of his words, combined with his macabre appearance, created quite the frightening visage. Yet, he was wearing a smile, and was radiating a friendly atmosphere – quite the interesting contradiction.

Cynthia was his last victim of the day – and the only female, unless the monster was hiding something unexpected under his short shorts and poofy shirt. She was from up north, divorced and with three kids. After returning to college, she had opened a very friendly family restaurant. She was here to prove to her Ex that she was worth something, that she could succeed no matter the odds life placed before her, and take home some money to her teenaged kids. She took her place as the last in the row, pulling out a well-maintained kit.

The host prepared himself, ready to introduce himself to the poor saps. Time to see which cooks would trip and fall in a blaze of humiliation!

“HELLO, FELLOW CHEFS!” The monster beamed out, and Hank didn’t bother resisting rolling his eyes. The creature on his right was loud, unsightly, and creepy as heck. The blank, empty black eyes seemed to stare into his soul as he accidently met the thing’s searching gaze. He shuddered, and pointedly turned his back to it, facing his human fellow chef.

“Think you’re suited up for the day?” he casually asked, seemingly unintentionally tugging the collar of his suit as he surveyed the other man’s dress. Plaid shirt, jeans, cutthroat kitchen apron – hmph.

The other fellow – Dave, or something equally plebian, let out a hearty laugh. “I think I’m quite well suited for cooking, thanks, but don’t you have a business meeting to be getting to?”

Hank sniffed, not bothering with a comeback. It seemed that neither of his temporary neighbors would be worth speaking to in the least. He couldn’t help flinching as the skeleton started shouting again, animatedly talking with the woman at the other end. He was quite ready for the host to come out and for this farce to begin.

Alton did appear, with a casual suit and a bombastic attitude – quite the match for the figurative bombs he would be dropping throughout the show. At the beginning of the round, he’d assign a dish, and they’d have 60 seconds to collect absolutely everything they would need to cook said dish from the walk-in cupboard – and they’d only have seconds to compose their mental grocery list.

Alton finally started talking about what he was looking forward to the most – auctioning off sabotages, where he would be encouraged to buy ridiculous inconveniences for his opponents. They would all be given 25 Grand – likely more than any of these plebeians had ever had in their lives’ – to purchase said items, and whatever was left at the end the winner would take home. Of course, Hank himself had no real need for this money, and was already planning to spend all of it tripping up his unworthy opponents – mostly that ridiculous skeleton and the woman, neither of which had any right to be in the same kitchen as him.

It never even crossed his mind for a single second that he might not succeed, so assured of his victory was he. Not a single other person in the room, save the well-dressed host, was even worthy of a second glance or thought of consideration. No, he was the only one that would claim this culinary victory – and he’d make his ‘opponents’ miserable the entire time through!

Alton opened up his briefcase and began offering out the money – two bundles apiece. As the uncultured savage to his left rubbed the money to his cheek, clearly enjoying the entirely new sensation of wealth against his skin, he daintily picked out his two bundles of cash. He looked upon them with disgust, wondering just how many grimy hands had handled these $100 bills.

Returning to beside the metal table in the center of the open area, the host began speaking. “To start everybody off on a roll, I’d like to see a good, breakfast casserole!” Alton cheerfully exclaimed, bouncing slightly as he spoke. Hank jumped as a shriek of outrage sounded from beside him, and Alton paused in his words.

“WAS THAT A PUN?!” the monster exclaimed. Resisting a grimace, Hank pointedly ignored its words. He supposed monsters were far too uneducated and stupid to recognize even the most basic parts of human humor, even of such a low a form as bad puns.

Alton didn’t seem to take offense, though he did seem to be slightly thrown off. “It was indeed a wonderful play on words, only some of the most punny forms of fine humor!” Hank peeked to his right, watching as the skeleton groaned and covered his eyes.

“HUMAN, THAT JOKE WAS ALMOST AS BAD AS MY BROTHER’S – IT WAS COMPLETELY BARE BONES! NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!” the skeleton cackled and Hank grimaced .

Alton, contrary to Hank, seemed quite pleased by this reaction. “Well then, I hope the skele-ton more that I have won’t break you before you finish your breakfast casserole ! You have 60 seconds to gather everything you’d need to make this delightful dish, starting now!”

Startled, Hank was a second behind everyone else in grabbing his basket to go shopping – and thus he had the clearest view of when the skeleton did a front flip right over the judging table. He stared, unbelieving, not moving as time ticked by – only when he realized that all the other chefs had made it into the cupboard did he start forward on his own.

What was that skeleton doing?! He tried not to stop and stare as the skeleton darted around the cupboard, items seemingly flying into his basket of their own accord. He distractedly groped for his next ingredient, unable to ignore the spectacle before him.

“30 seconds remaining!” called a very unwelcome voice from just beyond the cupboard door. Hank felt the panic well up, as he realized he didn’t have half the things he would likely need, and could not for the life of him remember the other half. He began grabbing everything he could get his grubby little hands on.

“10, 9” Nonono- Hank knocked the closest things into his basket and ran out the door, knocking into another contestant and cursing as the collision sent several ingredients flying out of his basket as he fought to make it through the door. “4, 3,” he burst free, panting as he staggered back to his station. “2, 1, time’s up!” Discreetly mopping his sweaty brow, Hank surveyed his spoils of war, and everyone else’s as well. He… technically had everything he needed for a good, refined breakfast casserole.

The skeleton, who seemed just as cheery as could be, had a neatly packed basket full of a random assortment of goods – clearly, he’d just grabbed whatever was closest to hand! Hank ignored the hypocrisy of his own statement, peering around the Halloween prop to see the girl’s basket, and then pointedly looked away. She seemed well-enough prepared, so what. The country hick to his left seemed to have filled his basket with bacon, bacon… and more bacon.

Finally, their host was beginning to roll out the sabotages. Hank licked his lips in anticipation, watching as the symbol of the other’s demise was slowly lowered… and revealed to be a roll of aluminum foil. “Win this, and you can force a chef to give up all of their cooking utensils and pots, and they must instead make their own cooking! Who’s willing to start off the bid with $500?”

“$1,000!” he cried, and waited to see if anyone would dare challenge him.

“$1,200,” came the drawling voice on his right. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, surrounded by people who couldn’t recognize their inferiority.

“$2,000,” he bid back, noticing that the skeleton seemed quite unconcerned. He ended up spending $3,500 on his roll of aluminum foil, but was quite pleased at this deal as he debated on which of his foes should suffer first. The man, for daring to challenge him, or the skeleton for being here and existing in the first place. Yes, definitely the skeleton.

He sauntered up to Alton, trading his money for the foil and dropping it on the thing’s station, noting with disdain the cheap and marked up case that held the thing’s now unusable cooking implements. He returned to his station, satisfied, and ready to win another bid. He ignored the skeleton’s words of, “WOWIE! IT’LL BE JUST LIKE COOKING AT HOME, AFTER UNDYNE AND I DESTROYED ALL OF THE POTS WITH THE FORCE OF OUR COOKING PROWESS!” Was this thing serious?

