Archive of Our Own ^beta

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. 

—------------------

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.

Chapter Text

You are not a person. 

You’ve known that your entire life. If you can be considered alive, that is. That’s a psychological question that you simply lack the necessary emotional and moral intelligence to answer.

A shame.

Well. You should be used to shame. It’s one of the only emotions you can experience.

You are not a person. You are not a child. You are something, but not something of consequence. 

Rather, you are consequence s personified. Kind of.

And you can’t even do that correctly.

You’re sure, so sure, that you are the single worst example of your kind. 

Shifters. 

Shapeshifters— the normal ones, in which you do not count— find someone well loved, study them and their actions, then kill and replace them.

Shapeshifters do not feel shame or guilt in killing.

And you don’t either. Perhaps you just don’t like a mess.

But you tend to avoid increasing your LV unless the situation is dire. 

You were twelve the first time you took a life.

You’re unsure if you can handle doing it again. No matter, you don’t have to.

Not when you had such easy prey. 

A small family of highly skilled monsters and a mage, one couple unable to have children, and one couple who desperately wanted children.

Perfect. All you had to do was wait for the mage to get pregnant, then you could pretend to be the child’s twin. It was a little complicated, not just… killing the child, but you would make it work. 

You had to.

Shapeshifters feed solely on Love and you are slowly starving to death.

It’s unpleasant.

Less unpleasant, though generally tedious, is your plan. You watch from the various windows and opened doors, riding the spring wind as a butterfly, or hiding in the dark shadows of winter.

Waiting.

Watching.

Your plan was good. All you had to do was shift into whatever baby doctor they had, say they were going to have twins, copy said baby once they were born, and somehow learn to glamour in that time frame to convince the Mage and the Doctors and the lanky skeleton guy that you were indeed born.

Something, something, something, you win.

You’re not too excited about having to pretend to be a dumb baby for years, but you’ve been surviving as a butterfly and a wild rabbit for much longer than you’d like to admit. Anything was an improvement.

Your plans change. 

The mage doesn’t come home one night. 

Oh. 

Well. Your plans just got a lot simpler. 

—----------------

You wait. 

Shifters are not usually as patient as you, but you’ve always known you were odd. You’re a little bluer than most shifters. How strange.  Simply another way you are wrong. 

You realize you have the perfect opportunity here. 

A highly powerful monster losing his partner… A highly caring monster missing something to take care of. 

You watch him grieve, learning mannerisms and speech patterns and magic responses, learning his character. You didn’t have as much time to learn the mage’s character, which was unfortunate since you needed to mimic her to garner any affection from the skeleton, but you could make up for that by looking like her. 

You do your research, finding old photos of the mage in her childhood. You watch the tall skeleton’s reactions.

What does he say if you take the flowers?

What does he do when the fire of the candle on the windowsill is lit when no one is home?

How does he feel about certain things? Is he a dog or cat person? (Cat. He hates the little white dog that seems to follow him everywhere.)

You notice the skeleton talked a lot before the mage disappeared. That works well for you, considering you have little clue how to speak.

Well. Mentally, that is. 

Acting as a character was easy for you. You’d gotten Papyrus and Sans and Grillby’s characters down. 

You just don’t know who you are. 

Probably because you aren’t a person.

You don’t have a character to play. 

It’s an odd feeling for shifters. To be no one. 

Nothing.

You’re sick of it. 

—————————

Thankfully, you won’t be nothing for much longer. 

You can see the smaller skeleton grow desperate. Out of character. Normally a bad sign, but a positive for you considering you needed them to be accepting of change.

You only had one shot of this.

One chance.

The fire monster grows concerned, speaking more, though still just as quiet as you expected. Again, perfect for your situation. You need them to be accepting of your muteness until you figure out exactly what your character needs to be for them to love you.

You look like the mage. The appearance wasn’t the hard part. You actually kind of enjoyed fiddling with your form in the reflection of the pond near their house. You can’t get rid of the pointed ears and sharp teeth of your natural form yet, but figure your mouth will be closed most of the time anyway and that they’ll assume it’s a ‘hybrid thing.’

Your eyes and hair were the real tricky ones. Hair not out of lack of control, no, just not sure how to cement it into obviousness that you are Papyrus’ biological child, and not just the mages. Whilst thinking about it, padding around downtown Lafayette as a stray dog, you notice a woman with bright orange hair.

 You realize you could easily play off your hair color to be affected by his magic.

Ginger it is. 

How fitting. Humans often call gingers soulless. 

Perfect.

Well. Not entirely. Eyes were a problem. A shapeshifter’s eyes often reflected their main trait, if they were to have a human soul. 

You have always been patient.

You decide not a needlessly fuck yourself over in the future in forgetting to keep your eyes a different color, and allow them to stay as they are. Patience does seem to be the small skeleton’s main trait, and his magic is also blue, so perhaps you can play it off as genetics.

This is so fucking perfect.

Everything is perfect. Now is the optimal time to embed yourself into the family. The fire monster is concerned, the brother is desperate, and the father is breaking down.

They need a patch.

You.

They need you.

And maybe you can finally do something good in your life. 

You’d been nothing for far too long.

Chapter Text

Papyrus doesn’t work much. It’s hard for him to go out and stare at happy couples, to double take every woman with the same hair or soul type, to tense at every stray caress sympathetic civilians offer when they see him. He’s not as popular as he used to be, for sure. It had been a long time since he really cared about making new friends and having popularity. He’d made a lot of money young as the Monster Mascot, but he’d left that life far behind him after finding Merise. 

Now, he stays home. Cooking, cleaning, searching. He’s made sure she’s on every missing person’s registry in the state, been to every hospital and mortuary in the parish monthly. He gets a call everytime there's a Jane Doe that fits her description, dead or alive. 

He feels sick in the relief that every time they pull the white sheet, it’s not her. 

He purchases flowers for every woman who never found her family. Who never went back home. 

He prays to the stars that his Merise won’t be one of them. 

The hospital is where he is now, in fact. 

A fatal car accident on Johnston street, not far from Merise’s grandparents house. While her grandparents are long, long gone, bless their souls, he visits the hospital just in case. If just to relieve his anxiety.

Papyrus arrives and is greeted by name by the young nurse technician, Caiden. He’s one of the few humans Papyrus has ever met to be decently close to him in height, standing at 6’5 with shoes on. 

“Hey, man. Here to ID the wreck on Johnston?”

He shakes the human’s hand in greeting, offering him a donut from Meches. The boy lights up, quickly accepting the treat, “You’re the freaking best, Papyrus.”

Papyrus smiles, “Thank you! Yes, I’m here to ID, if possible? It was near her Grandparent’s old house.”

Caiden nods once, practically inhaling the donut, “And- And you want to make sure she wasn’t visiting them? Or feeling nostalgic?”

Papyrus nods once, his gloved fingers fidgeting with his sweater. It was awfully cold for February.  “Yes. Do any of them match her description?”

The human winces, “Well, two human women were involved, one driving alone, one with her Husband driving and their two kids in the back. The accident was caused by an elderly man. He had a heart attack and died behind the wheel before the accident. Both women could fit her description, though I sure hope it wasn’t the married one. For your sake.”

Papyrus flinches, “THE MOTHER DIED?”

Caiden nods, “Only one of the kids survived. One of the other’s wasn’t wearing their seatbelt, and one was hit with debris.”

The skeleton feels sick. He knows very well that Merise would not cheat on him, but finds himself thinking that he would take in her child even if it wasn’t his. Papyrus frowns, “SO THE- So the mother’s been identified?”

Caiden waves him over to a computer, “We found her ID in the car, though we think it was fake? It’s from about five years ago.”

Papyrus flinches, “THAT’S AROUND WHEN MY WIFE WENT MISSING.”

The nurse grimaces, “Kids were all under five. It’s a possibility. I’ll have you view the single woman first, she didn’t have her license on her so we don’t have an ID yet, and then we’ll see about the mother. She doesn’t match the hair color you gave, but I mean… It could be dyed.”

Merise hated dying her hair after she turned thirty. Well, she didn’t want to dye it natural colors, at least. She liked the bright colors. 

“OKAY! WELL. LETS GO, THEN!”

—------------------------

Papyrus leaves the house. You wonder if you should stall your plan another day, but the weather seems to be worsening, and even shapeshifters are not entirely immune to the elements. Besides, while you originally wanted it to just be you and Papyrus for first contact, playing to the other monsters’ pity first could actually work in your favor. 

You wait until Papyrus is far out of view from the house in the red car he hates driving, before cautiously approaching the house. It’s rare for you to make yourself visible to others in a human-like form, and you feel oddly exposed. This isn’t just a form you stole, it’s one you made. Patchwork from different family members of the mage, and taking inspiration from Papyrus and Sans’ color palette, until you’d crafted this character.  

You. 

Not really you. But you’d never felt right in your shadowy-shifter form either. You are always feeling wrong. 

But this is going to work. This has to work. 

Your kind usually likes tails, but you decide against it since you doubt you could explain it. You pick a striped shirt, with dark teal and light green stripes. Kindness. The short skeleton is very good at reading people, and you’re decently sure he can read your stats, so you disguise them.

****

LV: 2

LV: 1

* Just wants to find home

It’s kind of pitiful, especially considering you don’t have a name yet. 

