Chapter Text
Click, beep, whir.
Not this one.
Click, beep, whir.
Not this one either.
Click, beep, whir. Click, beep, whir.
Had he misunderstood?
Papyrus replaces the metal cover of the switch module in front of him, his fingers cramping as he twists and tightens the screws. He repositions the tile to its proper place, pats the surrounding snow flush against its edges, then pauses to shake out his hands. The dull soreness in his joints has evolved into a persistent, fiery ache. He frees one hand from its glove, massages his knuckles, repeats the process for its twin.
Sixteen tiles. Eighty screws. Three rotations of diagnostics, disassembly, reassembly, calibrations, and general fiddling.
He still hasn’t found the problem.
He pushes himself to his feet, wobbling as he stands, and takes a long moment to examine his surroundings. His tired gaze meanders down the path leading to a nearby sentry station, where he reconfirms to himself that, yes, it still remains standing. Closer, a row of deactivated spike traps slumber within their protective frames, countless steel teeth buried beneath miniature pyramids of freshly fallen snow.
It’s the correct location.
Doggo had said the switch puzzle needed repairs.
Something had to be wrong.
Papyrus turns his attention back to the tiles. The puzzle hadn’t malfunctioned during his initial round of testing, so he’d opted to examine each mechanism individually. When individual inspection yielded no results, he’d scolded himself for his hurried, sloppy work. When a second, slower series of analyses still provided nothing, he’d convinced himself he must have missed one.
During his third and latest round, when he’d intentionally avoided his previous trails of footprints, boots crunching a new path through the powder to track his movements among the modules, he’d disassembled each plate with the unshakeable certainty that he’d find the problem at last.
Nothing. Everything functioned as it should. When it shouldn’t.
It’s difficult to problem-solve when the lack of a problem is the problem.
He stares at the tracks leading from switch to switch, his soul heavy with dread. His failure has carved such an ugly web of wrinkles into the blanket of snow.
Returning to the bar isn’t an option. He hasn’t found the problem, so he hasn’t completed the job. The dogs will smell it on him if he lies, and he’ll reveal himself as impossibly incompetent if he admits the truth. How long has he been working? He'd boasted that the repairs would be simple.
He can’t call anyone to ask for clarification. Doggo dislikes phones, not that Papyrus has his number. Pitiful. The only contact he has saved to his cell is his brother. He could call Sans and ask him to speak to the Canine Unit in his stead, but the thought sends a red-hot bolt of shame through his bones. Papyrus doesn’t want him involved. Especially not now.
He’s stuck. His only choice is to keep searching, working, hoping, marching.
A member of the Royal Guard had told him a puzzle was in need of repair, and that meant a puzzle was in need of repair.
It had to. It had to. It had to.
The alternative hurts too much.
The strap of his messenger bag jerks his shoulder as he hefts the pack off the ground. Papyrus staggers, struggling to maintain his balance as he attempts to maneuver the jingling bag back to the first set of switches for a fourth round of testing. The tools weigh him down, a corner of his bag dragging in the snow as if in protest, a silent refusal to continue the futile cycle. Papyrus groans and yanks. A buckle breaks. The strap tears free, and Papyrus tumbles forward in a clumsy heap. Bones and dog treats in the snow.
In his mind’s eye, he replays his interactions with the Canine Unit for the dozenth time. The memory grows more muddled each time he revisits it. Friendly greetings and snarling arguments. Doggo’s flat voice and blank expression. What had he missed? What could he have possibly misunderstood?
How badly had his eagerness blinded him?
Papyrus removes a screwdriver from his bag and stumbles an unsteady path to the first module. He grits his teeth, fights through the stiffness locking his fingers into painful claws, and begins the mindless process of inspecting the mechanism. Click, beep, whir.
He knows the problem lies within himself, not hidden out here in the snow.
"He's been gone a long time." Dogamy stares out the window, paying little attention to his cards. "One of us should go sniff him out."
"He's trying to be a good dog, dear." Dogaressa pushes her husband's drooping paws up, hiding his hand from Doggo's prying eyes. "A good dog wouldn't come back until his job was done."
"But it didn't sound difficult..."
"Who? What job?" Doggo turns over a card, glares at it, and growls under his breath.
"Papyrus. The job you gave him. The broken switch?"
"Oh. That." Doggo sniffs. “Is he not back yet? It was a pretty obvious prank."
The married dogs tilt their heads in tandem confusion.
"Prank? What do you mean?"
"I mean there's no broken switch."
"...huh?"
"Nothing needs repaired.” Doggo shrugs. “I just said that so he'd leave."
"What?!"
"H-he was interrupting my winning streak! I thought he’d scamper off, notice nothing was wrong, and come right back! I didn't know he'd take hours to figure out it was a joke!"
"A joke?!"
Greater Dog slams the table.
<<BARK, BORK, GRRRUPH!!>>
A chorus of yelps and whimpers explodes from the group. Lesser Dog flees from his seat in the corner and scrambles behind the bar to duck between Grillby's legs. The fire elemental calmly expands his body, flames licking out, new limbs sprouting to catch the bottles left wobbling in the dog's wake.
From his slumped position at the counter, Sans rouses and yawns.
<<GRRRR...>>
"The big guy's right!" Dogamy cries.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Doggo mutters.
"But you did! It's the worst thing you can do to a dog!" Dogamy snarls. "You pretended to throw the ball!!"
"WHEN YOU HAD NO BALL!!!" Dogaressa roars.
<<BOW! BOW!>>
Doggo hangs his head, his guilt obvious. "...it’s not the same thing at all…"
"It is! It is for him!!" Dogamy rises from his chair and points his nose to the exit. "Go find him and apologize!"
"You two said he wasn't a pup. Now you want me to coddle him like one. Make up your minds!"
"No dog likes to be teased."
<<AWOOO!>>
"You can't pretend to throw the ball without following through with a real throw afterward!" Dogaressa is furious. "That's torture! It's undogly!"
<<WHINE WHINE>>
"And a teased dog bites eventually."
"You've all lost your minds! That overgrown whelp is fine!"
"hey."
The Canine Unit collectively freezes. No one had noticed Sans take a seat next to Doggo during the commotion.
"lotsa excitement over at this table, huh?"
"..."
"any of you happen to know where to find my brother? i expected him to barge in and drag me out of here an hour ago, and he's not answering his phone."
Every nose points to Doggo. His own snout is buried in his cards.
"...we haven't seen him since lunchtime," he manages.
"damn, that long ago? did he say where he was going?"
"He might have mentioned something about repairing a puzzle. The one near the little guy’s station."
Lesser Dog snakes his head out, peering fearfully at Sans from behind the bar.
"oh, for real? thanks, doggo. you're a real pal."
Sans gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and turns to leave. The dogs watch in nervous silence as the skeleton heads out the door.
<<WHIMPER…>>
Doggo shivers, then shakes out his fur. Sans’ bony digits had felt like claws raking into his back. “You think he knows…?”
Grillby’s voice crackles hotly from behind the bar.
"Bad dog."