Hank fumed as the skeleton shaped his cutlery with ease, somehow forming a perfect looking knife and a well-rounded bowl in less than a minute. “I HAVE A VERY SHARP MEMORY, AND I HAVE ENCOUNTERED QUITE THE NUMBER OF KNIVES, YOU SEE! NYEH!” Just ignore the skeleton. “WOWIE, MR. HOST-HUMAN, YOU SURE HAVE A LOT OF ALUMINUM FOIL! LET’S SEE WHO CAN WEAR IT BEST!” Wait, wear it?

Looking up from where his prep work was beginning to come together, Hank saw the judge and the thing both wearing ridiculous looking foil hats. The Judge was wearing something like a pirate hat, and the bag of bones was rocking… an open-faced helmet? Just when did he have time to make that ridiculous thing? Hank had barely even gotten his work laid out properly, yet this thing had already crafted his workstation and costume decorations?

Growling in frustration, Hank was at least pleased to see that the country cad was struggling, if no one else was – thanks to the two other sabotages he’d bought and delivered. Reassured, he returned to his work. He didn’t have all the ingredients that he wanted, but he… probably had enough. Probably.

"Wha- that's totally cheating!" Hank declared, staring aghast at the pearly blue bones flashed around the skeletons station, dancing to a tune no one else could hear. The clubbed end of one bone was stirring the batter, and the skeleton was using the tip of the other as a sharp knife to slice his vegetables into perfectly sectioned slices. The craziest part was how the spinning bone was doing so without any guidance - it was just moving about on its own!

"OH!" The wretched skeleton faced Hank with a beaming smile. "I SEE THAT YOU HAVE NOTICED THE BEAUTY THAT IS MY CONJURED BONES!" The bony chef paused, a worried look sliding across his face. "PLEASE DON'T BE JEALOUS, FELLOW CONTESTANT HUMAN! I REALIZE THAT YOU CANNOT SUMMON BRILLIANT BONES OF YOUR OWN, BUT I AM QUITE PREPARED TO LEND YOU SOME OF MINE! A GREAT PERSON AND CHEF, SUCH AS I, MUST ALWAYS BE GENEROUS AND KIND TO OTHERS!"

Gritting his teeth, Hank barely resisted spitting at the stupid, ugly monstrosity beside him. "I wouldn't touch any of your filthy bones if you paid me." Unnoticed by any of the contestants, most especially Hank who was once again doing his best to ignore everything around him, Alton’s eyes glinted with a brilliant, sadistic new idea.

Hank barely hid the curl of his lip into a sneer as the judge appeared – a woman, of all things.

The judge finally made her decision after trying each dish – she ‘had to’ let the farmer go. Hank watched as the man returned his untouched cash to Alton, calmly accepting his fate and giving Alton a ‘manly’ handshake. Of course Hank had won this round – and he fully expected to win the next two and humiliate everyone else along the way.

Finally, the round was finished, and they had a short break to talk to the cameras while the next round was prepared.

Cynthia’s new friend helped her stand up, using a strength at odds with his skeletal appearance to bring her to her feet as they walked together back to the main room. They’d had a relatively quiet and quite friendly chat between the rounds, but now it was time to return.

Alton waltzed back in with full aplomb, wearing what seemed to be a pinstripe suit at first glance – until Cynthia realized the stripes were actually noodles hanging onto his suit. “Welcome back contestants, and get ready for round two! It’s certain to tie you up into knots, and leave someone stranded! We’re going for a true classic today – spaghetti!”

Papyrus squealed in glee beside her and she gave him a smile, already knowing of his love for the pasta dish. She couldn’t help but take satisfaction on how the sleezeball skittered away in startlement.

“Indeed! You are free to create any variety of spaghetti you wish, this traditionally meaty pasta dish! We have all the ingredients you could need, and your shopping time begins… now.

Cynthia darted off after Papyrus, falling behind as he used the table to launch himself further forward, sketching the list in her head and the best way to grab each item as fast as she could. Having children and anticipating their needs had prepared her for this, and she was at a huge advantage to the business-chef that was only slightly lagging this time.

Making her way back to her station at a much more sedate pace than she had left it, Cynthia double checked that she had grabbed everything that she wanted for her chicken alfredo spaghetti – she did. A glance to the side told her that both of her fellow chefs had collected plenty as well. She thought back to the first round and couldn’t help but to snicker – Hank had forgotten plenty of things in the beginning rush, and she could easily overhear his muttered cursing whenever he came across his missing ingredients.

Turning her attention back to the host, she braced herself for the first sabotage to come. “Well, now that we’ve spent time together and found ourselves closer together, I think it’s time to get closer still!” Alton knocked on the panel, waiting for the item to be lowered before he revealed – a length of rope. Cynthia paled, memories flashing before her eyes. Ropes never meant anything fun for her. “Win this auction, and you can force your opponents to be tied together! They will be forced to cook together, work together, and stick closer than a strand of spaghetti that was left in a pot overnight. Starting bid at-“

“$2,000!” Hank interrupted once again, and she would have glared had she not been silent with fear. She saw Papyrus glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and watched as the eye socket closest to her slowly closed, then reopened. Neither of them said anything.

“Opening bid at $2,000, anyone willing to give me 21-hundred? Anyone, anyone? Going once, going twice – sold, to the gentlemen in the boring suit for two thousand dollars!” She smiled weakly – compared to the host’s noodle suit, Hank’s suit was rather boring, if more expensive than what she spent on groceries in a month. There was a reason she was competing for a cash prize, despite going up on TV against others being entirely new for her.

“Now, I know that this show can be a bit of a cat-astrophe sometimes…” Alton trailed off, opening the panel to reveal a cat headband. “But I was feline like I couldn’t paws-ibly resist! Win this bid, and you can force your opponent to dress up with these adorable cat ears, a matching cat tail,” he continued, pulling up a long tail from beneath the table – it had to be at least 4 feet of solid black faux-fur! “And of course, the cutest part of cats – their little paws!” He ducked his hands under the table once more, this time arising with giant, fluffy gloves that completely encapsulated his hands. “As sweet as they look, these don’t make for the easiest cooking experience! Who’s willing to buy the best catsuit seen on this show yet?”

“$2,000!” Hank predictably exclaimed.

Cynthia decided that this was one outfit she was willing to spend money on, if only for the sheer humiliation value in forcing the uptight man into it. “2,500!”

Hank still ended up being the winner, but he spent a full 5k on a fursuit – and he ended up giving it to Papyrus, who immediately donned the admittedly adorable outfit, beaming all the while. She was pretty sure Hank only had about 11k left.

“Now, people, don’t get yourselves tied into a knot; we’ve got a giant pile of noodles right here that have done that already!” Cynthia groaned as she a wagon with a proper Gordian’s Noodle Knot roll into the center of the room. “Win this auction, and the chef of your choice will have to untangle this knot before they are able to begin cooking!”

She fought long, and Papyrus fought hard, but they both backed down when Hank bid a whopping ten thousand dollars on the ridiculous time waster. He had to be down to the last of his money – he had successfully won every bid so far, often paying exorbitant sums to do so. To her dismay, she was the one gifted with the lovely time waster.

