Chapter Text
Papyrus gently scratches at the food crusted to the ceramic plate from last night's dinner. It’s rare that he doesn’t do the dishes immediately after eating, but it happened to be his anniversary! He was a very busy skeleton!
Busy mourning, that is. He simply cannot believe it’s been six years.
Sans, his older brother, shuffles into the kitchen half empty coffee mug in hand. “doin’ alright, bro?”
Papyrus glances up from the soapy water, swearing he catches movement outside, but sees nothing but the shadows from the trees and a lone, royal blue butterfly. How odd. He turns to his brother, taking in the thick blue hoodie and black sweats and fuzzy slippers. “DOING JUST FINE, BROTHER! I TAKE IT YOU DO NOT HAVE WORK TODAY?”
Sans shrugs, the remaining coffee edging dangerously close to the rim of his mug, “took off today.”
Papyrus snorts, turning back to his dishes. Considering Sans works with Grillby , Sans’ fiancé who also lives here, that wasn’t a struggle.
“LAZY BONES. YOU SHOULD BE HELPING YOUR ‘HOT STUFF.’” Papyrus knows very well why Sans stayed home.
The short skeleton snickers, downing the rest of his surely cold coffee before handing it to Papyrus to wash, “good one. you uh… you sure you’re feeling alright? when’s the last time you slept a full night?”
Papyrus flinches, looking away. Sans knows him far too well. “I’M JUST FINE, SANS! THERE IS NO NEED TO WORRY YOUR SKULL ABOUT IT!”
Sans hums, leaning against the counter next to Papyrus as he finishes washing the dishes, entirely unconvinced. “alright, paps.”
The taller knows he hasn’t relieved Sans of worry, knows he hasn’t won, since Sans hasn’t moved. His soul hurts a little, grief rearing its head. He knows why Sans is concerned.
Today happens to mark the anniversary of Papyrus’ fiancée disappearing. Six years.
He tries not to think about that part.
Papyrus is an optimist. He believes she’ll come home. He tries to keep in high spirits, celebrating her birthday and their actual anniversary with leaving flowers on the doorstep, candles on the window sills.
He doesn’t know how much electricity he’s gone through, keeping the porch light on at night.
It keeps him sane.
Sans and Grillby keep him alive.
Papyrus was able to keep his head high for a long time after she didn’t come home one night in early August. He ignored his human coworkers' whispers, speculations that she was seeing another man. Papyrus knew better. He still does.
Papyrus clears his throat, “THOUGH,” and Sans straightens, lights flicking up to Papyrus’ face, “I DO APPRECIATE YOUR COMPANY.”
Sans softens, leveraging himself up to sit on the counter, patting his shoulder, “course, bud.”
Papyrus swallows down his emotion, scrubbing bits of dried rice off the last dish and setting it off to the side to dry. Sans has always been there for Papyrus. More than he ever had to be. Part of Papyrus is sure he would’ve fallen if not for his brother’s insistence in taking care of him once Merise left. Disappeared.
She’s still alive. He’s sure of it.
He has to be.
Sometimes, he can feel her, tugging gently on the soulbond. Sometimes she pulled too hard. He doesn’t mind the pain, not when he knows she’s alive somewhere. Just out of his reach.
Sans and Grillby moved in a month or two after.
He glances at the brother who raised him. Sans tilts his head to meet his eye, expression soft. Sans presses a gentle wave of love, love, love, love you through the bond, and Papyrus abruptly departs from the sink, turning away from Sans to hide his expression before sending it back in kind.
LOVE YOU. HURTS. OKAY.
Papyrus doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.
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Grillby comes home with three bags of food from his own restaurant, tapping a kiss to Sans’ crown when he passes the skeleton strewn across the couch. Papyrus is on his feet immediately, helping Grillby unpack and set the table. Sans reluctantly follows, but is enticed by the idea of food.
He slumps into his normal chair, Grillby handing him his foil-wrapped burger and his paper basket of fries before sitting next to him. Papyrus sits in the third chair, the fourth remaining painfully empty. He does not look in that direction.
He’d lose his appetite.
Papyrus tries not to pick at his salad, forcing himself to eat because he knows Merise would be devastated knowing otherwise.
Sans and Grillby make idle conversation, sweet and domestic as always. Sans tells horrible puns, and Papyrus cannot garner the energy to pretend to hate them.
He doesn’t have energy for much anymore.
He never thought he’d be the lazy bones between him and Sans!! But.
He searched for her for three years. He’s still searching, still scouring internet forums, still in contact with Undyne across the country, hoping Merise comes back to at least someone.
He’s living in her hometown. Still sleeping in their bed, wishing he could still smell her perfume when he does the laundry.
She still hasn’t come home.
She doesn’t feel afraid. Or angry with him. Or anything at all, really.
Just… Alive.
Somewhere.
Suddenly, he can no longer stomach his salad.
(Just like he could no longer drag himself to work.)
He pretends to search for the perfect bite, shuffling the lettuce and cherry tomatoes around in the little plastic container as he tries not to imagine her never coming home.
Papyrus misses the soft, concerned looks Sans and Grillby share. Grillby finishes his chicken sandwich, getting up to throw away the trash collecting on the table. As he passes behind Papyrus to get to the garbage can, he allows his hand to slide across the skeleton’s shoulders, resting comfortingly on the back of Papyrus’ neck.
The skeleton does not allow himself to cry, that’s for when he’s alone in their too cold, too empty, too familiar bed, but he can’t tamp down the shiver the touch causes.
Once Grillby sits back down, Papyrus puts the lid back on his salad, electing to eat the rest tomorrow as to not waste. He almost gags on the bit he’s chewing, forcing himself to swallow as he rises to his feet, placing the remainder of the salad inside the fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of water.
He leans over the sink, staring out the darkened window as he sips the water slowly to ease his nausea. He realizes that it’s something Merise used to do, and his soul aches fiercely for a moment, burning in his chest.
Papyrus breathes through it, finding a lighter in one of the kitchen drawers and lighting the small candle in the window. He finds it smells a little like her, but not enough to be unbearable. He found her half-full bottle of perfume, but he can’t.
It hurts.
He’s spent most of his life with her and she’s gone.
————————————-
Sans follows Papyrus to the guest room.
(The idea of sleeping in their bed is too painful tonight.)
Papyrus slumps into the too small bed, willing his ribs not to rattle. He tries not to cry.
Sans slips into the bed next to him, gently pulling him into a hug. He rubs the younger’s back gently, pressing their foreheads together.
Papyrus breaks, just like he does every year.
His breath hitches on a sob and he hides his face in the crook of Sans’ neck. Sans hugs him tight, and Papyrus feels the mattress sink as Grillby sits behind him, gently rubbing the back of his ribs and shoulder blades before he leans forward to hug both skeletons.
Papyrus can feel the Love, love, Love, love pouring from the trust bonds he shares with the two men, and it hurts that he cannot contact his third bond.
Everything fucking hurts now that she’s gone.
He sobs, and Sans holds him tighter. His chest aches. He missed her so fucking much.
Papyrus had her for almost two hundred years, their bond sustaining her life far beyond the limits of a normal human’s lifespan, and he can hardly remember a time when she wasn’t at his side.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
It’s broken and vulnerable and honest.
It breaks Sans’ heart.
————————————-
You watch from the just barely open kitchen window, taking in the warm scent of jasmine and sandalwood from the candle before blowing it out, watching the smoke before you slip back into the woods.