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itsladykit · 8 months

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Compound Fracture, 40 - Fire and Ice

Summary: In which Sans and Slim have a one-sided chat.

CW: alcohol use/abuse, past domestic violence, self-deprecating thoughts, over-protective brothers being overly protective

After that morning’s discussion with Edge, things became peaceful to a degree Slim found surreal.

Breakfast was normal enough. Those little signs of interest he’d noticed around the kitchen table nearly a week ago were still present, but they were more obvious now. By the time Edge had prepared a plate of muffins and fresh fruit and eggs for Slim, Red, and Paps, Blue had prepared a plate as well, piled high with everything they’d made. Edge gave him a look when he set it in front of Edge’s seat.

“Pipsqueak…”

There was a warning in his tone, but Blue just smiled brightly. “I didn’t think you’d mind sharing. Is that okay?”

That had earned him a raised brow-bone, but the suspicion faded from his features. “I…suppose.” He cleared his throat, then took his seat between Blue and Paps. Grinning, Blue handed him half of a muffin, already smeared with butter and jam. Once he took it, Blue tapped his half of the muffin against Edge’s in mockery of a toast and took a bite. With a subtle smile pulling at his mouth, Edge relaxed his shoulders and followed suit. Then he leaned forward and began asking them about Underswap’s housing situation, where they’d best be able to find a place, what kind of money or paperwork would be needed. All the critical pieces of information they’d need to establish their safe house.

As they chatted, Red watched closely while making it look like he wasn’t watching at all. Slim saw the way his eyelights darted from Edge to Blue to their shared plate. Before Slim could remind him that they were safe in this universe—Edge was allowed to relax here—and that they wanted the Swap brothers to lure him away from Underfell entirely, Red’s hand uncurled from the loose fist he’d formed. He swallowed hard, then turned his attention to his own food.

It took Slim a moment to realize why, still not yet as attuned to Edge as he was to Red. After a beat, he understood; Edge was eating, seemingly without difficulty or protest. And even if Blue wasn’t precisely the cause, he was certainly helping rather than hurting.

After that, Red remained watchful, but he seemed disinclined to disrupt whatever magic the Swap brothers were weaving.

The next couple days passed in what seemed to Slim like a surreal haze of peace and warmth. There was bickering—you couldn’t throw seven skeletons into a house and expect them not to argue—but it was good-natured, even if Edge and Red both had to add coins to Rus’ swear jar. Rus continued to flirt with Red, and the Swap brothers continued to prove that Edge was not nearly as unapproachable as Slim had always assumed, even if he remained just as prickly. It left his soul feeling warm and pleased and—

—and anxious, certain as he was that the fragile peace couldn’t last. Hurt, too, because they were only seven, when they could have—should have—been eight.

On the third night of Edge’s return, that absence seemed magnified. More so because no one else seemed to note it. Edge and Blue were pouring over some obscure paragraph penned by the Elder Puzzler. They held a heavy tome between them, heads bent together as they stabbed at the page, talking over each other as they discussed the passage’s meaning. Paps—somehow—had managed to fall asleep beside them, taking up more of the couch than he had a right to. His skull was pillowed against Edge’s thigh, and Slim didn’t miss the way Edge’s hand—his arm no longer wrapped—settled on the crown of his head or the back of his neck when he and Blue paused their discussion. His fingers would periodically ghost over Paps’ bones before returning to the page to point at some other obscure bit of minutia.

In other circumstances, Rus’ attention would have been on them and the discussion of puzzles and traps, but Red had pulled him away and was—ostensibly—teaching him how to play poker. He leaned against Rus’ side, the two of them bent over the cards laid face up on the table. He reached over Rus’ arm, deliberately brushing against him as he sorted the cards into various hands, explaining which were the most valuable. And cracking dirty jokes under his breath to fluster Rus whenever he could work them in.