“Now, I know we had someone who wouldn't pay to touch our friendly skeleton's bones - but how about we have someone else pay for it?" Alton called out, this time not revealing anything from the behind the screen. So this was why Papyrus had been called away separately – so that he could give permission for this.

“$1,500!” She called out, before Hank could even try. If she was right…

“$2,000!” He bid back, and she felt her heart sink. Was she wrong?

“AAAANK,” Alton called, doing a remarkable impression of an incorrect buzzer. “You, my besuited gentleman, are only in possession of $1,500 – something new to you, I’m sure.” Hank stared, slack jawed, and Cynthia felt the rising tides of victory. “Now, unless someone else can pay at least sixteen-hundred dollars, this round is going to this lady right here – no? Going once, going twice – are you sure you don’t want to speak up again, Hank – sold, to Cynthia! Please approach your fellow contestant for his magic touch, and then confiscate all your victim’s knives, spoons, whisks, and other various implements.

Cynthia did so with great glee, taking the two large bones and handing them over to Hank, who still had a horrified look on his stunned face.

“Now, chefs, two of you are ready to proceed to cooking, and one of you is to remain here with me. As soon as this lovely lady finished, she and our resident monster will be strung together tighter than the red strings of fate!” Cynthia couldn’t help but shudder – at the thought of being tied up, and the thought of being tied to another person like that. “On my mark… go!”

She paused for a moment in thought, then nodded. “Wait one moment, please.” She approached the wagon with her longest, sharpest knife. “The Gordian knot couldn’t be solved, until…” With a few sharp slices, she began carving the ball into two. “Until the knot was split.” Noodles fell to either side, losing shape as their knot came undone.

Alton groaned theatrically. “At this rate, you’ll finish the task in a tenth of the time it took to set it up!” She flashed him a smile, but didn’t reply as she was too busy straightening out the short strands on the table before her, smearing them out in great handfuls and shaking them straight.

“Just have to raise them properly, keep them on the straight and narrow,” She quipped. “Make them realize the consequences if they don’t straighten out.

All too soon, she was back in front of her cooking station, and she realized that she had only hastened the arrival of the dreaded rope. This was a Gordian knot she couldn’t cut. Papyrus cheerful greeting helped soothe her nerves, and she managed to keep her breathing steady as an extra helper loosely tied them together.

“ARE YOU READY, HUMAN PARTNER?” She nodded, anchoring her perceptions on his solid voice to fend off flashbacks. “AS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE HAD A HEAD START AND CAN CLEARLY SUCCEED DESPITE ANY DIFFICLUTIES, I INSIST THAT WE HEAD TO YOUR STATION FIRST!”

“Thanks, Papyrus,” she offered him a small smile as they toddled over to her station. “Just let me know when you’re ready to switch back, alright? We want to be sure that both of our dishes succeed.” They were united in a single purpose – take down the most unlikeable person in the room, and send him home crying.

Looking over at the disgruntled face of said ‘foe’, she laughed at how he seemed to be trying his best to touch the lowest amount of surface area of the lightly glowing bones .

Hank began to audibly fume, screeching with unmanly terror whenever he touched too much of the magical bone. Everybody else traded eye rolls, though Papyrus seemed to be doing his best to remain dignified and proud, as was befitting of the mascot of monsters.

Someone who wasn’t trying to remain dignified was Alton, busy attaching more noodles to his costume as they worked. Soon, it wasn’t just spaghetti noodles, but penne, rotini, linguini, lasagna, and just about every other noodle that existed. Soon, his outfit was a mishmash of different carbohydrates, and Papyrus actually stopped to grin and give him a giant thumbs up. “NOTHING CAN TOP PASTA THAT SUIT, HUMAN! SAVE MY OWN COOL OUTFIT OF COURSE, NYEH-HEH-HEH!” The next time Cynthia saw Papyrus’ outfit, it had noodles draped across it in matching reflection to Alton’s outfit, and a noodle circlet around the cat ears which had been taped to his head. The skeleton made the noodle look work .

“I’m sorry, but I have dismiss… Chef Cynthia.” Cynthia nodded, determinedly biting at her lip and refusing to cry. Her new friend had passed, after all, in a sparkling flame of glory. He had to win and destroy that Hank in the next round. She couldn’t hear the judge’s explanation over the pounding refrain in her head, how she was worthless and her cooking was barely even fit for dogs, and-

“Arf!” …She was hearing things now, wasn’t she? She turned slowly, looking for the source of the sound. Happy barking came from behind her station, and then a little white dog popped out – muzzle coated with her spilled spaghetti. Apparently, her meals were fit for dogs – this one certainly seemed to be enjoying it.

“NOOOO!!!!” Papyrus cried, sinking to his knees. “WHY MUST YOU PERSIST IN TORMENTING ME, WHEREVER YOU GO?” The dog just yipped happily, grabbing one of the bones and trotting up to the judge’s table.

“Does this dog belong to you?” The judge, Antonia, asked. She was already petting the dog, which seemed to be preening in the attention, licking it’s chops.

“WHAT?!?!” Papyrus yelped. “OWN THE MEDDLING CANINE? NO ONE OWN’S THE ANNOYING DOG – THE ANNOYING DOG OWNS YOU!” In the short amount of time it took Papyrus to speak, A.D. had eaten all of Cynthia’s spaghetti, all of Papyrus’ spaghetti, and had knocked Hank’s weird dish right onto his suit.

“Good dog,” Cynthia whispered to it as it came up to her, and Hank began to scream and rant, all composure long spent. “Very good dog.”

Papyrus was very pleased and somewhat saddened with how this cooking competition was turning out. He had made a new friend! And had fun cooking with said friend! And got to dress up like a cat, which he most certainly did not enjoy at all, nope, and he was definitely not looking forward to seeing Alphys’ reaction when she saw the show!

Yet this brand-new experience had been soured by his other neighbor, the cruel human with the heart of pride and greed. Papyrus was still having fun, still enjoying the novelty of being on TV – he was on television right now! Like Mettaton! – and still so proud of being one of the first monsters that truly showed themselves to the human world. He was monsterkind’s mascot after all, and he needed to present a good face!

Even when Angry-Human attacked him and his new friend, again and again and again. That was the only way the prideful human was still on top – by putting other’s down. It saddened Papyrus, knowing that the human could do better – and knowing that the man would likely refuse to ever try being so.

Still, it had been quite amusing to see the man gaping at his brilliance, clearly impressed by his stunning flips and culinary feats! Perhaps if he was lucky, he would still manage to walk out of here with two new friends!

Papyrus wasn’t worried as Host-Human declared the challenge: Upside-down Pineapple cake. He may not have been the best cook below ground, but he had learned much in the years above – how to cook for humans, how to cook without burning the house down, and how to pay a mortgage! All very exciting things!

Humming happily, Papyrus took his groceries to his workstation and happily set up camp, chopping away, mixing and stirring with exacting precision. The clever yet cruel sabotages were to come in the middle of this final challenge, rather than before! He couldn’t help but be impressed by some of the ideas – and the many ideas of the episodes before this one, his own episode. If he won, he would be the star of the show!!!! Even more widely seen than Mettaton, star of the Underground! Such an incredible new experience… as was this entire adventure!