It’s perfect for this. 

(You do have a name. Of course you do. But your name does not matter anymore. Papyrus Your father will name you.)

You don’t stick to the shadows like you usually do, letting yourself get scraped by low hanging branches and dirtied by small falls of your clumsy, approximately five year old, feet getting caught on the underbrush. 

You catch your reflection on the window as you approach the house, and almost laugh. You look nearly feral. 

How… accurate. To you. Not to your character. Your character needs to be clean and perfect, of course, but you decide your plan will work better if you let the monster think they are the ones keeping you that way. 

Keeping you provided for. 

Loving you. 

You need them to love you.

Who doesn’t love an underdog?

—-----------------------

It never gets easier, looking at a body. Papyrus rests his hand over his soul to calm himself, taking even breaths and ignoring the smell of nauseating chemicals. He kind of wishes he had one of those Alcohol wipe things to cut through it, even if they smelled vile. 

The woman was mangled badly by the wreck, her hair cut messily yet her eyes gently closed. He can tell it’s not his Merise. This woman is still Jane Doe. 

He shakes his head to the man, and Caiden nods, gently covering her face again with the sheet.

They move to the next room, where multiple bodies lay in gurneys. Two of the sheets’ dents are far too small, and Papyrus has to breathe slowly, trying not to think about tiny coffins. Caiden gently slips the sheet off of the second cot, and he freezes. 

It’s her hair. 

He approaches cautiously, terrified to see his wife’s face on this body, mentally preparing to take in the child orphaned in the ICU a few rooms down, but it’s not.

It’s not her. 

Not only is this woman visibly younger, her skin is a different color. 

He hates that he is relieved. He hates that he’s  so  fucking glad it’s someone else. 

“I’m sorry.”

He glances up to Caiden, “IT’S NOT HER.”

Caiden shrugs, replacing the sheet, “Still sorry. It sucks that it’s been so long and you haven’t found her. You haven’t gotten closure.”

Papyrus looks away, “I CAN FEEL THAT SHE’S ALIVE. THIS IS.. THIS IS REASSURANCE.”

—---------------------

You’re on the doorstep. Your false heart is beating frantically, and you force your hands not to shake.

You’re doing this. You’re doing this.

You’re actually doing this.

It’s finally time. 

Everything you’ve studied for the past seven years has built to this exact moment. 

First contact. 

The most important aspect of any shifter’s current plot. 

If you made a bad first impression, seven years were wasted and you’d be back to the stray puppy routine, and by the stars you were tired of dog food. Shifters don’t even need to eat, you literally just had to to keep appearances. 

And keeping that appearance sucked.

You take a deep breath– like you’ve seen Papyrus do– and tap tentatively on the door, letting your long, orange-ginger hair fall over your face. You were kind of happy about the ginger thing. You’d never played a red-head before. Perhaps that would help you separate this new character from your old ones. 

Perhaps you didn’t actually have to have a gender in this role. Monsters were quite accepting of that last you heard. 

You’ve never gotten to actually be non-binary before, which is what shifters usually identify as when lacking a character. You suppose it doesn’t matter if you fuck up this interaction. 

Deep breathes. Mimic his mannerisms. 

You tap at the door again, a little more confidently this time. Your jagged nails catch on the wood, causing a soft scratching sound. You hear light footsteps and mumbles, before the door opens.

—----------------

His first thought is, ‘wow, papyrus is out of it enough to forget his keys?’

His second is, ‘paps shouldn’t be back yet.’

Sans knows his brother very well, enough to know simply by logic that it’s not Papyrus at the door. Huh. They don’t get visitors often. Maybe a new sales guy hadn’t been told not to come to their house yet. Sans usually tortured them with puns and jokes until they left, and they spread the word. 

He hums, getting up when he hears a second knock, a little louder, less hesitant. There's a little scratch at the end that reminds him of the little white dog that aggravates the shit out of his brother, and he can’t help but snicker at the mental image, murmuring to his fiance on the couch, “‘m gonna get the door.”

Grillby startles from his book, glancing up at him, “Oh, I didn’t even hear it.”

Sans waves him off, padding to the door and leaning on the frame as he opens it. 

He’s more than a little surprised to see a human child on their doorstep, looking half feral with matted hair and a scrappy figure. They’re on their knees, head down, with one hand wiping at their face while the over rested on their thigh. 

Sans takes in the striped shirt, small form, visibly malnourished frame, and the bruises on their knees just peeking from the bottom of their shorts. He doesn’t know who’s kid this is, but fuck he sees Frisk in them.

Their hair covers most of their face and he can't see their eyes, even when he slowly shifts to a kneel. 

“hey, kid…?”

Their head tilts up a little, and their fingers tremble before they attempt to wipe more dirt from their face, smearing it across their cheek. Their eyes meet his and they are so blue, so close to his own magic color that it startles him. He can tell immediately that this child isn’t human. 

Nerves and fear flash over their face, and Sans ignores his thoughts. It’s a kid at his doorstep, and he’s not that much of a dick to leave them outside because they're not human of all things. He’s not human. 

He slowly offers them a hand, brows furrowed, “..do you want to come inside? where’s… where’s your parents?”

They nod a little, open their mouth to speak, then shut their mouth, looking away. They stare at the floor for a long moment, and Sans gently takes their hand, fearing the worst about their parents. They may be running, scraped, bruised, and underfed for a reason. They accept his hand cautiously at first, then squeeze tightly, looking at his bones in muted awe. 

He chuckles softly since it’s often that he gets this reaction from small children, “all bones, kid. you still wanna come inside? the only skeleton in the closet is me. and my bro. swear.”

The blink, then smile a little, as if they got the joke, though just barely. The child nods a little, their matted hair falling over their face again. Sans hesitated before brushing it away, “i don’t know much about hair– you know, cause i don’t have any– but i think we can get you a hair tie so you c’n see.”

He carefully helps the kid up, noticing they haven’t lightened their death grip on his hand. Sans squeezes back, leading them inside after glancing around for a potential parent. No one was on the street.

Grillby looks up from his book, immediately setting it down once he sees the child, “Oh.”

Sans nods a little, “they uh… they’re not talking just yet, but i figured we could at least give them a meal and try to brush their hair until their parents show up?”

A small hand tugs at his jacket. He glances down, and the child is staring at him with their too-blue eyes, frowning a little. 

He crouches next to them again, “you… you don’t want to find your parents?”

They hesitate, before looking around and pointing at a large painting on the wall, one of Sans’ little family. Him, Grillby, Papyrus, and Merise. Sans falters, “i uh… i don’t understand, kid?”

They take a deep breath, lightly tugging their hand out of his gentle grasp, and curling their palms together. 

It takes a moment, Grillby tilting his head and Sans glancing between their hand and their face, trying to piece together why this child looks so familiar in a way that isn’t connected to Frisk. Then, a flash of blue, and a small bone summon floats above their hand. 

They look at Sans pleadingly, then point back at the painting. 

And he sees it. 

This child looks just like Merise. 

Chapter Text

Sans stares silently at your bone construct, and you feel a rush of warmth. Adrenaline. Pride. Your plan is working. 

He looks up to Grillby before turning back to you, “...kid, how old are you?”

Your voice locked earlier, unable to speak as yourself just yet, but numbers should be easy enough. You hold up five fingers, and watch his face fall as he realizes. “you’re…”

—----------------

This is Merise’s child. Merise and Papyrus’ child. Sans stares at what appears to be his nibling, taking in all the tiny details of their dirty face and features. Their hair, while dull and matted, is the exact shade of Papyrus’ magic. Their hair texture is Merise’s. They’re a little tanner than he remembers Merise being, but has her splattering of freckles. Their eyes are an exact match of Sans’ own magic. 

And they found themself here. 

He doesn’t understand exactly how, if Merise was alive raising this child, why did she leave? Papyrus wanted children. If Merise was dead, how did the child find them? Did Merise give the kid an address? 

Sans looks at the small child, who is reaching up to offer him the small, flickering construct, which, while weak, is quite impressive for their age. He realizes in an instant that it does not matter how this child somehow found themself here. This is Papyrus’ child.  

Sans hums softly, clearing his throat, “okay. so… i’m your uncle.”

—----------

Your chest aches with relief. 

It’s working, it’s working, it’s working.

It's a better first impression than you expected. Better than what you could ask for. You can feel it. The small burst of connection as Sans believes. As he immediately begins to care. His concern waves warmly over you, and it’s real real real for a moment until you realize you’re still playing a character. He’s a jokester, so be playful. Grillby’s calm and serious, so be quiet, subdued.

It’s a hard mix, but you stare at Sans for a moment before silently shaking his hand with a little nod, and he snorts, shaking your hand back, “i, uh, didn’t have a whoopie cushion today. but it looks like you’ve had a rough enough time today anyway. do you want a bath?”

Oh. Yeah, you’d like that. You’d let your hair get matted over the past couple months for the effect, but you don’t exactly know how to fix that without just taking it all off and regrowing it, and even then it would still be dirty. And your body. Very dirty. 

Also, Sans may grow more attached to you if he’s actively caring for you. 

You nod, un-summoning the bone and scrubbing at your face a little. His expression softens, and he gently thumbs at the dirt on your cheek, “we can do that now, or wait for paps? your dad?”