It was all very sweet and domestic. Despite himself, Slim kept trying to imagine where Razz would have seated himself, what he would have done on such a cozy, peaceful evening. He found he could only imagine his brother mocking the Fell brothers for their sudden softness, picking a fight to disrupt and disturb the fragile peace. Even if Razz had chosen to stay, he would not have belonged here amongst them. He would not have wanted to belong, seeing only weakness.

Slim’s soul ached, sick with loss and guilt. Because as much as he wished that Razz had stayed, he was too grateful for the warmth and peace to wish that he was here. He’d never forgive himself for that. He was a terrible brother, as traitorous as Razz claimed.

There was another absence weighing on them too. Rus kept checking the door, waiting for his own brother to reappear. At first, Slim had assumed he was worried that Sans would disrupt his time with Red, but as the night went on and Rus seemed to grow more and more despondent, he realized his looks weren’t furtive but upset. Rus was a better brother than Slim could ever hope to be.

In fact, Sans—like Razz—seemed to be pulling further and further away from his brother and the other skeletons. He hadn’t joined them for “arts and crafts”, and the last few days, he’d barely made an appearance at meal times, disappearing shortly after Rus, Blue, and Edge cleared the dishes away. It was no mystery where he’d gone, though Slim couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t stay. This was his home. He was Tale-verse. Was it simply overwhelming, having everyone here? Or was there more going on?

Slim stood up and stretched. Red looked to him, brow-bone cocked. Then Slim held up a pack of cigarettes, and he nodded. “ya wan’ comp’ny?” Slim shook his head, waving Red off as he headed toward the door. He lit up outside, so he wasn’t really lying, then started down the street toward the tavern.

He couldn’t do anything for his own brother, but he could at least do something for Sans.

He paused outside, looking up at the name writ large across the building’s side. His mouth felt dry, and he ducked his head, wishing he was wearing Red’s jacket. He missed the hood to hide his face, missed the ruff of warm fur that smelled of mustard and stale smoke. His fingers trembled, but as he ran his phalanges over his wrist, he felt the paint that still clung to the bone. He took a breath, stealing himself, and stepped inside. The collar at his throat was heavy and reassuring.

The room smelled of cigar smoke, grease, and wet dog, but the low murmur of voices wasn’t as overwhelming as he feared it would be. His gaze dropped down when he saw a flicker of fire from the corner of his socket. He kept his head down as he made his way toward the bar, cervical vertebrae prickling. He sat beside Sans, eyelights fixed on his pink slippers. For a moment, Sans didn’t react. Then he shifted, and Slim could tell he was looking at him.

Before Sans could say anything, Slim felt a sudden wash of heat as the bartender came to get his order. The breath caught in his thoracic cavity. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, let alone speak, and when Sans asked, “uh…d’you want anything?” he felt his bones start to tremble. Sans cleared his throat. “uh…how ‘bout some caramel for my friend—” Slim’s hand shot out, gripping Sans’ sleeve. He shook his head. “huh. alright. no caramel, then. wanna give something else a try?”

Slim swallowed, wondering why he’d come here. Had he really thought he’d be any use to anyone? He couldn’t speak on a good day—and now he thought he could talk to Sans in Grillby’s bar, of all places?

He stood, knowing that this had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have—

A fiery hand slipped into view, sliding a glass of something forward. The hand shaped the words, “Is maple syrup okay?” and he looked up.

Whatever reservations or biases he’d had about this Grillby slipped away. His brows were furrowed in concern, and his eyes were kind behind the glasses he wore. Tale-verse warmth bled off him, reminding Slim more of a sweet-piece than the gang leader he knew. Even the color of their flames was different. The only thing he shared with the Grillby of his ‘verse was a name.

He signed again, asking about the maple syrup. This time, Slim nodded and pulled the glass closer. The elemental checked in with Sans, then left after giving him a fresh bottle.

Sans rolled it between his hands, eyeing Slim out of the corner of his socket. “did pap send you?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Slim shook his head.