Fighting together with his ally to defeat the foe, finding the secret treasures hidden in the closet of glorious foods – as soon as he returned home to his brother, he was insisting on getting a matching pantry! – to talking with so many humans and to the camera… and hopefully, he would have the new experience of bringing enough money home for his family. The above-ground had been semi-welcoming, but it wasn’t always… kind. But that’s why Papyrus was here!

“Chefs!” Host-Human called out and Papyrus peeked up, staring in outrage as he saw the Annoying Dog perched on top of the judging table. “I know that sometimes you can’t always find everything you need in the pantry in the limited time you have, so I took the liberty of shopping for you! For a small price, this basket of food is yours to do with as you wish – keep it for yourself or swap out your opponent’s basket!” Papyrus couldn’t help the rush of glee that filled him – his foe had no money with which to win this prize.

The ingredients Host-Human was holding were… somewhat what was necessary for the desert, but they were also of the lowest quality possible. Now, Papyrus knew that he could easily deal with such a handicap – it was no different than struggling for human and foreign ingredients underground, but… wasn’t it almost fair, for a human to be forced to deal with this instead of a monster, for once?

Yes, Papyrus decided. This was karmic justice, of which his brother would approve most heartily! “$1,500!” he cheerfully called out, knowing that the human had no more than that. Indeed, moments later, he gracefully gifted the human with the food, and went to take back the old basket – only to draw back in surprise as the human spat in it and at him.

“NOW, HUMAN, THAT IS NO WAY TO REACT,” Papyrus scolded. “THAT’S NOT THE SPIT-RIT OF THINGS! NYEH-HEH-HEH!” he laughed as he retreated out of range, unwilling to get human slobber on his pearly bones. The dog’s slobber was bad enough!

Several minutes later, Alton spoke up again, while petting the dog. “You know, something interesting about the upside-down pineapple cake is that it’s turned upside-down. I know, who would have guessed? So, I was thinking… how about turning one of you upside down? Whenever you want to work at your station, you must be suspended in this sling and hung upside down at a lovely 45-degree angle. Who would like to-“

“Just give it to the damn skeleton already, you know he’s got the money!” the human beside him snarled out. Papyrus didn’t know that humans could turn that shade of purple – he was learning new things everyday!

“Well, alright! Papyrus, would you like to place your bid, please?” Papyrus somewhat uncertainly offered the expected 15-hundred, but he wasn’t sure about the action. Would the human be okay? He hadn’t been planning on bidding; as a monster, he was much more suited to physical difficulties, and he could still use magic to assist in his cooking. But if the other insisted…

With a deep scowl, the human was strapped into a deceptively simple rig, whereupon the same person that had tied him together slowly rotated the contraption until the human was at a very awkward looking angle. Papyrus felt a bit bad, but the human had quite literally asked for it!

No more sabotages came, but no more were necessary. The other human was hissing and spitting, no longer biting back his vitriol. Specks of spit landed in his…cake, as he attempted to bake. Papyrus felt pity for this poor human – if he could not get over himself, he would have absolutely nothing – nothing to show, nothing to hold onto, nothing to be proud of.

…and at the moment, the human had absolutely no pride whatsoever. He was red in the face, puffy in the cheeks, angry in the eyes, and empty in the money pocket. Quite frankly, it was everything he asked for and deserved – and the helper he had to ask to lift him each time was a female human! Which, for some reason, this male human despised.

He had to ask her nicely, too, or she’d dump him entirely on his head. It took him quite a few tries to figure this out! Papyrus shook his head at the lack of decency, and exchanged a high-five with the girl as he passed. He was so hip and with the times!

Papyrus grinned and the man let out a new stream of curses as one of his pans caught fire. Undyne would approve!

Papyrus watched with anticipation as Judge-human – different than judge-monster, who was Sans and had an entirely different job than this human judge – took a bite of his cake. He let out a short protest – no, not a squawk! Not at all! – as she then fed a bite to the dog that had successfully pulled off the Puppy Eyes Maneuver, ™. Papyrus could never get that look to work on anyone other than his brother – it wasn’t fair!

“Well, chefs, I have to say this is one of my easiest choices,” the judge said as she pulled back. Both she and papyrus looked over at his competition – a sad, burned and crumbling cake that was falling apart as they watched. The dog had refused to eat it when offered – Papyrus supposed that the dog did clearly have good taste, only going after the finest bones and cuisine – his, of course.

“And with that, I am proud to say that you, chef Papyrus, are the winner of cutthroat kitchen!” She said, and the dog let out a happy yowl as Papyrus screeched with joy.

“YES! YES! SANS, I DID IT! I WON! I WON!” Papyrus jumped up and pulled the judge into a hug, and then the host. “I ACTUALLY WON AT COOKING! I ACTUALLY WON IN A HUMAN SHOW! I MEAN, OF COURSE I’D WIN – I’M CLEARLY THE COOLEST MONSTER HERE – BUT… I WON!!!” Papyrus began to dance, only to be interrupted as A.D. started to growl.

“You rotten little-“ clearly the other human did not like losing, as he was approaching Papyrus with murder clear in his eyes. Papyrus slowed his celebrating and sighed – there was nothing so trying to his patience as a human trying to murder him.

*tinkle tinkle tinkle* Everybody stopped, as a rain of yellow liquid splashed down on the approaching human. He roared and launched himself forward, only to slip in the doggy residue and land face first in his ‘cake’.

Security came in, and quickly removed the stinking human, leaving Papyrus to his victory. Well! That had certainly been new!

-fin-

I hope you enjoyed reading! I’ll be posting this to AO3 after I get some sleep - I stayed up until 9 in the morning with no sleep so far - and a sequel with a few of the bits I had to cut to reach the wordcount. Hopefully it’s not too choppy, and that you enjoyed reading! This was my first intentional humorous - or should I say, humerus, story, so I hope it goes over well!

Thank you again for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Update: Link to AO3 version here!

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#Undertale #Undertalefanficcontest #@undertailfanficcontest #Papyrus #Cutthroat kitchen #Alton Brown #OCs #because you can't have a contest without competitors #humor #friendship #sabotage #Annoying Dog #my stories #my stuff

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skelehawk · 7 years

Text

Sunlight

How long had he been stuck here?

Sans didn’t know. He had been trapped in the Underground for years, only to be captured once more by human forces the moment he was freed. He had but a single goal in mind: find Papyrus, and get him to safety.

This piece, taking place in the Underfell universe, was written for the angst category of @undertailfanficcontest! Cutting it down to size took a bit of doing, but it’s finally at the perfectly reasonable length of 5,999 words. Fun times. Enjoy!

Content warnings: splashes of violence; some characters die; authority is authoritative; sans is a potty mouth; this is an angsty angst fic

Edit: My apologies to anyone who reblogged this before the read more link was inserted. It should be much more manageable now!

————-

It had been midnight when the barrier combusted.

The great explosion of magic brought forth by the raw power of seven human souls had rung through every nook and cranny of the Underground, from the dreary cesspits of the Capital’s bars to the eerily still halls of the Ruins. There wasn’t a single monster who hadn’t heard the highly pitched sound. If it had been quieter, it could even have been akin to the striking of a bell.

As it was, the deafening noise shook the Underground like an earthquake.