It’s fucking working.

You ignore the fuzzy feeling and shrug before holding Sans’ hand tighter. You didn’t mind either way. Either you look pathetic and needy and pitiful in front of Papyrus and he’ll want to help you anyway, or you’ll look just like his missing wife once he gets home. 

You do not like the feeling of being unclean, which you’re privately glad that cleanliness seemed to be something the mage and Papyrus are– were– particular about, though you can stand another few hours with the feeling if Sans wants to wait. 

He gently wipes your face again, then nods to himself, “yeah, lets take a bath. can i pick you up? bathroom’s upstairs.”

You nod, lifting your arms so he can heft you up onto his hip, hugging his shoulder. 

You choke down a relieved, disbelieving laugh because it’s working.

You’re five minutes into this plan and you’re already being held and cared for. 

You’ve convinced Sans, clearly, though you’re fearful that the firemonster may not be as easy. Grillby looks concerned, and you can feel it radiating off of him– feeding you– but he looks confused. 

He turns to Sans, “What can I do? Should I call Papyrus?”

Sans looks at you, and gently touches your hair, looking at the matting, “nah. he might speed coming home. plus, kid needs a bath and a hairbrush, bad.” He pokes your side, and you debate pretending like your ticklish, but the moment passes before you can realistically act the part. It’s fine. Sans and Merise aren’t ticklish, only Papyrus is. “and a meal. you wanna cook while i clean?”

Grillby snickers softly, “That’s a first.” He turns to you, slowly offering a hand to shake. You don’t hesitate, shaking the three fingers you can hold before letting go. He smiles softly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear. I am.. Also your uncle. You can call me Grillby if you’d like.”

You nod, but you don’t have a name to introduce yourself with, so you look to Sans expectantly. He startles, “oh. sans. the skeleton.”

..

….

Holy shit you almost fucked yourself over. You didn’t even notice he hadn’t told you his name.

…

Well, no, you’re not speaking yet. You would’ve been fine. Relax.

You breathe for a moment before pointing at yourself. 

Sans perks a little, “you got a name, kid?”

Immediately, you shake your head. 

You pretend not to notice Sans and Grillby’s faces falling, vague mixes of horror and devastation and pity.

Perfect.

Sans gently messes with your hair again, “well… well, we’ll see if paps has a name for you when he gets back.”

Sounds good to you. 

You nod a little, putting on a slightly nervous face and playing with your hands. 

Sans softens, tugging you a little closer and rubbing your shoulder, “nothing to worry about kid. paps… paps doesn’t know yet, but he’s always wanted a kid. he’s going to want you.”

You don’t need to play up the relief or the fuzzy feelings. Everything is working.

—-------------------

Papyrus checks the mortuary, tapping the wooden arm rest of his waiting room chair in the relative silence of the room. The young woman working the mortuary tonight is one he’s met a few times. A short Laos girl with long black hair and glasses, thumbing through papers before waving him over, “You don’t have to look at the bodies, I took and collected pictures of all the Jane Doe’s for you.”

Papyrus raises from his seat, crossing the room in a few long steps and leaning over the counter a little to see. “THAT- That is very kind of you. Thank you, V.” 

She nods, handing him a small stack of photos. “These are just the ones here, there’s another mortuary a couple miles from here you may need to check.”

He doesn’t look up from the photos, one by one scanning each woman’s face before moving to the next, “I visited last week.” 

Papyrus reviews the last photo before handing V back her photos in a neat stack, “None of these are her?”

Papyrus nods, quietly relieved yet again. SHE IS NOT DEAD. HE KNOWS THIS.

 V hums, storing the photos, “Alright then. See you next month.”

He wishes he never had to come here again.

He wishes she would come home.

“See you next month, V.”

—---------------------

Sans carries you up the stairs, and you’re careful not to wiggle around too much for fear of him dropping you. Your reflexes are a little too strong right now to pretend to get hurt. Sans, thankfully, does not drop you, and you find yourself in a small bathroom with a shower-tub hybrid. 

Sans sits you on the closed toilet seat, which you realize is probably spotless because no one in this house needs to use one, while he runs the bath, occasionally dunking his hand in the water to check the temperature, before rummaging under the sink for something. You don’t recognize the bottle, but Sans clearly does as he immediately grabs it and moves to dunk it under the faucet. Immediately the bath fills with a thick layer of bubbles.

This mother fucker is making you a bubble bath.

You would laugh if it wasn’t genuinely touching. 

Sans hums and shuts off the water once it’s decently full. “‘m gonna go find you a change of clothes. hop in while i’m gone and don’t drown, please?”

You nod, saluting him with the wrong hand. He snickers and pats your head before exiting the bathroom. You slip your clothes off and leave it in a pile by the door before padding to the tub and climbing inside. 

The water is warm, warm, warm and you cannot believe your plan is working.

You don’t let your hair touch the water, since the water almost immediately went cloudy. Thankfully, it was mainly just your legs, hands, and head that were dirty since you were wearing decently thick clothes. Sans is taking a while, so you curiously sniff the bottles of soap. You’d have to use the shampoo and conditioner, which was a huge plus considering they were certainly the mage’s. You’d smell like them, which you knew happened to be a big trigger for memory and nostalgia.

Perfect, perfect, perfect. 

You laugh to yourself, and it echoes quietly in the empty bathroom. It’s a vague mix of the mage’s laugh and your own.

You shut your mouth. 

This is going well because your mouth isn’t fucking it up. 

(Like last time.)

There’s a quiet but clear knock on the bathroom door before Sans opens it, peaking in before fully entering, shutting it quietly behind him, “it’ll probably be a little big for you, but you’ll be comfy, at least.” 

He shows you a blue and purple striped sweater, a size too big, but surely comfortable until you can get new clothes or wash your old ones.  You offer a thumbs up over the wall of bubbles, and he laughs softly, setting down the shirt and what seems to be sleep-shorts on the top of the toilet. He grabs a small washcloth, showing it to you, and allowing you to feel the texture, before lathering soap onto it. It smells fruity, though you cannot place it and the label on the bottle was ripped off. 

 You tilt your head up and he’s incredibly gentle as he washes your face, brushing your hair out of your face and small, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your cheeks. Sans is very careful not to get soap in your eyes as he swipes under them to get the access dirt.  He wipes your jaws and behind your ears before having you tilt your head up to wipe your neck and shoulders, dunking the towel in the water and reapplying soap as needed.

It’s awfully domestic and you’re not sure what you expected but everything was warm.

He holds your hand as he washes each arm, before carefully scrubbing your hands themselves. The dirt slips into the water, and he has to drain the tub and refill it. He gives you the towel to wipe at your legs and feet with.

The bath refills quickly, and you’re tempted to compliment the plumbing before realising how stupid that is and keeping your mouth shut. Like it’s supposed to be.

Sans is patient, catching your attention with a subtle wave, “ready to wash your hair?”

You nod immediately, and he uses a large plastic cup that you recognize to be from a restaurant in town to wet your hair, using the towel to keep it from getting in your eyes and tilting your head back. 

He pours water over your hair a few times to soak it all before squirting a generous amount of shampoo onto your hair. You’re almost startled by the cold, but realize he’s a skeleton and has gaps in the bones in his hands. Idiot. 

His phalanges are surprisingly good at washing hair, gently massaging the soap into the mats and loose strands, rinsing, and repeating until the water comes clean. It seems to loosen the matts a little as well, which is furthered but heavy use of conditioner. You’re kind of curious where he learned this, and he seems to read your expression, because he laughs softly, looking up as if remembering something fond.

“your mom taught me this when she and paps got real sick about fifty years ago. me and grillbz took care of them for a little while until they were okay to get back on their feet. your mom was kind of embarrassed, she’s real independent, but i bet she would be glad about it now, since it means i can do this for you.”

Fifty years ago? You weren’t even born yet! You know you’re a little young to be an active shifter, but you hadn’t exactly thought about how these monsters had more than triple your age on you. At least your inexperience would be accurate.

You didn’t even know skeletons could get sick. 

Sans huffs softly, smiling, “you look just like her, you know. you, haha, you have her nose.”

Skeletons don’t have noses. You have little clue where else you could’ve gotten a nose, but you appreciate the joke, smiling back.

He taps the tip of your nose before getting back to attempting to finger comb some of the knots out. He’s able to get at least a little of your hair free before the water begins to grow cold. Sans fills the plastic cup with warm water a few times to rinse your hair again, before shutting the water off and pulling the drain plug.

Sans grabs the fluffy white towel hanging on the rack, and opens it for you. You carefully climb out of the tub and find yourself immediately wrapped up in the towel. It irritates your sensitive skin a little, but you don’t feel pain the same way humans and monsters do, so it’s easy to ignore. You hold the towel around you, shivering a little, and Sans quickly pats you down on top of the towel, drying you off before gesturing to the spare clothes. 

“i’ll let you get changed. i’ll be just outside when you’re ready, just knock if you need me, kid.”

You nod a little, wrapping the towel tighter for warmth. He leaves, and you immediately stop shivering. You drop your towel, caring little about nudity, it’s not your body and also, you’re five who cares. You sort through the clothes and realise he either forgot underwear or they didn’t have any in your size, so you simply summon some for comfort before changing into the incredibly comfortable clothes. It’s not like anyone would see anyway.