“edge?” He shook his head again. Sans turned to face him, frowning. “blue?” Another head shake. “stretch? no? well it wasn’t…” He paused. “red?” He shook his head one last time. “then who…?” Sans paused. “oh. you, uh…you came on your own?” Slim nodded. Sans stared at him. “why?”

Slim looked him up and down, then raised a brow-bone. Sans huffed, turning back to his drink. “well, thanks i guess but you really didn’t need to.”

Slim gave him a skeptical look, then shrugged, turning his attention to the syrup. It didn’t look bad. And it didn’t have any unpleasant associations. He spun the glass in his hand, watching the viscous liquid roll. He did prefer his drinks have a little body to them.

He took a tentative sip, and when he lowered the glass, he realized the bartender was watching him. “good?” he signed.

Ducking his head, Slim averted his sockets but nodded nonetheless. He hunched his shoulders, again wishing he had Red’s jacket. Or his own. He didn’t like feeling so visible.

Sans eyed him but didn’t say anything, which Slim didn’t mind. He missed his music, but someone had put a coin in the jukebox and one of Mettaton’s songs was playing softly. He ran his thumb over the edge of the bar, fingers silently tapping to the beat. Sans tried to ignore him at first, but Slim was more comfortable with silence, and as it stretched between them, Sans started to fidget. Finally, he said, “so, what’s up with you and the fell bros?”

Slim cocked his head in question.

Sans cleared his throat. “look, i know there’s a lot of stuff we don’t get, but i know this—” He touched his throat, where a collar would rest if he wore one. “—is kind of a big deal.”

That was a lot to explain to a Tale-verse monster, and he didn’t have the energy to try. So he just shrugged and rolled the glass between his hands. Sans watched him. When Slim continued to not say anything, he said, “i heard the edgelord call you brother. is that…” He swallowed. “that it, then? they adopted you?”

Slim glanced at him and offered a little nod.

“good,” he said, “that’s—it’s good.” Slim raised a brow-bone; it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Sans cleared his throat. “i’m happy for you.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his sockets. When Slim turned to face him fully, he downed the rest of his ketchup and flagged down the bartender. “heh. dead soldier,” he said, wiggling the bottle between his thumb and forefinger when the elemental came over. With a soft sigh, he opened another and set it in front of him. “thanks, grillbz!”

He turned back to Slim. “they’ll—they’ll take care of you,” Sans said, elbows resting on the bar. “they’re good. a little rough around the edges—” His grin widened, and he offered Slim a wink. “—but good. they’ll look after you.” He nodded to himself, taking another swig of ketchup. Slim began to wonder how many he’d had already. “yeah,” he said, more to himself than to Slim, “and you’ll—you’ll look after them too.” He took another long drink. “’s important,” he said, staring at the bottle, “family. need to look after your own.”

Brow-bones furrowed, Slim reached for him, but Sans turned suddenly and stared at him, eyelights bright and urgent. “did anyone…? anyone tell you?” Slim cocked his head, eyelights darting from Sans’ face to a spot just past his acoustic meatus. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Slim uncomfortable. “they didn’t, did they?”

Sans sat back, and Slim eyed the legs of his stool, noting how they wobbled. “not surprised.” He swallowed, his smile wide and—forced. “everyone’s been a little occupied. but you should know. you should—” Suddenly distracted, Sans grabbed the bottle of ketchup and took another long drink.

Slim fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, tugging on it as he eyed the bar. It was beginning to feel like a mistake, coming here. He’d been worried about Sans, but seeing him like this, he realized how woefully unprepared he was to deal with whatever was bothering him.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Sans set the bottle down with a soft clunk. Then he pointed a limp finger at Slim. “he came back for you.”

Slim stared at him, sockets wide—nearly panicked as he tried to guess what he meant.

“razz.”

The name cut through him, and his soul dropped. His grip on his sleeve tightened. Sans held up his hand, as if in surrender. “not-not like that.” He shook his head, sipping his ketchup. “when you first disappeared on us. razz went back through the machine, and your house was—it was on fire.” He stared hard at the bottle. “he barely—he didn’t even hesitate. just charged back in, back through the machine. into an inferno. if papyrus didn’t go in and grab him….”