Such a noise was not going to go unnoticed by those who lived beyond the barrier.

So when a fifteen-foot tall king of monsters led his people out into the radiant light of the moon, they were not as alone as they had expected to be. The sky, dotted by stars and planets and galaxies, was soon crowded with great hunks of metal that buzzed like enormous flies and drowned out the soft celestial glow with harsh, blinding floodlights of their own. This did not sit well with the ex-inhabitants of a sparsely-lit cave.

None of the monsters could quite put their finger on why the idea of violence suddenly seemed so daunting. They had trained for a millenia on each other, culling the weak and ensuring that the strong survived to lead the assault on the human front, taking back what had been stolen from them so long ago. The lot of them were nothing but ruthless killers by now.

…Right?

Nonetheless, the crowd of a few hundred monsters stopped in their tracks the moment that the human forces turned their focus to these alien creatures. The flying metal machines circled in a manner similar to vultures over roadkill; the air was silent save for the dull churning of their motors and uncomfortable murmurs from the beasts echoing across the mountainside.

The stillness lasted for maybe a half hour. A calm before a storm.

It was then that a lone straggler drifted down from the steel flock to land in front of the soul-gorged monster king. Five humans emerged from the belly of the aircraft. All but one wore thick black garments from head to toe. The more dapperly dressed fifth human stepped forward and extended his hands toward the robed behemoth.

They were empty.

It was a stark contrast to the black-clad quartet behind him, who stood stoically with massive, shiny devices clutched between their gloved hands.

To their obvious surprise, the beast before them opened his maw and spit forth words in a human tongue.

A minute sprig of tension uncoiled between the two factions. Contact had been established. No one was dead. Yet.

The monsters began to back away from their leader at his behest, allowing him space to speak with the human ambassador with as much privacy as his booming voice would allow. It was in their best interest to respect the wishes of the benevolent tyrant who had lorded over their lives for so many bygone centuries.

As such, not a single living monster would know the exact phrase that ended the peaceful relations.

The king, who would soon fall, was left to contemplate his final sentiments entirely alone:

“If seven had to die, so be it. I did only what was best for my people.”

————–

“My brother, my brother, tell me where he is, I know you know where he is, ya fleshheaded bastards!”

Two pairs of hands pushed his flailing limbs to the ground while a third pulled some sort of thick mesh around his mouth and set it in place with a metallic click. His captors had learned early on that his sharp teeth weren’t just for show. Unfortunately, with his magic completely shot, that also meant that his sole defense mechanism had been ripped away from him without a second thought. It felt to be a rather… compromising position.

Sans didn’t know whether he appreciated or hated the fact that he could talk through the mesh. Sure, he was fully able to express his frustration as loudly and graphically as he wished. It was cathartic, to say the least.

It also meant that he got to see for himself just how little his squabbling really mattered in the grand scheme of things. He could count the times that anyone had shown even a facial reaction to his fervent complaints on a single hand.

That was how he was coming to view many things in his life: a mix of tentative appreciation and hatred at the same time.

The tiny room where he slept was spartan and lonely, a constant reminder of the fact that his brother wasn’t there to yell at his shitty puns or tell him to get off of his ass and tackle sentry duty. It was a grim contrast to everything that his life had once been. But at the same time, the room was safe. It was a constant; it was predictable. The humans would leave him to his business, as simple and dull as it may be, and never stepped foot within its confines so long as he complied when they wanted him to leave.

…which admittedly was rare.

Not the leaving part, no; that special event occurred at least once every time the blaringly bright overhead lights flickered to life. (So, a day? Maybe?) The rare facet of these confrontations was his compliance with orders. The humans who posed as his twisted caretakers certainly incentivized the submission well enough - he was promised actual food instead of the pills that he was given daily, containing just enough magic to keep him alive - he simply couldn’t stomach the idea of admitting he was beaten. (Like he had so many times before…)

All of these factors had led him to the position he was in right now. Writhing around on the floor with disgusting, oily human hands clamped around his humeri, just below where the sleeves of his baggy, sterile, short-sleeved shirt cut off-

“Skeleton.” The soft voice was enough of a shock that Sans ceased his frenzied squirming and jerked his head toward the source of the sound. The speaker, though too far behind his back to be seen from his awkward positioning, loosened their grip on his right arm just enough that it no longer cut into his bone and removed one of their hands entirely. It would have been a perfect opportunity to wriggle free… but in the end, he would accomplish nothing.

He let himself lay limp.

What he wasn’t expecting was for the feeling of the hand to return, this time on his skull, on the portion of his temporal bone located just behind his jaw. Tension seeped out of his body as a few fingers carefully pet the oddly specific location. He shuddered.

It almost felt like…

Like…

The duo sat, clutching one another, Sans shivering uncontrollably in his brother’s arms. He had just witnessed his sibling, his entire world, come face to face with death. If he hadn’t come home within a time frame of five seconds, Papyrus would have been nothing more than a pile of dust on the decaying carpet. If his attack had missed, if he hadn’t hit the massive canine across the eyes, if he hadn’t sent him running…

“Sans, I am okay. You are okay.”

Papyrus brought his hand to the side of Sans’ skull and ran his phalanges along the bone in careful, comforting circles. Sans let out a shaky sigh.

They fell to sleep in each other’s arms that night.

“Papyrus.”

There was only one way that this human could have known the motion that would snap him out of a panic.

“What did you do to him?” He croaked the question out in a whimper, utterly despising how much influence a simple touch had over his entire being. (Pathetic.) A chuckle from the human assured him that his self-evaluation was correct.

“Hush, skeleton.” They continued the feather-light ministrations while the other two humans looked on. “Your brother has been closed off to us, but opened up as soon as your care came into the picture.”

Sans felt a sinking feeling engulf his soul.

“He told us only that light pressure to the side of your skull over an extended period of time could keep you from hurting yourself. I suppose he wasn’t lying, for once.”

Betrayal. The notion rang through his mind; raw, plain, and simple.

Papyrus had given into these bastards?

“You’re smart, buddy,” the voice went on. Sans let out a halfhearted growl at the overly friendly designation. “And you know that we can achieve our goals together. Administration is willing to let you visit Papyrus if you begin to show even minimal cooperation with their reformation efforts.”

With a defeated sigh, Sans snapped his drooling mouth shut and attempted to draw his head away from the human’s incessant carressing. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. Just fuck off with the petting thing. You’re a buncha creeps.”

There was, predictably, no response to his verbal jab as the humans on either side of him tucked their hands under the meeting points of his clavicles and humeri and lifted him to his feet. The ease at which the massive creatures could hoist his frame into the air was… disconcerting at best. (Why was he so goddamned small?)

He was shunted out of his room’s door and briskly escorted down the hallway, once again cursing his minute stature as the hands on his shoulders pushed him along at a pace too fast for his legs to keep up with. The scrabbling of his bare phalanges on the concrete floor echoed down the otherwise quiet, whitewashed corridor. (No way in hell was he wearing the bizarre laceless shoes they’d given him. If he was going to wear proper shoes instead of slippers, they’d better be able to appear consistently untied, dammit.)

