Chapter Text
* TAIL WAG = HAPPY
* FLAT EARS = STRESSED
Papyrus peers down at his phone, scrolling through the list.
* WHALE EYE = CONFUSED, NERVOUS
* TEETH BARED = BACK OFF!!!
He's read and reread it a dozen times over. He knows it backward and forward, and he knows that he knows it. Heck, he'd authored it! He'd typed every word with his own two thumbs! But as he paces outside of Grillby's, crunching great loops and zigzags in the snow, he feels compelled to check it again. Just one more time. Just in case.
* RECOGNITION THROUGH SMELL. WEAR LESS COLOGNE?? EXTRA???
He frowns at that. He detests the very idea of body odor as a form of identification, but the thought of them only knowing him through a bottled scent bothers him much more. Other monsters buy MTT-brand products. What if someone else in town decides to wear his preferred fragrance? It's his duty to eliminate the potential for confusion. He’s foregone the cologne and body sprays for today - he should smell distinctly, unmistakably Papyrus-y.
He hopes Papyrus-y is pleasant.
* SHARED INTERESTS: OSTEOLOGY, SECURITY AND DEFENSE, MAGICAL ARMAMENTS, FREEFORM ENDURANCE TRAINING: CAPTURING HOSTILES ("F.E.T.C.H."), HIKING/GOING FOR WALKIES, SNOWPOFF MANAGEMENT...
Out of Snowdin's pool of potential friendship candidates, the members of the Canine Unit seem like his safest bet. Papyrus often crosses paths with them during his puzzle maintenance routine. Their interactions have always been positive. Sometimes they give him oddjobs to do - usually small tasks that require opposable thumbs - and they always make a fuss over his dexterity. They show equal admiration for his bone magic, howling and gathering in a fluffy cluster to watch as he practices his attack patterns. Recently, they've started including him in their impromptu training exercises, an intense aerobic routine they call "the zoomies."
He likes the dogs. He believes they like him too. At the very least, they're all on friendly terms.
Today, Papyrus aims to remove a few letters and shorten "friendly terms" to simply "friends." He's lived in Snowdin for months now, but he still feels out of place. Everyone's perfectly impersonal politeness is beginning to grate. Despite his brother's warnings that he can’t brute force his way to social connections, Papyrus knows friends don't materialize out of thin air either. He has to try something. He's not like Sans, who was immediately accepted as one of Snowdin's own within a week of moseying his way into the local bar.
Papyrus can't mosey. He's more of a marcher.
He just needs to find the right rhythm.
He continues reading the notes he’d compiled for the day’s mission.
* TREATS?
He pats the front pocket of his messenger bag. He doesn't want to bribe anyone into befriending him, but he figures he may as well have a stash of bones and dog treats on hand. Friends give each other gifts, right? He just needs to wait until he knows for certain that they’re friends. He promises himself not to open the pocket until he's parting ways with the group. Granted all things go as planned, of course.
Papyrus huffs, steeling his nerves, his thumb hovering above the phone’s screen. He’s near the bottom of the list. Just a few more lines and he’ll have no excuse not to enter the restaurant. He catches a glimpse of his reflection and raises a gloved hand to his cheekbone. Along with his cologne, he's skipped his cleansing creams and lotions for the day - too many scents. It's more uncomfortable than he'd anticipated. He's hyperaware of his skull’s lack of its usual polished sheen, and it makes him feel dirty. He should go home and wash his face.
No, no, NO! He's wasted enough time! Sans will only nap for so long!! He fights the urge, tucks his free hand inside the sleeve of his sweater, and scrubs the fabric against his skull instead. That would have to do. He forcibly shakes off his discomfort and presses his thumb down, scrolling with a deliberate sense of finality.
* STEP ONE - ENTER GRILLBY'S. PRETEND TO INQUIRE ABOUT SANS.
Papyrus has allowed his brother to sleep in for the day, but no one knows that. He doesn’t want Sans involved in this. Not directly. For once, he’d like to succeed without his brother’s influence following close behind to smooth things out.
He typically only enters Grillby’s to search for Sans. No one should suspect him of bending the truth today.
* STEP TWO - SPEAK TO THE CANINE UNIT ABOUT CARDS.
Whenever he pops his skull into the bar, Papyrus sees the dogs playing cards. He recognizes it as a kind of poker - “taxes holding” or something that sounds similarly illegal. The Canine Unit gathers to play it each week. It shouldn’t be difficult to get them talking about it.
* STEP THREE - JOIN GAME TO PASS TIME WHILE “WAITING” FOR SANS.
Papyrus has already completed his patrol for the day. There’s little else to do but wait for Sans to waddle his way to the restaurant. Passing the time with a card game wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for him, would it?