Slim stared. No, no one had told him anything about this. He caught Sans’ sleeve, shaking it until Sans looked at him again. His eyelights were hazy, unfocused. But still intent. “he went back for you,” he said again, “he….” Something vital seemed to drain out of him, and Sans turned back to the bar. He leaned one elbow on it and rested his head heavily on his upraised hand, picking at the bottle’s label with the other. “he didn’t even hesitate,” he said again, but now he sounded tired—morose. “charged straight into a fire. but he wouldn’t stay. why…?”

With every word, Slim’s soul twisted itself into tighter and tighter knots. His breath froze in his thoracic cavity, and his bones prickled. The hum of mana through his skull was suddenly loud in his earholes. Forcing himself to move—to breathe—he turned back to the bar and grabbed the glass of maple syrup. It was warm in his hands. He took a fortifying swig, the syrup so sweet it made his teeth buzz.

A figure came to stand on his other side, and Slim’s skull jerked to look at him. Cool red eyelights stared back. Seeing the third skeleton join them, the bartender approached and waited for his order. “Siracha on the rocks. With lime, if you have it.” The elemental cocked a brow and gave Sans a look, but turned away to prepare Edge’s drink before anyone could attempt to interpret that reaction. “You were gone a while,” Edge observed, looking at Slim. “We were beginning to get worried.” He thanked the bartender for his drink when it arrived, offering a subtle nod of approval after his first sip.

“hey, grillbz, can you get me a fresh one?” Sans held up his empty bottle. “this one’s dead too.”

When Grillby approached, Edge put out a hand, stopping him. “Just water for him.” Grillby eyed Edge and Sans, then nodded and went to fetch a glass of water. Sans blinked in surprise, staring at him. “I did warn you I’d step in if this continued,” he said coolly.

Sans started snickering, cheekbone propped on his fist. “so, you gonna adopt me or date me, edgelord? ‘cause it seems to be one or the other with you.”

A bright red flush crept up Edge’s cheekbones, but he kept his head high and his gaze steady. “How refreshing for you to admit you need looking after. And while I am well aware of my desirability as either sibling or date-mate, I’m afraid my hands are full.”

“two brothers, two bonefriends—i’ll say your hands are full.” Edge’s blush brightened, though he refused to look away. “better be careful you don’t drop anyone, juggling like that.”

Edge straightened. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“means you spend too much time sticking your fingers in everyone else’s pies.” He eyed the glass of water. “figured a baker would know better than that."

Edge glared at him for a moment, then shook his head and took a sip of his drink. He looked to Slim, surveying him a moment before observing, “I was surprised to find you here, brother.” Slim winced, waiting for the chastisement, but Edge just settled closer, leaning his back against the bar as he looked down at Slim. “I’m glad you were comfortable coming here. It’s good to get out and relax a little.” He cast an eyelight at Sans. “In moderation, of course.”

Snorting, Sans asked, “what would you know about moderation?”

Edge’s brow-bones furrowed. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

“even temperance is intemperate in abundance.” He winked while Edge bristled.

“Self-control is not a vice,” he snapped, but Sans just kept grinning.

“you sure? seems like it’s got you in its grip.”

Edge shut his sockets and took a measured breath before focusing his attention on Slim once more. “I have a meeting with the captain tomorrow.” Slim gave him a skeptical look and touched his own shoulder. “It’s well enough now,” he said, “Besides, it’s a meeting, not a sparring session. And she’s made it clear I’ll be on desk duty for the foreseeable future.” He huffed, crossing his arms, though Slim couldn’t help but feel relieved. “In any case, I would like you to come with me.”

Slim stared up at him, soul beating hard. Sans leaned around him to catch Edge’s eyelight. “you sure that’s a good idea?” Sobering, Sans looked between Slim and Edge. “kinda soon, isn’t it?”