The jaunt came to an abrupt halt when the party reached an open door labeled “Conference Room 5” in neat black script. He felt the presence of the human who had been petting him continue on down the hall as he was led through the doorway.

A telltale click indicated that the room’s single exit had been shut behind him.

Sans was all too familiar with this nondescript space, and if asked, could describe it in perfect detail with his sockets tightly shut. It was a sizable rectangle with the building’s typical white walls and ceiling. Instead of the accompanying tile floor, however, Conference Room 5 had a seaweed-colored carpet that was soft under his feet. Four cheaply upholstered chairs were nailed in a “Y” pattern to the floor. Three of these chairs - the middle of which Sans was being seated in now - faced a “mirror.” (It was obviously one-way glass. He still didn’t understand why the humans had initially tried to hide it from him.)

While his escorts took their seats at the two uppermost points of the “Y,” Sans stared blankly at the occupant of the bottommost chair.

Doctor… something. Sans had intentionally forgotten her name. She was his interrogato- er, helper. He’d spent his time in this room completely silently, staring at a wall while Doc asked him questions and occasionally reminded him that he was “safe now.”

Apparently, in order to see Papyrus, his selective muteness would have to be put on hold.

Doc caught his gaze with a wave as he listlessly glanced around the room.

“Good morning, skeleton. I heard you might be ready to talk with me today?”

God, her voice was so sickeningly sweet. Sans took a moment to roll his eyelights before grudgingly nodding in her general direction. (It’s just for Papyrus’ sake, just play along, just-)

“Hun, I’m going to need to hear your voice at some point. I appreciate your effort, I really do, but we’ll need to communicate in order to deconstruct the cycle of violence that you were exposed to while living underground.” She placed her index finger to her lips in thought. “Let’s begin with your name. Can you do that for me?”

Silence reigned for an uncomfortably long time while Sans wrestled with his conscience. (Could they use his name against him? Well, of course they could, but would they?)

Doc seemed about ready to speak again, coax him one more time, when he finally quashed his wary nature.

“Sans.” He whispered suddenly, a growl running through his throat.

“What?” Doc looked astonished that he’d actually complied.

“Sans.”

She heard him that time, as indicated by her careful nod. “Well then, Sans, share with me what you are comfortable with, and we can work from there.” The sides of her lips curled upward into a soft smile.

Sans narrowed his sockets, eyelights brimming with suspicion. (What did these creatures want from him? Which words should he avoid? Which words would place him in a better position?)

He eventually decided upon a topic that was straightforward enough.

“Well Doc, you already know something about me; something that ya successfully used to your advantage.” He watched her expression morph into something resembling… concern?.. before continuing. “Maybe you’re looking to learn about my bro, huh?”

He carefully observed her facial features to locate any tells of excitement or malice at his statement. He found none, save for a slight tilt of her head likely indicative of her willingness to listen.

Sans didn’t know whether he was more relieved or let down by the lack of confirmation of his hunch.

“Welp, if you are, then that sucks for you. Lemme ask you this instead: have you ever tried running a hotdog stand?”

——————-

“BROTHER?”

Sans leaned back onto his dingy pillow and wove his fingers together behind his head. Might as well get comfy for the day’s routine existentialist chat. He called out in a voice just loud enough to reach the top bunk: “Yeah, boss?”

A groan.

“Ugh, SANS! I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING ME BY THAT RIDICULOUS MONIKER THREE WEEKS AGO.” His voice softened. “Brother, that is what unnerves me. I try to keep all of the numbers in my head, but they slip. What if I count a day twice? What if our feeding schedule was changed a while back? How do I know it has truly been three weeks since our agreement and not three months?”

Sans inwardly flinched, but kept his voice steady. “Y’gotta trust your intuition, bro. ‘Sides, you were the most organized monster in the whole damn Underground. If anyone can keep track of something as mundane as a mental calendar, it’s you.”

A weak laugh escaped Papyrus’ maw. Sans heard shifting from the bunk above him and a heavy thud as Papyrus slid from his mattress to the floor.

“SCOOT.”

(It was difficult to resist the usual “Sure thing, Boss.”)

Sans kept his arms folded behind his head and lazily dragged his legs to his chest. He had an image to maintain, after all. Papyrus simply shot him a withering glance before taking a seat at the end of Sans’s bed. Several minutes passed in amicable silence before Papyrus spoke once more in the soft, gentle tone that was so alien to hear in his voice.

“Sans, I feel scared.”

With those four little words, Sans shot up from his pillow, exhaustion completely forgotten. “Papyrus, what-?”

“My human told me that I was here to become a better monster. That once I had escaped my violent nature, I would be released.”

Sans nodded slowly, unable to see where this was coming from. He had been given the same talk by Doc many times before.

“Such a trivial matter should come easily to the Great and Terrible Papyrus, yes?” A spark ignited in Papyrus’ eyelights as he quipped his preferred title. It flickered for a moment, then died as he was pulled back into the present. “I’ve been trying, Sans, I’ve been trying so hard to prove my worth to these outlandish humans! They would be imbecilic to miss just how far the Great Papyrus has come!” He let out a dejected huff and turned to Sans. “I’ve even been able to quell my penchant for lashing out when exposed to unexpected noises.”

Sans sank back into his pillow in a flash of understanding, suddenly realizing where Papyrus was steering his train of thought. “They want something more from us, Sans. Something other than the simple taming of our impulses. I don’t know what it is yet, but I fear it will not turn out well for us monsters.”

The little skeleton felt a shiver run through his bones. He’d never trusted the fleshy beasts himself, but he’d tried with all of his pathetic might to keep Papyrus as distanced from his cynical mindset as possible. Papyrus deserved happiness, for once in his life. He deserved to live in some semblance of safety, without worrying about his broken older brother, without constantly having to look over his shoulder to avoid a painful dusting. Even if that sense of security was rooted in lies.

Sans did the only thing he could think of in that moment to comfort his little brother: extend his arms and offer him a hug.

Papyrus obliged.

The two sat like that, curled in each other’s arms and souls glowing softly in unison for what seemed like an eternity. The only indication that time itself hadn’t stopped were their occasional whispers; quiet, hopeful little things that only they would know.

“Y’know, Papy, I’ve heard that humans on the outside have entire restaurants dedicated to the art of fine pasta craftsmanship.”

“Nyeheh, maybe I’ll grant them the privilege of witnessing true, monster-style cooking!”

“What would we do with all of that spaghetti afterwards?”

“Have an elegant, gourmet picnic consisting entirely of my artistry! Obviously.”

“Bet you’d attract quite the crowd, all clamberin’ for some of that pasta.”

“That’s why we’d have it in a field! One with grass. And one where we can see the sun.”

“That’s a bright idea.”

“I know! Oh, Sans, I am so excited to see the sun! I’ll look so majestic and powerful when bathed in its gassy, fiery rays!”

“Yeah, you will, Pap.”

(Aren’t his dreams so beautiful?)

——————-

“As you may have realized, the amount of magic contained in the meal provided to you earlier today was slightly larger than your daily magic output rate.”