You look around for a mirror before rolling your eyes when you realise you cannot reach the one above the sink. Whatever, you probably still look dreadful anyway. You gather your old clothes into your arms and pad out of the bathroom, looking up to Sans with your best innocent eyes. 

He gently scoops you up in his arms again. You’re not sure if it's his intent or simply your shifter hindbrain, but the entire house just radiates the fuzzy feeling, the safe safe safe safe.

You can’t believe this plan is working so well.

You can’t believe your mom was right. All you had to do was shut your fucking mouth.

—-----------------------

Papyrus is mentally exhausted. He just wants to go home. He just wants his Merise to come home.

—-----------------------

Grillby is quiet as usual, making Merise’s old crawfish Étouffée recipe. He perks up at the sound of Sans and the child coming downstairs, turning away from the nearly done gumbo and taking in the sight. They were much cleaner, though their hair was still a wreck. He glances to Sans and catches sight of a comb and detangling spray in his spare hand, and Grillby relaxes, knowing Sans has it handled. That man was able to detangle anything, Grillby swears.

Papyrus was a skilled braider, but Sans was always unfairly quick with undoing his work. 

—--------------

The kid sits calmly in his lap, and he can tell this kids’ a lot more Merise than Papyrus. Not a word spoken, little energy, generally shy? The opposite of kid Papyrus. 

Sans pauses mid spritz of the detangling hairspray when he remembers that that’s wrong. Papyrus was entirely non verbal until he was four or five. 

He gently brushes and picks the knots, working up from the bottom and holding their hair tight so he can brush without tugging on their scalp. He really needs Papyrus to get home so they can name this kid. He’s calling them Mini-Merise (or Minirise) in his head for now. Minirise allows them to brush their hair without complaint, but Sans begins to really think about it. Perhaps they weren’t simply shy, or traumatized into not speaking, but autistic, like Papyrus. 

It had taken literal years to get Papyrus a proper diagnosis and he was a full monster. Sans can’t imagine the tests they’d put Mini through. Hard pass, they’d just adapt to Mini’s needs.

Unless they are just shy. And traumatized.

(where the hell is this kid’s mom.)

—----------------------

Sans is able to get the matts out. He seems very proud of himself, and you’re glad he’ll literally never know you were silently figuring out how to untangle your hair via shifting as he works. Your hair isn't insane anymore and he’s happy, win win.

He pats your back gently, and you get up to allow him up. Sans ruffles your hair freely this time, smiling at you, “are you hungry? paps should be here soon, but i’m sure grillby is almost done with dinner.”

You shrug a little, then perk as you hear a car outside.

Sans looks up as well, “nevermind, paps is here.”

Grillby leaves the kitchen to join them, resting a hand on Sans’ shoulder as he leans to whisper to him. “I should take them upstairs so you can talk to Papyrus first.”

Sans nods immediately, crouching to your level, “so.. i’ll be straight with you, kid.” He ignores Grillby’s soft laughter above, “papyrus doesn’t know you exist, or that you’re here. so, i’m gonna talk to him for a minute so he’s not surprised when he meets you. is that okay?”

You nod, running your fingers through the ends of your hair. Grillby crouches next to Sans, addressing you directly with a warm smile. You kind of figure everything about this guy is warm.

“I’ll give you a little tour of the upstairs,” He offers you his hand and you don’t hesitate to take it. He seems relieved as he leads you upstairs, slowly since you’re walking this time. On the upper landing, he whispers to you, “Most children are frightened to touch me.”

You smile. 

You’re not most children.

———————————

Papyrus is always careful with his car. Merise loved that thing, and he’d cry if he put a scratch in it.

He pulls into the driveway, ready to eat whatever delicious meal Grillby made, and sleep.

Stars, he sounds like his brother. 

Merise would find it endearing that he’s so worried about her, then smack him over the head for it. He misses her so damn much.

Papyrus gets out of the car quickly, not wanting to think of their road-trips and night-drives around the state as she showed him around her hometown.

He loves it here, but every street corner reminds him she’s not enjoying it with him. Every bar, club, restaurant, coffee shop, bakery he passes, he remembers her taking him there.

He doesn’t go inside anymore.

Papyrus is more than ready to go inside his actual house though, mentally exhausted from grief. He doesn’t get a chance to unlock the door before Sans swings it open. He’s a little startled, tilting his head at his brother, “SANS?”

Sans waves him inside, ushering him to sit down. Papyrus frowns, “What’s wrong?”

His brother shakes his head, “nothing wrong paps, just a big change. and a big clue about where… you know, went.”

Sans had realized quickly that Papyrus still flinched when people said her nickname to him. Papyrus scoffs, “YOU CAN CALL HER MERISE, SANS, I JUST HAD TO IDENTIFY AND LOOK AT LIKE A DOZEN DEAD HUMANS AND I’M NOT GOING TO FAINT IF YOU SAY HER NAME. NOW, WHAT CLUE?”

Sans blushes, “sorry. okay. so she might have left because she was pregnant.”

Papyrus stills, sitting straight up, “What?”

Sans sits next to him, holding his little brother’s hands, “we had- have a visitor. a little kid, five, looks just like merise.”

—————————-

Papyrus’ chest squeezes painfully. Merise had a child.

They wanted children for decades, but took a long break from intentionally trying after a miscarriage in her second trimester about fifty years ago. It broke both of them, and Sans and Grillby picked up the pieces until they could live with the reality that they were not having their baby. 

Papyrus stares at the ground, “The child, it’s Merise’s? You’re sure?”

Sans glances upstairs, then quirks a grin, “well, they proved it pretty clearly with some skeleton magic. impressive summon for their age.”

Papyrus’ world stops for a moment, and his head whips from where he was staring at his hands to face his brother. “MAGIC? THEY HAVE SKELETON MAGIC?”

Sans smiles, slinging an arm around his shoulders, and squeezing him tight to his chest, “and orange hair. like, your magic orange.”

Papyrus stares at him, and he knows Sans would never lie about something like this. He cannot believe this is real, but Sans is telling him so how could it not be?

Merise had a child.

He has a child.

Papyrus chokes, a hand covering his mouth, “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

Sans softens, dragging him into a firm hug, “they’re upstairs with grillby.”

He has a child.

Her child.

A piece of her has come home.

He has something.

———————————

You make eye contact with the tall skeleton over the lip of the banister upstairs and you know your plan has worked.

You are something.

Chapter Text

Papyrus does not need to breathe, but he feels as if he is suffocating with how the air punches from his body when he lays his eyelights on them.

His child. 

They’re so small.

 And they look just like his Merise.

Their eyes and nose and hair texture are all hers, like looking at an old photograph, but he can see himself in the little things. Their ears aren’t human, little elvish tips poking from their visibly just-brushed hair, most likely due to magic messing with human biology. Their eyes are a little too bright of a blue, almost like colored contacts, and share Sans’ magic shade. Papyrus honestly loves that he can already see his brother in his child. 

They share the same little birthmark with Papyrus, a dark dot under the right eye. Their hair, while needing a haircut, is a striking match to his magic color. 

His. 

A tiny, lost child with a perfect mix of him and his Merise. 

They make eye contact with him as they stand next to Grillby on the upstairs landing, and he sees that same hesitant hope he saw in their mother when he first met her.

His soul aches.

Papyrus already loves this child.

————————-

You feel it. The moment it clicks in his head that you’re ‘his.’ The wash of warmth that comes with someone caring about you, even if temporary. It’s genuine and aching, and you desperately don’t want it to be temporary.

You wan-

You need him to love you.

Your plan is working beautifully.

Grillby gently leads you down the stairs, and Papyrus launches from the couch before pausing, as if not wanting to startle you. His actions make you curious. 

Sans gets up as well, squeezing Papyrus’ shoulder gently as his expression switches from serious to sensitive, an emotion you struggle to decipher crossing his face. He glances between the two of you before walking to Grillby and patting your head gently. Grillby and Sans slowly leave, allowing Papyrus and you alone for this moment. 

You’re not sure what you expected. 

You guess you expected him to be suspicious. Or angry that the mage didn’t tell him. Something other than this. 

Something other than the aching crushing affection that radiates from his stupid-strong monster soul. The pure want and pride in his eyes as he looks at you, like you're important. 

Like you’re something. 

For the first time in months, you kind of miss your mom. 

You don’t remember her looking at you like that. 

Your eyes burn a little, and you’re surprised that your tears are real. Papyrus does not know why you’re crying though, and you find your tears make your plan run smoother. His breath, stutters and he slowly sinks to his knees.

Making himself smaller, for you.

Your plan is working. 

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, pushing thoughts of your real mom far from your head.  You have someone else now. 

Papyrus opens his arms, and you don’t hear him breath. 

You realize he’s nervous. He wants you to like him.

How easy.

How perfect.

—--------------------

His child hesitates a long moment before approaching, padding quietly to him, hair hiding their eyes, and he sees his Merise in their posture. He notices their bitten nails and misses his wife. 

But in front of him, stands his child, their child. His soul feels as if it’s being squeezed, and his resolve crumples. 

“Hello, little one.”