Edge shrugged, sipping his siracha. “It’s not an order.” He gave Slim a pointed look. “It’s an invitation. You can stay here, if you prefer.” He said it lightly, even cheerfully, and Slim swallowed, tightening his jaw. If he intended to live with Edge and Red, then he would have to prove to Edge that he could handle it.

He took a fortifying pull off his drink. The sudden flux of magic burned through his mana lines, making his soul and his cheekbones heat. Still feeling the warm buzz, he caught Edge’s socket and gave a firm nod.

Edge just gave him an inscrutable look and said, “Tomorrow, then.” He eyed his drink, then downed the rest—shaking his head as he set the glass down, as if to clear away the hum of excess mana. “In that case, you’d best get some rest—we leave first thing.” He eyed Sans. “Are you staying out again, or can I tell your brother not to worry?”

Sans was already trying to catch the bartender’s eye. “you can tell him not to worry ‘cause i’m staying out with friends.”

Edge very pointedly eyed the empty bottles. “Interesting way of characterizing this outing.”

“hey, just ‘cause you wouldn’t recognize a good time if it hit you in the mouth—”

“I think you and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a good time.”

“yeah? what’s yours—doing your taxes?” Edge’s sockets widened, and then he covered his laughter with a cough. “what’s so funny?”

Edge shook his head. “Nothing. Just—I believe that means something different here.”

Sans blinked. “…what else could it mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He dug some coins out of his pocket and set them on the counter. “Brother, let’s be going.” He put a hand on Slim’s shoulder, guiding him away from the bar. “Since Sans won’t be returning, we can spread out a bit—you and I can take his room, and we’ll let the runt sleep with Rus in his room. That will be far more comfortable for everyone, I’m sure.”

Sans froze, then turned to glare at Edge’s back. “edgelord,” he said, eyelights out.

“Something wrong?” He was smirking.

“i know what you’re doing.”

“Making more comfortable sleeping arrangements? Yes, how nefarious.”

He glared. “why don’t you sleep with pap in his room?”

Edge’s answering grin was positively wicked. “What a fantastic idea. Neither of us sleep all that much, so I’m sure we’ll be able to keep each other well entertained.”

Innuendo dripped from his words, and Sans sputtered. “you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” He touched the tips of his fingers to his breastbone, as if scandalized by the mere implication of impropriety.

“you have a boyfriend! two of them!”

“And they clearly don’t mind sharing.”

That was enough for Sans. “grillbz, put it on my tab,” he said, disappearing before the barkeep could object. The elemental just sighed and dutifully began wiping down the bar.

Edge leaned on the counter, catching the bartender’s eye. He held a coin between his fingers. “I don’t imagine he pays his tab very frequently.” The bartender eyed the coin, then slowly shook his head. “How much would it take for you to tell him he can’t drink here until it’s paid?”

The elemental reared back as if Edge had slapped him. Then, glaring, he signed, “Sans is a friend. He can come here any time he likes.”

That clearly surprised Edge. He paused, obviously not sure how to respond. He palmed the coin and lowered his hand, still holding the bartender’s gaze. “He’s been coming here every night for nearly a week now. Friend or not, you know that isn’t good for him.”

“He comes here for a sympathetic ear.”

Edge paused. “If he were just talking, I wouldn’t see the harm.”

“Everyone needs to let off some steam sometime. I’m not taking that away from him because you waltzed in here and flashed some gold. You want to help him, then help him.”

He turned away before Edge could reply, making it clear he was finished. Edge watched him for a moment, then gestured to Slim. “Let’s go.”

They trudged through the snow in silence. Slim watched Edge warily. His features were set and stony, only a thin line between his brow-bones hinting at his feelings. Slim braced himself, sure that Edge was going to turn around at any moment and lash out at him, using Slim as an outlet for his frustration and embarrassment. He’d do it before they got back to the house, of course, where the others wouldn’t see.