Sans glanced at the gangly human to his left and acknowledged their statement with a curt nod. While he wasn’t about to let them know, he most certainly had noticed what he’d assumed was a slip-up on their part. After being fed just enough magic to keep him alive for months on end, the excess spark of energy pulsing through his soul was expressed in his every movement. His steps had a gentle, lighthearted bounce to them. He slouched a little bit less. The pinpricks of lights within his otherwise empty sockets glowed ever so slightly brighter, allowing him to witness vibrant colors in a world that had looked washed-out and dull for an unbearably long time. (He hadn’t seen colors this intense since he’d channeled every last grain of power into his brother’s soul on that fateful first night on the surface, eons ago. Papyrus’ skull had been hit multiple times and he was so close to dusting; his skull was caked with chalky white dust and his crimson soul was cradled in glimmering tendrils of Sans’ veridian healing magic-)

He put an end to that line of thinking as his mask began to slip. Thankfully, none of the humans present decided to comment, instead keeping to their work.

The one standing directly in front of him, between Sans and the one-way glass, was arranging several unfamiliar devices on a folding table. Each was placed in a seemingly predetermined location and secured with a liquid adhesive. Some had lights, others gauges, and a few had numbers. All were made of the same reflective metal.

Sans knew data collection instruments when he saw them.

A tightening coil of revulsion wove its way down his spine.

Fortunately, the gangly human must have sensed his discomfort, and put an end to Sans’ confusion. “It has been determined that, because of your cooperative behavior, we would begin the next phase of your rehabilitation.” The human bent his knees in order to be at eye-level with Sans. It took all of the short skeleton’s willpower to not blow a fuse then and there. “We are putting a lot of trust in you, Sans. Please demonstrate that this trust was not misplaced.”

As the fleshy creature straightened his legs again, Sans was left to shiver at the bizarre contrast between the gentle tone of voice and steely, clinical gaze. The occupants of this room all looked at him with the same detached, unempathetic interest that reminded him so profoundly of the way a scientist might look at a drugged rat.

“Anyway, your powers are tied to your biological structure and to your soul, and as such, are inseparable from your being.” The words conveyed the disconcerting implication that an attempt had been made to strip a more volatile monster of its magic. Sans wasn’t about to contemplate the outcome of said attempt. “We believe that finding constructive outlets for your magic is a crucial step toward reintroduction to society.”

Sans nodded, trying his hardest to keep his smile lax.

(Something was wrong. If the sheer quantity of bodies in the room were needed for security’s sake, then where was Doc and where were the scary, muscular humans who had pinned him to the floor so many times during his first month trapped in the facility? No, the creatures present were clearly related to the data collection devices. But why were either necessary?)

The whirling torrent of thoughts coursing through his mind were almost painful in their relentless assault, but he had to keep them in. He had to play the part of the compliant, trustful drone. He needed his magic back.

“Through your own words and others’ testimony, we have determined that you possess both projectile and gravitational magic. Is this correct?” (Shit.) The human stared at Sans while he ran through dozens of possible responses in his head. In the end, he decided upon the answer that would raise the fewest questions.

“Yup.”

The look of disassociated interest intensified. “Excellent.” A single hand strayed to the back of Sans’ head, and applied just enough pressure to indicate that he should move towards the table. (Don’t freak out don’t freak out just obey be good obEY OBEY-)

Sans took three careful steps forward and gingerly placed his phalanges on the edge.

“As you can see, a plank of wood has been placed in the center of the table.” An entirely unnecessary wave of the hand accompanied the statement, as if Sans wouldn’t understand which object was being referred to. “While you don’t have much extra magic today, we estimated that you should have enough to pierce the plank. Get a sense for using your powers after so long without them, you know.”

(No, he didn’t know. Magic came to monsters as easily as eating. It was just as stupid to imply that he would have forgotten how to use basic attack magic as it would be to imply that a starving beast would forget how to devour a corpse. …Not that these crazy fuckwits would understand that.)

He had to play it cool. Gather some information, maybe. He glanced back at the table and honed in on the metal instruments. “Oh, uhh, yeah, of course.” A pause. “You wanting me to do anythin’ with the other stuff? The shiny bits? Stab them through with another bone or just punch ‘em with my bare fists or somethin’?”

The gangly mouthpiece of the group raised an eyebrow, probably confused as to why the board hadn’t already been eviscerated. “No. Pay them no mind.” His tone was somewhere in between chiding and irritated.

(Could he push a little harder without seeming too suspicious?)

“Isn’t it a little dangerous to have all of these sharp objects around a magical field? I mean, what if they got knocked off and hit someone in the phalan- foot?” Two humans across from Sans exchanged glances, while the talkative one adopted a face of unadulterated exasperation.

“They’re stable and attached to the surface. They have been requested to enhance your safety. Now, the wood?”

(Safety. Code word for “shut up, we aren’t going to tell you.”)

Sans made sure to hide his sigh as he focused on targeting the plank. A familiar heat rushed into his left socket and arm. His soul pulsed wildly as it fed magic into his body; his emotions burned brightly and free, screaming to take physical form. He allowed his anger at the humans, for killing his king, for imprisoning him, for crushing his brother’s dreams to be directed at the simple board.

CrRRK!

A thin, spindly bone bore through the wood. Sure, it wasn’t a very impressive attack, but it was all that he could manage considering his incredibly low magic reserves.

At least the humans seemed delighted. A few had even allowed their impassive masks to break, revealing surprisingly innocent expressions of wonder. (Maybe, in another life, the entire population of the room could have enjoyed a picnic together. Eaten some spaghetti, laughed over some puns… heh, what a joke.)

————–

Papyrus was miraculously asleep, and Sans had been able to convince Doc that he was feeling horrifically ill and needed to join his brother in the comforting nothingness of unconsciousness.

Today would have been another “Applied Magic” day. The sessions were getting more frequent, and he was getting larger portions of food more often. This also meant that he had been able to squirrel away food almost every day.

His stash, located in a hole that he had carefully sliced into the side of his thin mattress, now contained enough food to account for two meals. Maybe it was a bit of an overkill, but he had to make sure that he could shortcut at a moment’s notice. Today, he would be doing some snooping. He was going to find out what all of this rehabilitative nonsense was really about.

(If nonviolence was all they wanted, Papyrus would have been out months ago. In a more perfect world, he never would have raised arms another creature in his life.)

With one final look back at Papyrus (remember who all of this is for), Sans gathered his concentration and prayed that no one was using the hallway outside of Conference Room 5. Now, he just had to imagine that his room’s door was open, and that instead of leading to its typical destination, it led to Conference Room 5’s destination. He closed his sockets, took a step forward…

And when he opened them again, he was alone in a bleach-white hallway.

He turned around, and came face to face with cleanly stenciled text:

Conference Room 5

(Thank heavens.)

Now, if he were a human, where would he store data outputs? (Well, either a storage closet, or a lab. Duh.) But where exactly would that lab be?

…

Time for some good ol’ fashioned trial and error.

With as much haste as he dared, Sans scrambled through hallway after hallway, peeking around every corner and fixating on every passing soul. (He paused for a moment just outside of a door concealing a soul that called out to him, and had the uncanny urge to drop his mission then and there and bust out a knock-knock joke. With a pang of remorse, he pulled himself away from it and continued down the twisting halls.) Once, he even had to dive into a wall and shortcut around the corner, just barely avoiding detection by a man in a sweater vest.