They glance up to meet eyes with him, then wave shyly. Papyrus forces himself to breathe. “My name is Papyrus. I… Well, I’m sure you’ve figured it out, if you came here, that I’m your fa-father.”

His soul beats against his sternum, and he can’t believe this is real.

—----------------------

You fight a smile because you cannot believe this is working.

He clears his throat, then seems to force himself to relax. “I.. I am delighted to meet you, dear. I… You must be very clever! I didn’t know you existed, but you found me! And Sans said your magic was very impressive!”

Don’t smile. Actually wait, that’s fine to smile at. He’s proud of you. 

…

Oh, it’s hilarious. You’re real clever, alright. Clever enough to craft this master plan that is somehow fucking working.

You take a breath and nod a little, putting your hands in front of you and letting the magic flow, conjuring a flickering summon just above your half-clasped palms. The bone is a little cartoony, as skeleton summons usually are, and Papyrus straightens, staring at it. 

He reaches to gently hold your hands, and the first contact sends firm tingles into your skin. 

It’s. It’s working.

The sparks, and skin-crawling feeling or a connection being made. A false bond. 

Papyrus of course could not tell the difference, it would look and feel just like a parental bond, even in its falsity. You could’ve emulated a trust bond instead, but figured jumping to Parental would convince him you desperately want a relationship despite your silence. 

The wonderful, sticken look on his face, and the immediate waves of CARE, LOVE, SURPRISE , LOVE LOVE LOVE, that seem through the soulbond are enough of a tell that he’s fallen for it. 

Soul bonds are a cheap shot to most shifters, though they’re commonly used. It’s been almost 200 years since the barrier broke, and monsters told humans about soulmates and bonds almost immediately upon arrival, though humans still occasionally struggle to feel them with their lack of magic. 

Shifters have a unique ability beyond copying features and taking forms, the capability to form these false bonds. They mimic the feelings that come with one of the three, Romantic, Trust, and Platonic, which is crucial for body snatching bonded victims, though usually bonded people can feel when their bonds die, so it’s a real gamble. Failed plans mean the shifter now has the responsibility of making the death look like a murder or accident of some kind to keep the existence of shifters secret, even if some incredibly old monsters know. 

You had a run in with Gerson once. You were a stray dog again, running around what you later learned was near where he lived, and he just… watched you. For a long time. Knowingly.

You avoid Fort Lauderdale like the fucking plague. 

You don’t like turtles anymore. 

You shiver at the thought and realize Papyrus is still staring at you and you kind of need to continue your plan. 

You stumble a little closer, offering the bone to him in ‘childish innocence,’ and he laughs wetly, taking it. “It’s– It’s incredible, my dear. Very impressive. Did.. Did you practice? Before coming here? Did..”

He closes his mouth and sets the little bone down carefully. You could’ve let it dissolve, but figured he'd appreciate a keepsake. Papyrus’ hands shake as he slips off his gloves, taking your hands again. The bond instantly strengthens in that moment, and he shudders clasping your hands in his. You smile at the warm warm warm that washes over you. 

Papyrus looks at you like you’re something precious, tamping down a shudder before he swallows his emotion down, “What is your name, my dear?”

You realize you forgot to answer his previous question, but figure it doesn’t matter. You shrug lightly, squeezing his hands before lifting a finger to point at him. 

Papyrus looks stricken again. “You don’t have a name?”

You shake your head. He frowns, but nods, “I… Me and your mother had a list. Perhaps we can look through them together to see if there’s one you like?”

Works for you. You nod, squeezing his hands again. He softens, “Can… Can I hug you?”

You squeeze one more time before padding closer with a nod. He immediately leans forward to scoop you into his arms, nuzzling into your hair. It’s soft, warm, and perfect. It wasn’t purposeful when you created this character you’re playing, but in his arms, you find you fit perfectly against him. Like a missing piece. 

You hear him viciously fight the need to cry, breathing as falsely steady as possible while pressing his teeth against your head. He holds you close against your chest, a hand running through your hair, before quietly murmuring, “You look so much like your mother.”

You don’t let yourself smile, but you know.

—---------------------

Grillby slinks into the kitchen and begins quietly plating the food, Sans on his heels. He hands Sans his serving and allows the skeleton to sit before grabbing more plates for himself and Papyrus. He only hesitates a moment before using the old, plastic children’s tableware set that Papyrus and Merise picked out before the miscarriage. There is a child in the house now. It feels right that they use it. He tries not to flinch when he sets the light blue plate of crawfish etouffee in front of Merise’s chair. She’s not here anymore, but this child is. 

Grillby quite liked Merise. They’d become fast friends after she started talking to Papyrus, since wherever Papyrus goes, Sans is close to follow. And he and Sans were already together, so it wasn’t long until he and Merise were in-laws. Nearly two hundred years is a very long time to get to know someone, and Grillby is not such a person to deny the fact that he also misses Merise. Somewhere in that time she’d grown from Papyrus’ sweetheart, to Grillby’s little human sister, and in his soul he hopes that she would eventually come home. Papyrus had long been considered his little brother, and it’s devastating to see him so broken. He hopes this… new development changes that, not that he particularly minds living here, taking care of Papyrus with Sans. He enjoys helping people.

Grillby had no plans on moving from Ebott, but when push comes to shove, he is happy to be here. Besides, Louisiana has long been known for their food, and the city they moved to is a particularly hot spot for it, so he fit right in.  Not to mention it’s hilarious to see Papyrus gaining an accent. He’s heard more than one person call the man ‘337,’ which he now knows to be an area code, and it’ll never not tickle him and Sans and to hear his altered pronunciation of words after over a century of speaking cajun french. Grillby realizes Papyrus hasn’t spoken it in a long time, probably due to the fact that Merise is the one who taught it to him.

It was one of the reasons Sans liked her so much.

Sans liked Merise not only because she made Papyrus happy, though that was the main reason, but because she was intelligent and just as serious as him in keeping her people safe. It was something they all loved her for, actually. Grillby would’ve never guessed Merise would’ve been able to kill, but when Papyrus and Sans were in danger, she pulled the trigger without hesitation. Grillby knows Sans, nor Papyrus, would’ve been able to, and Grillby has nothing but hard earned respect and appreciation for her because of that. In his own war experience, he could see it in her eyes that she'd do it again. 

Grillby has taken lives before too. If he was in the room, he would've hesitated. Perhaps it would’ve saved her from gaining her first LV, though it mattered little. Papyrus was startled, of course, but he loved that woman so much that he could never have faltered, even if he wouldn’t have been able to do it himself.

Though, in all honesty, Grillby finds Papyrus’ pacifism is flexible when it comes to his inner circle. Papyrus does not have the capability of killing, no, but he more than has the strength to kick ass if needed. Grillby smiles to himself. This kid’s going to be a riot. 

He glances at the pair in the living room, and softens at the sight of their embrace. Even if Grillby’s unsure that Papyrus is mentally prepared to be a single father, he’s damn sure he’ll be  an incredible one. Not to mention, he and Sans aren’t going anywhere, and though they’ve long accepted the fact that they can’t have a child of their own, they’ve had many conversations about potentially adopting. 

Not the same as this, of course, but he doesn’t mind filling the Uncle role for Papyrus’ child.

—-------------------

Papyrus hears the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and presses another nuzzle-kiss to the top of his child’s head. Tears sear at his eyes and he still cannot believe this is real and that he’s a father now, but already he loves this child. He can see his Merise in every other movement, can see himself in most of the rest, and occasionally, he notices something their own. Their little ears being pointed, the little yellow spot in their eye, the symmetry of their brows, the way they smile with their mouth closed (Merise’s smile was bright and sweet and flashed her perfect white teeth). Little things that scream at him that this is not just a mix of him in his wife, but a tiny person that he gets to take care of. 

A little soul that wants him as their father. 

Merise would be so fucking happy. 

Papyrus taps another kiss to the child’s head and smiles softly, “Are you hungry, dear?”

—---------------

Not at all.

You’re practically drowning in love.

You nod anyway, and allow him to carry you to the table. It feels a little odd, being raised so high by anything but your own wings, especially by someone who’s just fucking radiating love at you, but you don’t struggle. Also you don’t want him to drop you. 

You nearly struggle not to laugh at yourself, but allow him to seamlessly set you down in the mage’s old chair. It's comfortable and you feel like you belong here, kicking your feet quietly under the table. You’re still silent as you eat your food, but you recall just enough sign language to thank Grillby. 

His light flickers brighter, and he bows a little, signing ‘your welcome’ in return. Papyrus blinks, “YOU CAN HEAR, RIGHT? HAVE YOU JUST BEEN READING INTENT THIS WHOLE TIME?”

You smile, waving your hands and pointing at your ears, then flashing a thumbs up. 

He relaxes, “OKAY! WOO, I PANICKED FOR A MOMENT! WE’RE ALL FLUENT IN ASL, IT YOU PREFER WE SPEAK TO YOU LIKE THAT?”

You blanche, because you are not fluent in ASL. Shifters are able to understand and speak any spoken language, but as sign language isn’t a spoken language, shifters have to learn it like anyone else. Deaf humans and monsters are usually safe from shifters because of that. You shake your head and point to your ears again. 

Papyrus smiles a little and thumbs at the point, “I SEE.” He startles, glancing at your face, “I’m sorry, am I too loud?”