But Edge just said, “I forget, sometimes, how different this place is. Fell-verse solutions don’t work for Tale-verse problems,” and kept marching through the snow. He sounded thoughtful rather than angry, and Slim’s bones started to shake all at once. He took a shuddering breath, soul beating hard—his body still ready for a confrontation that wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t right that he would think such a thing of Edge. For that matter, it wasn’t right that he would think such a thing of Razz, no matter how often things had played out exactly like that. Had he really come back for him? Rushed headlong into an inferno for him? And if he had….

What right did Slim have, to stay safe and sound in a Tale-verse while his brother navigated the warzone their ‘verse had become? What kind of brother was he? Worse than a dog, since a dog was at least loyal. He’d betrayed everything his brother stood for, then abandoned him to whatever fate awaited him in Swapfell. His chest felt tight, and he found himself staring hard at the door to the basement.

“Slim? Brother?” He jolted at the light touch to his elbow, turning to stare up at Edge, soul fluttering. Edge looked first at him, then at the basement door. “Are you thinking about Razz?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.

He swallowed, trying to guess what the right answer was. Was it disloyal to think of Razz when Edge and Red had taken him into their household? Would it be better or worse to lie about it?

Paralyzed by indecision, his silence seemed answer enough. Edge sighed, eyeing the door. “Are you thinking of going after him?”

Slim froze again, not sure how to answer. That’s where his thoughts were leading him, weren’t they? But he hadn’t really been thinking of that. Right?

“I won’t pretend that we could stop you,” he said after a moment. “Not if you were determined to go. But if you do….” He leveled a steady look at Slim. “We’ll come find you. And bring you home to us again.” Slim stared at him. “You’re family now. You wear my collar. And I’m not in the habit of abandoning family.”

The words might have been comforting, in other circumstances. As it was, it felt like he’d been struck. He stared hard at the door, swallowing.

Edge swore under his breath. “Brother, look at me.” Reluctantly, he obeyed. “You didn’t abandon him. He left, and he left fully knowing what he would face. And knowing he couldn’t come back. He made a choice—it’s not your responsibility to save him from himself.”

Slim looked away, soul still aching. It still felt wrong, like he’d failed. Worse than that, he desperately wanted to believe Edge, wanted to use his words to excuse his own cowardice. But he knew what Razz would say, knew how his brother must—

A hand alighted on his shoulder, drawing him closer. “I know it’s hard to let someone go,” he said after a moment, “Especially when your feelings for them are…complicated.” He brushed a thumb over Slim’s cheekbone, and Slim realized he’d started crying. “No matter how badly they’ve hurt you, it’s hard to hate someone when you’ve seen the best in them. And they’ve seen the worst in you.” His gaze was distant, his focus inward.

He squeezed his sockets shut and shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. He eyed the basement door. “Razz and I are more alike than I care to admit. In the end, I don’t know why our paths diverged so widely, but I do know this.” He touched his thumb to Slim’s chin, holding his gaze. “The best part of him is glad you’re safe. And the worst wouldn’t thank you for interfering.”

Without thinking about it, Slim wrapped his arms around Edge’s ribs, clinging tight as a choked sob broke free. Edge remained stiff in his hold, head up and eyelights vigilant. Still, he curled his off arm around Slim’s back, returning the embrace. Before Slim pulled away, he murmured, “It’s okay to mourn what could have been, but I do hope you’ll find joy in what is.” And that set Slim to sobbing once more.

#undertale #my work #compound fracture #swell papyrus #sans #fell papyrus #spicyhoney #edgeberry #spicyhoneyberry #redpuff #cherryblossom

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sansy-fresh · 5 years

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Duly Noted chap.1

a fic funded by one @yastaghr! thank you again dear ^^

tags: work angst, Abusive Work Environments, Abusive Working Relationships, Leaving an Abusive Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Sans doesn't understand at first, but he's not a bad bro, Healing, Papyrus healing, another Papyrus centric fic lol

ao3 link

Papyrus hurried from display to display, apron strings chafing his neck as he attempted to stack the rest of the cans and bottles from the holiday displays to their usual places within the time limit he’d been set. Twenty minutes felt a little short to him, even with his usual speed and dexterity making it easier than most to get things where they needed to be, but that was what the boss had commanded and so that was what Papyrus was aiming for.