* STEP FOUR - SCHMOOZE. (REFER BACK TO “SHARED INTERESTS”)
The most difficult step. He’d practiced many conversations in the mirror, but his reflection rarely provided constructive criticism. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a terribly moody partner, either puffing up or shattering his confidence seemingly at random. Hopefully his discussions with the dogs would prove less one-sided.
* STEP FIVE - FRIENDSHIP???
He tucks his phone away. Enough thinking. Enough scheming and second thoughts. Time to act. He takes a deep breath, claps his hands against his cheekbones once, twice, and strides to the door.
“GREETINGS, GRILLBY AND GRILLBINIANS!”
The familiar warmth of the bar envelopes Papyrus like a well-loved blanket. Though he’d never admit it aloud, he understands why Sans spends so much time here. The dim glow of the lanterns is a welcome relief from the blinding white of the snow outside. The weathered wood, mismatched seating, and scars of Grillby’s DIY work create a personable, rustic atmosphere. Half the drinking glasses are handmade, Papyrus knows, fashioned by the barkeep from broken bottles he’d melted and reshaped. Every scorch-marked cushion and blackened floorboard tells a story. There's a lot of love in these walls.
As the door clatters shut, the fiery bartender pauses his work to give a small wave. The regulars seated at the counter ignore him, but Papyrus never expects that sleepy crew to do more than eat and grunt. All five members of the Canine Unit peer at him from their usual spots - Lesser Dog at the corner by himself, the others seated at a large table - tails wagging and tongues lolling.
“We were wondering when you’d come in!” Dogamy says.
“YOU WERE?” Papyrus blinks. “WERE YOU EXPECTING ME…?”
“We’ve been watching you do laps out front for at least ten minutes!” Dogaressa responds, nuzzling against her husband. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Doggo wanted to run out and chase after you!” adds Dogamy, nuzzling back.
“...did not…” Doggo grumbles, hiding his snout behind the cards in his paws.
“You barked and whined more than any of us! Look at all the slobber you left on the front window!”
“...it’s instinct, okay?! So what?!”
<<WORF!>>
Greater Dog reaches a massive armored paw to give Papyrus a gentle pat on the skull.
“What were you doing out there anyway?” asks Doggo, looking up at him.
“I WAS…” Papyrus scrambles for an excuse. He’d been so swept up in his mental preparations, he hadn’t taken notice of where he’d been pacing. “LOOKING FOR A LOST CONTACT.”
“While staring at your phone?”
“UH, YES? THE CONTACTS LIST??”
“Oh.” Doggo returns to examining his cards. “I don’t like phones. Too complicated.”
“So what brings you to Grillby’s, Papyrus?” Dogamy asks. “Is your brother shirking his sentry duties again?”
“NO. I MEAN, YES!!! I MEAN, THAT IS TO SAY, YES, THAT’S THE REASON I’M HERE, SANS, SANS IS THE REASON, I’M LOOKING FOR HIM, FOR SANS.” He forces a cough. “BUT HIS SHIRKING STATUS REMAINS UNKNOWN.”
“We haven’t seen or sniffed him yet today,” Dogaressa says, “but he usually stops in around this time.”
“IS THAT SO?”
“You may as well order yourself a drink and wait for him here.”
“HMM.” He rubs his chin in exaggerated reluctance. Eagerness could blow his cover. “HMMMMMMM.”
“Oh, honey, he’s probably busy,” Dogamy says. “You know Papyrus never stays for long.”
“ACTUALLY!!” Papyrus shouts, interrupting before the siren call of routine can convince him to abort his mission. “I FIND MYSELF WITH A RARE ABUNDANCE OF FREE TIME TO FILL!” He crosses his arms in front of him, pausing a beat to pretend he’s deep in thought. “PERHAPS YOU’RE RIGHT. IT MAY PROVE MORE EFFICIENT TO LIE IN WAIT FOR HIM RATHER THAN GIVE CHASE.”
<<YAP!>>
Greater Dog lifts his mug - practically a small barrel - and excitedly offers it to Papyrus, the mystery liquid within it spilling over the brim in a thick, goopy puddle. It looks and smells more like gravy than a beverage.
“N-NO, THANK YOU!! I’M ACTUALLY NOT INTERESTED IN DRINKING…BUT I AM INTERESTED IN YOUR CARD GAME.”
Doggo’s ears flatten against his head, but only for a moment.
“Would you like to join us?” Dogamy asks brightly, his tail doing windmills. “We’re playing Texas Hold’em!”
“The four of us collect bones all week to play!” Dogaressa’s tail spins in sync with her husband’s. “We save them in this shared trash bucket!” She reaches under the table and plucks a grease-stained cardboard bucket from the floor, proudly presenting it to Papyrus.