You smile again, shaking your head. You cannot for the life of you remember what the sign for ‘like’ is, so you finger spell it after pointing at yourself, then you point at him. ‘I l-i-k-e you.’

Papyrus’ eyelights seem to dilate a little, and he softens, “..THANK YOU, MY DEAR.”

—----------------------

It’s adorable. Sans finishes his food and simply watches Papyrus and the weird little mystery child that appeared on their doorstep. They remind him of Frisk still, especially when they’re silent and wrapped in Frisk’s clothes, but it’s undeniably Merise and Papyrus’ little munchkin. Mini-Merise’s little too-sharp teeth flash as they eat, and Sans is sure that this little kid is going to be an absolute menace when they grow up.

He can’t wait. 

—-----------------------

Papyrus had offered you the spare bedroom to sleep in, but you cling to his hand and he folds immediately, scooping you up effortlessly even though you know he hasn’t trained properly in at least a decade, and carries you to his room. He shows you around the room, telling you what stuff was the mage’s verses his, telling you little stories about each picture and knickknack well into the night. It fills in some of your blanks, and you feel the bond strengthen as time passes.

Far past the average five-year-old’s bedtime, he plops the both of you into bed. You snuggle up close to his side, and he melts, nuzzling into your hair again. “Are you tired, dear?”

You shrug, then realize you actually remember the sign for name since you wanted to learn how to introduce yourself about two decades ago. You point to yourself then put your pointer and middle finger of each hand together and tap them against each other like jenga pieces twice.  He lights up, “NAME? YOU-” He coughs, then quiets, probably thinking of his brother and brother-in-law down stairs, “Would you like to pick one out now?”

You nod immediately, sitting up and patting at his chest until he does as well, he snickers and rises, searching around the room for a while before pulling out an old notebook. It seems very well taken care of though. Like it’s precious to him. 

He flips through the pages before finding a long list of names. You notice immediately that almost all of them are non-gendered, and the ones that are have non-gendered nicknames on the side. It’s sweet, and you realise that not one of the people in this house have called you by anything other than your age and size. You’re aware that your age means it can be a little hard to tell, but–

They’re monsters. Gender doesn’t mean the same thing here. You can be just you.

You bounce a little to show excitement that’s actually real this time as you look through the names. 

You take a long moment before one really catches your eye. Cyan.

It’s a simple, very monster name, and it’s not much like your true name at all, but you kind of like it. Cyan. Your eyes are cyan, you’d match. 

Cyan..ide. Cyanide. 

You smile and point at Cyan. Papyrus will never know why you picked it, but the way he smiles sweetly and taps a skeleton kiss to your forehead tells you he doesn’t care why you picked it. “I came up with that one.”

You smile and you hope he doesn’t see the poison in it. 

Later, as you’re curled against his chest, not yet needing to sleep, you feel like poison, leeching the love from him.

You don’t care. 

The plan has officially worked. 

You’re in.

And Cyan has a nice ring to it.

Chapter Text

It’s warm. Shapeshifters don’t really need sleep, not unless they’re shifting a lot in a short time, and you’re not at the point that sleep is necessary. Maybe in the next few days. But for now?

You get eight hours of basking in pure warmth, surrounded by pure lovelovelove. You don’t know if Papyrus is also pretending to sleep or not, with his breaths being even, but his occasional shifts in which it feels like he’s making sure you’re still there, but you don’t mind. It’s surprisingly comfortable to cuddle with a skeleton! You can’t remember the last time you’ve been held as a human- or monster, or hybrid– let alone the last time you’d been held as yourself.

It’s.. incredible. You have literally never been this full. It's almost sickening. 

You thought you’d have time to get used to their love, you thought they’d slowly warm up to you.

You didn’t expect this much.

You didn’t expect to feel it. 

Tears burn at your eyes, and oh it’s been so long since you’ve cried. 

Part of you wants to hide your tears, partly embarrassed, partly because you just want Papyrus to keep holding you. The worse side of you knows that your tears will spark concern. Which will in turn, make him want to take care of you.

You can’t decide which part of you wins, your eyes shut tight against the sting as you curl up a little tighter. Papyrus doesn’t let you decide as he shifts from behind you, gently brushing your hair out of your face. His breath hitches a little, and he moves closer, gently scooping you to curl into his chest. You rest your cheek on his sternum, your body tiny enough to bring your knees up to lean against his ribs as well. 

A surprisingly strong arm snakes around you, keeping you close.

Safe.

Papyrus presses his teeth against the top of your head, gently thumbing the tears off your face, before he begins to braid your hair. 

It’s quiet and soft and you’ve never been cared for like this. 

Papyrus doesn’t speak for a long time, continuing to run his fingers through your hair, the magic cushioning his joints keeping the delicate bones from snagging. Your scalp tingles a little as he gently scratches at it, braiding, then unbraiding, then re-braiding small sections of your hair. 

It breaks you a little. 

You don’t need to breathe, but you feel like you're choking on the intent each touch pours into your skin. 

He loves you so much it hurts.

And you want to sink your claws into his chest to keep him there, but you won’t. You want to rip his spine out so he doesn’t comment on your tears or ask you what’s wrong because you don’t know , but you won’t because he loves you. 

And you can’t kill another person. 

You couldn’t take it again.

You curl tighter against him, feeling your tiny bones strain against a motion that is normally so simple for you. For a moment, you hate this. 

But it’s the safest, warmest, and fullest you’ve ever been and you don’t know if you can handle starving again. 

Hah.

Don’t lie to yourself. Of course you can.

———————————

Papyrus doesn’t sleep much that night, what bursts he does catch are startled awake by the vague feeling of something being wrong, or the need to reassure himself that the child in his arms is real.  

He doesn’t realize what’s wrong until he’s moving to braid his child’s hair, going through the motions mainly to calm himself, when he notices that they’re crying. It just about shreds his soul, and their tears are so silent it forces him to think about how many times his baby must’ve cried in places they didn’t want to be found.

He hates to think about the terrifying shit some humans do to their young, what may have happened to his child if they’d been found by the wrong people. What could have already happened to them. It’s a sick feeling, but Papyrus is over two hundred years old. He understands how humans work sometimes. Understands enough to never want to let his child leave the house again.

Papyrus shifts to curl around them, kissing their head and braiding their hair. He remembers how Merise preferred to be comforted, and he uses that here. Merise didn’t like to talk about what made her upset until she could laugh about it. Cyan didn’t seem to talk at all, and Papyrus is incredibly concerned about that, but it can’t be helped right now. 

Merise didn’t like touch unless it was him, but it doesn’t seem like Cyan shares that seeing as everyone in the house has held them without complaint only a few hours into meeting them. 

Once his arms were around them, their breath hitched a little, and their tears seemed to come a little faster for a long moment, before they calmed. Papyrus gently cups their cheek, brushing tears away and tapping another kiss to their forehead before he lets his hand rest there, his fingertips brushing into their hair.

Cyan doesn’t speak, but slowly moves to wrap and arm around his ribcage. They’re too tiny to fully reach around, but the intent is there and he loves this child.

Papyrus nuzzles another kiss to their temple before whispering, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s not surprised to feel them shaking their head no, nuzzling into his sternum. Papyrus nods, “That’s alright, my dear. Do you want quiet, or would you like to talk? I can tell you a story? I know a lot of them.”

He really does. Merise had told him many, and they’d made even more over the years. Cyan nods against his chest, so he talks.

And talks.

He doesn’t stop talking, absentmindedly playing with their hair, until he realizes the sun has risen.

Papyrus hums, gently kissing their head yet again, partially to comfort them, partly because he needs to confirm this is real again. He tells them one more story. “I didn’t know what the sun was when the  barrier broke. It was sunset when we escaped, and your uncle Sans had to tell me. When I told your mom that story, I expected her to find it silly. But..  she didn’t. Your mom…” he chokes his words down, because he cannot bear to say ‘was’ when talking about his Merise, “has a lot of empathy. She always takes anything to do with other people far more seriously than she’d take her own problems.”

Papyrus takes a slow breath, smiling sadly into their hair, “And I cannot imagine a world where she’d abandon you.” 

The child shifts a little, hugging his neck and nosing under his jaw. Their body feels a little too warm, but their nose is cold enough to tickle, and Papyrus huffs a laugh. Papyrus shifts to cradle them closer to his soul. “I don’t know where she is, but when she comes home, I know she will love you with her whole heart, if she doesn’t already.”

——————————-

You hope she doesn’t come back.

It’s not that you have any ill will towards her. But her return could jeopardize your plan. 

Also you’re not sure if you can handle any more Love, not with Papyrus practically force feeding it to you, and with the gentle concern bleeding in from the kitchen, no doubt from Grillby, or with the tingle on your scalp where you can still feel Sans washing your hair.

It’s too much.

You frown, your brows knitting together as you grow dizzy with it. It’s clearly been too long since you’ve been fed, at least not like this. 

You feel… sick?

—---------------

Breakfast is… calm. Papyrus carries his child down stairs, their hair in their face until he brushes it away. He’s growing concerned with the light red tint their skin is taking, remembering the few times his Merise had gotten incredibly ill, especially when she first started gaining magic over a hundred years ago. 

Cyan, somehow, looks as adorable pouting as they do normally, even as it pulls at his heart strings. 