Of course, there was also the facts that his feet ached, his cervical vertebrae felt like they were aflame with every rub of the coarse fabric from his apron, and every step felt as though his next would end up with his nonexistent lungs caving in. He’d been on a grueling 23 hour shift, one of his longest and yet he wasn’t certain he was even being paid for the overtime. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t, he rarely ever was.

Maybe being distracted in his own thoughts was the product of his tiredness, maybe it was from having worked his coccyx off for the last day; it could have been anything really but it resulted in what might have been the worst thing (or best thing) to ever happen in his life.

The edge of his foot, wrapped in work regulated thick tennis shoes, caught the corner of a large stack of… rather breakable glass beer bottles. It was one of those large displays, one that forms a picture from the different colors. A picture that was spectacularly destroyed as he turned the corner a little too sharp and brought the entire thing down onto the hard concrete floor.

The sound was incredible, all of the glass and liquid sloshing about as more and more bottles fell, until the very last bottle titled, teetered, and then fell to the mess with a near deafening crash.

He was shocked, to say the least. Confused, certainly, as to just what had happened in the span of him turning the corner and then suddenly being surrounded by a sea of broken glass and light brown, disgusting liquid. His exposed bone felt slightly sticky, something that distracted him up until a very nasty screaming brought him back to the present.

His boss was standing in front of him, arms flailing as he screamed about… well, if Papyrus had to guess it was likely about the mess, but his audio canals still felt as though they were ringing from the sounds of glass breaking over and over again. His boss just kept on screaming, a few people nearby recording the site on their phones, and if Papyrus was a little more present he may have felt embarrassed about that.

“Get the fuck out of my store, you worthless piece of shit! And don’t come back!” cut through the ringing in his skull, Papyrus’ sockets widening before he took a stuttering step forward, whether to try to convince his boss to let him stay or to make a break for the front doors, he wasn’t sure.

His mind was made up for him as the boss came up to him, stomping through piles of shards to rip his hat off his head and the apron from around his neck, nearly choking him in the process.

He watched, numb, as the boss stomped back to the other side of the store, likely to find some other poor workers to clean the mess up. Papyrus watched him leave, then started for the front doors. He kept walking as the people videotaping followed him up to the front, but not through the doors. He kept walking through the parking lot, down to the very end where his bicycle waited.

Hopping on, he rode down the side streets and alleys until he reached the neighborhood his datemate lived in with his brother, parking his bike where he hoped it wouldn’t be in the way before padding up the porch and knocking gingerly on the front door.

Red opened it with a grunt, crimson eyelights widening in shock as they took in their datemate. “Babe? What the fuck happened?”

It was then, not before and not after, that Papyrus broke. The tears began streaming, a sob stuck in his throat as his hands came up to clutch at his face.

Red’s face softened, his hands gentle as he brought Papyrus close, leading him inside and upstairs to the shower. Helping him get undressed through his sobs, Red sat him on the padded toilet seat, leading his breathing until he was able to calm down enough to step into the shower without falling. Tears mixed with the warm, soothing water, and Papyrus had nearly calmed down again in the time it took for Red to help him scrub down, getting all the sticky liquor off his bones.

It was after, when they were cuddling on the couch, Papyrus in a pair of Edge’s pajamas, that he told Red just what had happened at work. What had been happening, how he’d been treated. It all flooded out until he was a limp sack of bones on the couch, cuddled into his datemate’s chest. Red held him through it, then gently caressed him until he fell asleep.

He didn’t watch the now viral videos until later, when Papyrus was in such a deep sleep he wouldn’t hear the tinny screams of a human that was going to get their due.

#fresh writes #DN #angst #abusive relationships #abusive work environments #papyrus #papyrus centric #fontcest #cherryblossom #redpuff

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