“THAT’S…” Unhygienic, he thinks. “...AN IMPRESSIVE DISPLAY OF DELAYED GRATIFICATION.”
<<GUAU.>>
Greater Dog nods sagely.
“We share the bucket in case one of us has an unlucky week digging up bones,” Dogamy explains. “Not every dig yields treasure. Sometimes it’s just more dirt.”
“Everyone gets a fair share of bones at the start of the game, then gambles to win more!!” Dogaressa motions to the large stack next to Greater Dog.
“I SEE! AS A FELLOW BONE ENTHUSIAST, I MUST ADMIT IT SOUNDS EXCITING!”
“You’ve never shown an interest before,” Doggo mumbles, staring up at him.
“WELL. I. UH.” Papyrus falters. “I’VE JUST…NEVER HAD THE OPPORTUNITY?”
Doggo stares him down but doesn’t say anything more. Papyrus repeatedly flicks his gaze between the dog’s face and tail, but he can't read his reaction. Perhaps his lack of a reaction is the reaction, but that only confuses things further. Doggo follows his glances and squints at him, his ears folding back.
"...you see something you like down there, or...?"
"Waaoaahh!” a slurring voice calls from one of the booths. “I sh-sure do!!!" Papyrus looks over his shoulder and peers at the voice’s owner, a young bunny woman he doesn’t recognize. She slumps in her seat like her head is too heavy for her neck, one of her long ears drooping into a puddle of ketchup on her plate. She flutters her eyes at him in what Papyrus guesses is a terribly confused attempt at a wink.
"Nobody asked for your input!” Doggo hollers at her. “Grillby oughta muzzle you!"
"Oh MAN, d-do yuh think he would if I asked...?!!!"
A series of fiery pops and crackles erupt from behind the bar. A drowsy-looking bird seated at the counter laughs, then translates.
"Grillby says you're cut off, honeybunny."
"A-aw..."
"SO!" Papyrus claps his gloved hands together, regathering his courage. "SHALL I SNATCH A SPARE SEAT?"
"Do you know how to play?" Doggo's ears twitch.
"...PERHAPS NOT AS WELL AS YOU. BUT!! I CONSIDER MYSELF QUITE THE QUICK STUDY! AND IF YOU WERE TO PASS ME THE RULESET, I COULD HAPPILY REFAMILIARIZE MYSELF WITH-"
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Papyrus," Dogamy interrupts. "The big guy tore up and ate all the rule cards ages ago."
<<BORF!>>
"OH? COULD HE TEACH ME? HE MUST KNOW THE GAME INSIDE AND OUT!"
"Not really. He just goes with his gut."
<<PANT PANT.>>
"WELL...EXAMPLE MAKES AN EXCELLENT TUTOR!! SHALL I ABSTAIN FROM PLAY AND OBSERVE INSTEAD?"
"Come! Sit!" Dogaressa's tail frantically thumps against her chair as she motions to the spot between her and her partner. "My hubby can show you. Watch! There’s a reason he’s top dog in our guard unit!! That darling nose isn’t only for nuzzling! He can sniff out any bluff!"
"...I went bust during the last hand, love," Dogamy responds miserably.
"But we’ve only played three hands…?"
Dogamy whimpers and hides his snout under his paws.
“Oh, my sad silly snifflebug…let’s start over! Everyone toss your bones back into the bucket!”
"What?!" Doggo snarls.
"We’ve only just started playing, it’s no big loss,” Dogaressa continues, cradling her husband’s head in her lap. “And we could give Papyrus his own share to use!”
“No!” Doggo booms, his fangs showing. “I won these bones fair and square!”
“The big guy won more bones than you, and he doesn’t mind restarting.” Dogaressa looks up at Greater Dog. “Do ya, fella?”
<<YIP!>>
“See?”
“That’s cuz he’s loaded!!” Doggo’s hackles stand on end. “He has plenty of bones hidden away in his sentry station!!”
<<GRRRRR…>>
“Oh, pipe down, we all know.”
Papyrus looks from dog to dog for direction, seeking any kind of cue, unsure how he’s expected to react. His notes hadn’t prepared him for this. He hadn’t expected conflict.
“UHM…PLEASE DON’T TROUBLE YOURSELVES, I’LL SIMPLY SHADOW SOMEONE ELSE-”
“You’ll end up losing the bones you’ve won anyway, Doggo!” Dogaressa taunts. “Don’t be such a greedy, selfish-”
“Dogamy could just borrow a few bones from you and keep playing! You’re only using the skeleton as an excuse to steal your flea-ridden husband’s losses back!”
“Flea-ridden?!”
“I HAVE SOME!” Papyrus suddenly interjects. “BONES, I MEAN!” He frantically digs into the pocket of his bag, spilling a few treats to the floor as he retrieves a handful of his best bones. “YOU CAN HAVE THEM. TO USE FOR THE GAME?”