Grillby startles at the sight of them, quietly fretting over the toddler in Papyrus’ arms, “Are you hungry?”

Cyan doesn’t speak, as per what Papyrus is quickly learning to be their usual, but shrugs a little before settling back against Papyrus’ chest. He silently just glad they’re so comfortable with touch, because he thinks he’d cry if he found out he had a child and missed their entire life so far,  then couldn’t hold them when they weren’t feeling well. 

Of course, their needs come first, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have feelings about it. 

Sans slips tiredly into the kitchen next, helping Grillby plate the food and softening at the sight of Cyan. “hey, kid. sleep okay?”

—-------------

You nod, and your head spins. Oh.

Oh, no you need to not be this high if you’re going to faint. You squirm a little, and Papyrus immediately sets you in the mage’s chair, the back of his hand gently resting against your forehead. “THEY HAVE A FEVER. DIDN’T SEEM TO SET TILL THIS MORNING.”

Sans frowns, kneeling next to you and gently pressing his fingertips against your cheeks, before pressing his palm against your forehand once Papyrus’ hand slid back.  The shorter skeleton frowns softly, “yeah, kids a little warm. do we have soup?”

Grillby hums and immediately starts searching, but you shake your head a little, curling up. Soul tends to be intent-heavy and you cannot handle more. You haven’t thrown up in twenty years– you haven’t had enough magic in you to handle a purge- and you don’t plan to start now. 

Not to mention Shifters usually throw up pure black. So. That would be odd to explain. 

Grillby hesitates in his search, before approaching you, “Does your head hurt?”

Uh. No? Well, you could lie, but you don’t want him to heal you before hhhhhhhh it’s too much.

You shake your head, rubbing your face. 

Papyrus frowns and gently brushes his fingers through your hair before sighing, “I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU KNOW WHAT’S WRONG, MY DEAR?”

Don’t you dare laugh. Of course you know, he’s only been shoving love down your throat for the past twelve hours. 

You shrug a little, picking at your food and not making eye contact. Shy.

Sans pauses, and you see him deflate in the corner of your eye. He gently pushes Papyrus and Grillby to the living room, speaking in a hushed voice. Uh. A shame, really, you can hear them fine. You will your ear not to twitch.

—-------------

Papyrus frowns, but nods slowly to the soft murmur of concerned information Sans is offering. “kids.. uh, foster kids, or anything that's been… you know, starving for a while… they can’t really handle too much right off the bat. it’ll just make them sick, because their stomach shrunk. since mini ate yesterday and probably took in a lot of intent just being around us, especially paps, kid might be at their limit.”

It breaks his heart. 

Merise would never let her child starve. 

Where is she? Please, please, come home. 

Papyrus swallows, “So, it’s best to allow them to eat at their own pace, whenever they feel hungry. We’ll stick to small snacks and toast until they can handle full meals again.”

—-----------

Sans would be surprised by Papyrus’ firm maturity, if he wasn’t so fucking proud of him. So happy for him. 

Papyrus deserves good things, even if it kind of aches that Sans can’t have his own kids. He’s so glad he was wrong in his guess that Merise was infertile after the severity of their last miscarriage, because  he loves the child sitting in his kitchen so fucking much and he hasn’t even learned anything about them yet. He can’t wait to. 

…

He just wishes Merise were here for Papyrus too. 

Because Papyrus deserved everything.

—------------

You feel a wave of sappy feelings and your body aches. 

A wave of dizziness so sudden and intense you think you teleported for a moment domes you, and your vision fills with black spots for a long moment. Scared you’re actually going to pass out– you were kidding before, thanks– you immediately slip from the mages’ seat to sit on the floor, resting your head on your knees. 

You breathe twice by the time Papyrus is at your side, checking over you with gentle fingers and soft words. It doesn’t hurt, but your vision spins for a moment until Papyrus scoops you onto his lap. You’re close enough to his soul to easily and seamlessly force some of the love he’s drowning you with back through the bond. He softens considerably, tapping his teeth against your forehead and humming along to something you just know is French. 

You hate that you know the words.

It means you were too focused on shit that didn’t matter then. Like watching Papyrus and Merise dance to this song through the window. And wishing someone loved you enough for you to be able to move like that. 

You recall not even being able to stand up straight at the time. 

Now you really couldn’t stand up straight, but you’d rather be dizzy than starved. 

You’re so lost you forget to listen in to their conversation until you hear your new name. 

—-----------------

Papyrus gently brushes through their hair, frowning, “They’re really not feeling well. I think I'll keep them with me on the couch for today.”

Sans nods, shifting to pat the kids’ back gently. “sounds good, paps… hey, you pick a name yet? i’ve been calling them minirise in my head this whole time.”

Grillby chuckles above him, “I’ve been using little spark, personally.”

Papyrus smiles genuinely, huffing a soft laugh. “Those are cute! They chose Cyan as a name. I believe they like being addressed as gender neutral considering this, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

He’s nearly started by the tug on his shirt, Cyan staring up at him with their bright blue eyes and innocent looking expression tinged with something a little desperate. They nod quickly at him, and Papyrus tilts his head, “You like they, them pronouns?”

Cyans nods again, and Papyrus hums, unphased, “Of course!” Granted, it may have been off putting for humans, but monsters commonly didn’t have genders physically, so trans, non-binary, and homosexual monsters were the general majority of the kind. 

—--------------------

Papyrus didn’t find this odd in the slightest. 

You think it’s the instant acceptance that tips you off that this place is perfect.  

Too perfect. 

You don’t deserve this.

Chapter Text

First day here, and his child has a fever. Obviously it’s not Cyan’s fault, and Papyrus doubts he did anything wrong in terms of caring for them, but it hurts to see them unhappy in any way. He curls on the couch, putting on one of the shows he’s pretty sure his Merise said she watched as a kid, holding Cyan on his. He’s again, so glad his child is okay with being held. 

He doesn’t know everything about this particular show, but it seems informative and fun, and Cyan seems to really enjoy it. The animation is decent and the plots are interesting enough that even at his big age, he doesn’t get bored, genuinely enjoying watching the show. 

The whole.. Dad thing suddenly doesn’t feel so scary.

Because it is scary, terrifying even, to think about the reality of having a child.

Alone.

(Not alone. Sans and Grillby are taking care of him. But how is supposed to be taking care of a whole life, a full future, when he’s still reliant on his big brothers to force him to eat?)

But, even just holding them, reassuring himself that this is real, that this is his baby, and that they don’t hate him already, is enough to calm his fears, even if just a little. And they’re very warm, so this is nice!

But!

He’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be this warm!!

Papyrus shifts to press a kiss against their forehead, subtly feeling the warmth and slowly growing concerned. He hums softly before pulling away, looking at their face and checking for redness, or discomfort. They make eye contact, their irises that bright, innocent cyan that reminds him of his brother. He cups their cheek gently, feeling for Cyan’s temperature.  They’re quite warm, but his child shivers in his arms. 

Papyrus frowns, reaching back to nab the throw blanket off the back of the couch, flicking his wrist to toss it over Cyan’s back and his legs. Cyan shivers again, then snuggles closer, head resting on his collarbone.

He distantly recognizes that his, though normally vertical, is exactly how skeleton children prefer to be held. Papyrus has a photo of Sans holding him like this, has the booklet Gaster made when his estranged father found out Papyrus wanted kids (That was a strange conversation), and has his child in his arms.

It hits him once again, that he is a father now, and that this is he and his soulmate's child. His child. 

His soul aches for a moment, and he squeezes them gently tighter, before sighing. “I’m sorry you’re sick, my dear. It’s… if you were outside for a while, it’s probably from the cold, or the rain we had a little while ago.”

They nod into his chest and it breaks his heart to know they’d been on their own outside.

He swallows thickly before pressing his teeth against their forehead, “Do you want to go to the doctor?”

They don’t move for a moment, then shrug a little. He relaxes, assuming they don’t have any strong feelings about a doctor visit. “If your fever gets worse, then we’ll go today, but if it doesn’t and you still feel sick tomorrow, we’ll go then.” 

His hand brushes gently down their back, petting absentmindedly until he reflexively returns to their hair, finding the longest loc and beginning to braid it. “Does that sound okay to you or would you rather go now?”

They shake their head no against him, still hiding under his jaw but letting his ribs go to hold up a finger of their left hand. He realizes he doesn’t know if it is their dominant hand or not because despite this being his baby he’s been gone their whole life, but the seeping devastation is drowned out by the spark of affection they cause when they immediately latch onto him again. He softens and sighs, “Okay, dear.” He almost winces at the familiar nickname. He called Merise that in the past. 

He misses her like all fire.

But Papyrus knows that everything will work out. He just has to keep his hope up. 

He has someone to care for now.

—---------------

It’s a genuine struggle, but you don’t throw up. You hadn’t realized monsters were like this. You knew, of course, that monsters were all-in-all much kinder and more compassionate than humans, but you couldn't have possibly known how fully they loved. Anything you did brought forth a heavy burst of affection from Papyrus, and you can’t help but feel dirty and impure knowing that all of your plans to manipulate them into loving you weren’t even necessary. Your simple presence was all it took. 