The close call turned out to be a blessing in disguise. His shortcut spat him out in front of a heavy white door with just the label he was looking for: Filing Room.

Resisting a dance of joy, he grabbed the sleek handle and twisted it slowly, as if the speed at which he opened the door would determine whether or not a human was lying in wait. (Please let the room be empty please let the room be empty-)

By a second stroke of luck, the door revealed nothing but a darkened room full of shelves, piled high with folders, papers, and glass vessels of all kinds. Sans stepped onto the carpeted floor and closed the door behind him. The room was now pitch black. All it took was a bit of fumbling around on the wall to find a light switch, thank fuck, to brighten it up like a Gryftmas tree. The search could now commence.

It wasn’t long before Sans learned that if there was one thing dedicated humans excelled at, it was organization. Despite the cluttered appearance of the shelves, they were alphabetized perfectly. It was more than he could say for his own lab notes. He absentmindedly ran his hand across a stray folder’s label: Cannibalism.

(Nope.)

He ran several shelves down and checked another folder: Snowdrake, Composition. He didn’t stop to take in the fact that the folder was propped up by two jars of grey powder. He had to stay focused.

Two shelves in the opposite direction revealed a more promising Manticore, Behaviors. His goal was almost in reach. One shelf to the left was full of folders and collections of paper labeled Magic. Bingo. Now, if only he could figure out what he was looking for, exactly. Skimming the labels might help him narrow his search a bit…

Magic, Theory. Magic, Typology. Magic, Usage. Magic, Weaponization. Magic- (Wait.)

With a shaking hand, he pulled the Magic, Weaponization file from its place on the shelf. Several papers fell from the folder to the floor.

He picked one up and began reading.

“…and if the explosion at Mt. Ebott was any indication, this power can be converted into a highly concentrated, destructive form. Interrogation upon various subjects has revealed that consumption of a human soul by a monster can lead to a metamorphosis of sorts, creating a monster as massive as Asgore Dreemurr. With the right training, a monster such as this could be a valuable offensive asset to the armed forces…”

(No. Oh, no. Papyrus, no-)

Crrrreeeeek.

Sans froze, paper still in hand. Someone was behind him. Someone had just entered the room.

“M-monster? Put that down, and don’t move!”

Sans didn’t spare a second to see who was talking. He had to get back to his brother. Now.

He made a dive for the wall, closed his eyes, and…

“OOF!”

…crashed into something very boney. “SANS? WHERE- Where were you? And why are you using magic?”

Without even meeting Papyrus’ gaze, Sans threw himself toward his mattress and tore open the side. Enchanted food - a few apples, half of an astoundingly intact sandwich, a bag of chisps, and several packets of mustard that he’d earned for exemplary behavior - tumbled to the floor. He launched an apple toward Papyrus, who caught it with relative ease. Sans himself sliced open the bag of potato chisps with a canine tooth and shoved a handful into his mouth.

“Mnfph. Regain as much magic as ya can, Paps. We’re - crunch - bustin’ outta this joint. We got two minutes before I’m makin’ a run for it.”

Papyrus seemed to be visibly fighting his instinct to chastise Sans for his manners. In the end, he settled for digging into the apple before kneeling with his back to his brother on the floor. “Eh-hm. THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS MUST OBJECT TO YOU ‘MAKING A RUN FOR IT,’ RUNT. DUE TO MY SUPERIOR SPEED, I WILL HANDLE THE RUNNING. YOU WILL HANDLE THE DECIMATION OF ANYTHING THAT STANDS IN OUR WAY.” He looked over his scapula and shot Sans a withering glance. “THIS IS THE PART WHERE YOU PUT YOUR ARMS OVER MY CLAVICLES AND I SUPPORT YOUR FEMURS WITH MY HANDS.”

With one last crunch of a chisp, Sans obliged, and pressed himself up against his brother’s back. The close proximity of the duo’s souls eased Sans’ worries ever so slightly. His grin felt a little bit less forced as Papyrus rose to his feet.

(Now, where might an exit be? Well, he was always taken left to visit Doc and the winding hallways had been left as well… Right, then. It was the best guess he had.)

“Bro? Close your sockets, and walk into the door. We’re taking a shortcut. When we emerge, start running, no matter who or what is out there. Got it?”

A shimmering burst of confidence from Papyrus’ soul told Sans all he needed to know. He felt his brother take a careful step forward…

Take a deep, albeit unnecessary breath…

…and take off flying. Sans flicked his sockets open and readjusted his eyelights to better take in the bright surroundings. Doors whizzed past the two at incredible speeds. (Whoa. He’d forgotten just how quickly one could run with the aid of longer legs.)

His soul nearly stopped beating when he heard voices carrying down the hallway.

“We’ll need to check cell twenty-five. Davies claimed that a skeleton monster was loose near the storage rooms.”

“And you believed the old kook? Lord knows she’s halfway to a psychotic breakdown with the shit she’s done here.”

Papyrus sprinted around a corner only to come face to face with a trio of chattering humans. For a moment, no one moved a muscle.

Then, everything leapt into motion all at once. Two of the humans barreled toward the skeletons while the third pulled a small, grey box from their belt and frantically shouted something into it. Sans, on the other hand, wordlessly tapped the side of his brother’s skull and pointed to the wall. Trust flowed freely between the two as Papyrus pressed his sockets shut and ran towards the concrete without a second thought. Reality began to shift.

Once it had straightened itself out again, the skeletons were behind the group of humans. From then on, the two moved as one, Papyrus blindly running forward and Sans casting shortcuts to put precious distance between them and their pursuers.

Both had nearly collapsed in exhaustion by the time they reached their goal.

Two windowed doors stood stoically, displaying green on the other side. Somehow, it barely seemed real. Months had passed in wait of this moment, and the days of the facility were very nearly behind them.

Papyrus, as if in a trance, placed a hand on the handle and pushed. It didn’t budge.

That was okay, though. Sans still had another shortcut in him. A single snap of his fingers, and the two were on the other side of the doors.

There were no words for the sight that greeted them. To most, it would seem perfectly ordinary. Green grass bordered a parking lot filled with vehicles of all shapes and sizes. A wing of the building rose up on their right, red bricks faded and mossy yet still perfectly intact. A few dandelions bloomed in the field beyond. All was still.

All was peaceful.

No sight, however, could compare to the magnificent colors that painted the sky. Directly above the duo’s heads, blue became a soft purple where fluffy clouds rested in the sky. Closer to the horizon, the purple became pink, then red, and then orange. And at the center of it all was the sun.

It was brilliant in its majesty. Radiant, powerful, and all-consuming.

Papyrus was the first to break the awestruck silence.

“Sans? It’s so… so beautifu-”

BANG!

Suddenly, Sans found himself falling at full speed toward the ground.

His landing was cushioned by a pile of… ash? It was soft, and warm, and welcoming. As he moved his legs to right himself, it was stirred into the air, and clung to him as it settled back down. (Where did-?)

“Papyrus?”

BANG!

#hawk's writing #fanfic contest #undertale #underfell #sans #papyrus #cw: violence #cw: death

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