The dogs stop bickering and stare, four sets of ears pricked toward him. With a clattering thud, Greater Dog drops to the floor and scoops up the loose treats, scarfing them down noisily. Papyrus stands with a forced, frozen smile. He silently curses himself for turning to bribery at the first sign of trouble. How disgraceful.
“Bring em over here,” Doggo eventually grumbles. Papyrus hurriedly places the bones in front of him and watches as the dog counts them. “This isn’t enough to cover what I’d lose if we reset the game.”
“MAY I DONATE THEM TO DOGAMY?”
“I won’t accept those, Papyrus,” comes Dogamy’s stern reply. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“OH…”
Staring down at his boots, Papyrus feels his face grow hot. His mission had been going so well. Where had he mistepped? What had he done wrong? The Canine Unit argue amongst themselves, their words suddenly incomprehensible to him, and the cozy atmosphere of the bar begins to shift. Silverware scraping against plates. Grillby’s rag squeaking inside a mug. Papyrus winces. Dogs have sensitive hearing, don’t they? How can they stand it?
“…tell ya what,” Doggo finally says. “Keep your bones. Can you do me a favor instead?”
“OH!!” Papyrus perks up. “SURE! OF COURSE, OF COURSE!”
“When I left my station this morning, one of the switch puzzles was acting a little funny. We’re supposed to fix them as soon as we notice anything wrong, but I’m no good with gears and wires.” Doggo tilts his head. “You’ve got a knack with that stuff, right?”
Papyrus grins and nods, his soul feeling a little lighter. “REPAIRS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN ANOTHER FORM OF PUZZLETRY. USUALLY OF THE LATERAL THINKING VARIETY. LOTS OF TRIAL-AND-ERROR. THE OCCASIONAL BIT OF SMASH-AND-REPLACE.”
“...uh, sure. Well, if you run out and fix that switch for me, I’ll teach you how to play.”
“REALLY?? FOR A SIMPLE REPAIR?”
“Yep. Then you can join in with your own bones.”
“WHICH SWITCH PUZZLE WAS IT? MY TOOLS ARE AT THE READY! I’M NEVER NOT CARRYING THEM.” He shakes his messenger bag to demonstrate. The metallic bits and bobs inside jingle like dented sleighbells. “I’LL HAVE IT FIXED IN A JIFFY!”
“The one near the spike traps. Where the little guy usually hangs out.” Doggo gestures to the corner table where Lesser Dog is quietly chewing on his cards. He turns and blinks at Doggo, bewildered.
“OH…BETTER MAKE THAT AN ENTIRE JIFF. THAT’S KINDA FAR.”
“Take all the time you need,” Doggo states with a shrug.
“OKAY. AND SHOULD I TAKE A PHOTO AS PROOF WHEN MY HANDIWORK IS COMPLETE?”
“No, I trust you. We’ll smell it on you if you’re lying.”
That gives Papyrus pause. He’d told a lot of untruths today. Had they known his real goal this entire time?
“...ALL RIGHT. YOU’LL TRUST MY WORD, AND I’LL TRUST YOUR VERI-SNIFF-CATION.” He stands at attention, clicks his heels together, and salutes. “UNTIL I RETURN! PAPYRUS OUT!”
Despite the bumpy start, maybe his mission would prove successful after all.
Doggo watches the skeleton march through the exit and sighs.
“What a yappy pup.”
<<WOOF.>>
“The big guy’s right. He’s yappy, but no pup.”
“He sure acts like one,” Doggo mumbles, his eyes flicking hungrily between his cards and the flop.
“He’s nice!” Dogaressa scolds.
“And he gives good pets,” her husband adds.
“Very good pets.”
“And he’s always happy to throw a stick!”
“Or open a jar.”
<<WAN *squeak* WAN!>>
“Wait, he gave you that? When?!”
Greater Dog cradles the squeaky toy close to his armored chest and growls.
“That repair job could have waited,” Dogamy points out. “You know he’s good for it.”
“He’s a distraction!” Doggo barks. “And I’m not about to lose my winning streak because of some rattling bag of bones!!”
A sudden gust of wind blows in as the door swings open, sending Doggo’s cards flying from his paws. They twirl a hapless path to the back of the bar, fluttering above the glittering bottles for a brief moment before the lick of Grillby’s flames sets them alight. The cards turn to ash atop the barkeep’s head. He sneezes.
“gesundheit.”
Sans dodders in and stumbles his way to his usual barstool. The door clatters shut behind him.
“Serves you right,” Dogaressa says, her husband trying to hide his laughter.
Doggo points his nose to the ceiling and howls.