You lay on his chest, listening to the steady beats of his soul, and slowly forcing your false heart to match the rate. You almost second guess yourself on how big and loud the human heart is supposed to be, because yours feels so much softer than you’d think it’s meant to, but you figure with how cold hearted Shifters tend to be, it makes sense.

—------------

Papyrus feels like he’s melting, especially when his hand drops from their hair to their upper back. One of his favorite pastimes when his Merise was still around, was listening to her heart beat. Cyan is oh, so small, and their little heart sounds like the pitter-patter of a kitten's paws on his chest, and he wants to cry because Merise infected him with cute aggression then gave him the most precious thing in the world.

He mourns that he didn’t see Cyan’s first steps, meal, or word, that he hasn’t been there for them, that they’ve been on the streets for who knows how long, that he doesn’t know where their mom is, that–

None of it really matters though, because the past is in the past and he can’t focus on that. Not when they’re here in his arms, in the present. His.

Papyrus has never seen himself as a possessive person. 

He has a feeling he’s about to.

—-------------------

Your fever gets worse. It’s not purposeful, and you weren’t aware shifters could get sick, but clearly your body doesn’t give a shit about your grand plan. Papyrus is ever so gentle with you, wrapping the blanket fully around you like a cape before scooping you up. You taps his teeth to your head as he carries you to the car, letting you rest your cheek against his sternum as he locks the front door with one hand. 

“I’M SORRY, CYAN! I WISH YOUR FIRST FULL DAY HERE WAS NOT PLAGUED BY ILLNESS!”

You smile weakly, surprisingly comfortable in his hold. Skeletons were very good cuddlers. Papyrus unlocks the car and opens the back seat, bending practically in half to set you on the middle seat. He looks at you and frowns. “I HAVEN’T BOUGHT A CAR SEAT YET. I’LL DRIVE VERY CAREFULLY, BUT WE NEED TO GET YOU ONE VERY SOON. FOR NOW,” He ducks out of the car, and you hear him digging in the trunk, before he produces a clear backpack, filled with heavy looking books. Papyrus motions you to scoot, and you do so, watching him set the booksat flat on the middle seat, before he scoops you up and sets you on top of it. “THIS WILL WORK. I KNOW IT’S NOT THE MOST COMFORTABLE, BUT IT’LL KEEP YOU SAFER UNTIL WE GO TO THE STORE. YOU CAN COME WITH ME!”

He smiles and carefully buckles the seat belt over your small body, untwisting the straps to lay comfortably across your lap and chest. The blanket still wrapped around you helps the seatbelt’s fit a little, though you poke your hands out of the cloth to rest on the lap belt. Your… father, you suppose, gently squeezes your hands, raising them to his mouth and humming. “DON’T MESS WITH THESE TOO MUCH, MY LOVE. DRIVING IS DANGEROUS, AND WHILE I AM AN INCREDIBLE DRIVER, THE SAME CANNOT BE SAID WITH OTHER PEOPLE IN THIS TOWN.”

You nod seriously to him and he drops your hands to cup your cheek, taps his teeth to your forehead— something you’re quickly realizing is how skeletons kiss— before ducking out of the back seat. He slips into the driver's seat, and starts the engine, immediately turning on the heater then leaning over the center console to turn on your seat warmers.  You immediately snuggle into the warmth, shutting your eyes contently. The backpack isn’t that uncomfortable, though it makes you happy that he cares about your safety, never mind that no shifter worth their scales would die in a car accident. 

Papyrus starts the radio, and hesitates, “WHAT KIND OF MUSIC DO YOU LIKE, MY LOVE? DO YOU HAVE A PREFERENCE? OR- Do you have a headache? I can keep it off?”

You hesitate, not sure how to respond without words. And you aren’t ready yet. He seems to notice, and pauses, “Sorry, dear. One finger for a specific type of music, two for no preference, three for no music.”

You relax, holding two fingers. You don’t really care. 

Papyrus calms, offering you a little fist bump, “ME AND YOUR MOM LISTENED TO A LOT OF THE SAME MUSIC.” He twists back around in his seat, beginning to reverse out of the driveway as a playlist called something ‘bomb’ popped up on the dash screen.  It went away as Papyrus started the route to a clinic nearby, a little further uptown. “THOUGH HER TASTE SHIFTS PRETTY OFTEN. IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MUSIC PREFERENCES NOW, YOU’LL HAVE TIME TO GET SOME! JUST LET ME KNOW IF THE VOLUME’S TOO LOUD, OR IF YOU DON’T LIKE A SONG.”

You nod, and he smiles at you in the rearview mirror, before bringing his attention back to the road. The drive is calm, filled with soft melodies and heavy beats until you’re arriving at the clinic. The soft trills of the humming in the last song will be stuck in your head for a while, you’re sure of it. Papyrus parks outside a small clinic, turning the engine off before leveraging himself out of the front seat, walking to the back to help you out. He clicks the buckle loose, and gently picks you up again. He narrowly misses smacking the back of his skull on the top of the car door, though he tilts his head at the last second to avoid it. You smile, being sure not to show your teeth. You’re sure the doctor will ask you to open your mouth for a test, but you can procrastinate. 

Papyrus bounces you gently on his hip to get your attention, and you immediately latch onto the hand he’s offering. “I KNOW YOU SAID YOU WEREN’T SCARED OF THE DOCTOR, BUT IF SOMETHING CHANGES AND YOU START FEELING UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! YOU CAN TUG ON MY SHIRT OR SIGN THIS,” He lets go of your hand for a moment to put four fingers up, bend his thumb into his palm, then fold his fingers over his thumb, “IT MEANS HELP! CAN YOU TRY?”

You nod, bringing your hand up to copy him, he smiles fondly, gently taking your fist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “PERFECT, DEAR. ARE YOU READY?”

You mean to nod, but hesitate, anxiety pooling in your chest. This could fuck your plan over. If the doctor happens to know fuck all about monsters or stars forbid shifters, you could be thrown back to the streets. 

Papyrus frowns softly, gently cupping your cheek “WE CAN SIT OUTSIDE FOR A MOMENT, MY DEAR. IT’S A LITTLE COLD, BUT IT MIGHT HELP YOUR FEVER.”

He plops down on a bench near the door, gently running his fingers through your hair, “IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE NERVOUS?”

You shake your head, glad you don’t have to speak your lie. He hums, “I UNDERSTAND! IT’S QUITE NEW TO YOU, I’M SURE! BUT I PROMISE THAT I’M ON YOUR SIDE, LITTLE ONE. THE DOCTOR WILL ONLY WANT TO HELP YOU, AND I ONLY WANT YOU HEALTHY.”

You nod a little, nuzzling into his chest. Papyrus hums softly along to the song that was playing in the car. “JUST TAP ME WHEN YOU’RE READY, LOVE.”

—------------

They tap him after a couple minutes, their fever feeling a little hotter. Papyrus squeezes them tighter, trying to help them conserve warmth in their blanket as he walks into the clinic. The inside smells uncomfortably sterile, but at least it’s warm. He carries Cyan along with him as he gives the desk lady his paperwork.

They end up waiting for another fifteen minutes, in which Cyan begins to fall asleep in his lap. It’s so cute it hurts, and he rubs their back gently to soothe them, knowing he’ll have to wake them up but not liking it. Their little nails dig into his palms as they cling to him, but he can’t help but find it endearing, despite the small sparks of pain.

His name is called not long after, and he carries his child deeper into the clinic, gently patting their back to wake them. They squint against the LEDS, and Papyrus is so glad his Merise changed out the white lights in the house for soft yellows. 

The freckles on their nose bridge wrinkle as they scrunch it, blinking sleepily up at him. He leans forward to press a kiss to their forehead in silent apology for waking them up, following the doctor to a small examination room.

He doesn’t catch the doctor’s name but he quickly realizes the woman doesn’t want to be there. Her long, dirty blonde hair is pulled into a bun, and her glasses sit too low on her nose bridge. The has a resting look of frustration the entire time she’s tapping stuff into an iPad. She sighs, glancing between him and the child, “So is she like… adopted?”

The lack of professionalism is striking in comparison to the compassion and kindness he’d been receiving from doctors like Caiden over the last couple years. He stiffens, gently pulling Cyan a little closer to his side where they sit on the examination table together. “IT’S THEY, AND NO, THEY’RE MY CHILD.”

The nurse squints at the child, then to him, “Uh…. Are you sure? No offense. But that kid is human.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before Cyan is summoning a small bone in their hands. It flickers in and out of reality for a moment before it fades out fully. The doctor blinks with wide eyes and Papyrus can’t help but smile, pride lighting his chest. “THEY TAKE MORE AFTER THEIR MOTHER IN TERMS OF LOOKS. BUT THEY’RE CERTAINLY MINE!”

Cyan smiles shyly up at him, and it’s nearly a throat chop. Papyrus hopes to the stars that his child doesn’t need to be reassured that he wants them, because Papyrus wants to be here with them more than anything. This is his baby.

The doctor clears her throat, “Uh… right. Okay. But still half human so… should be normal stuff I guess. You said she-“

He clears his throat, “THEY.”

The doctor doesn’t look at him, but sneers at her chart, “Sure. A fever?”

Papyrus nods, “YES! I DON’T HAVE A THERMOMETER AT HOME SO I COULDN’T CHECK, BUT THEY  FELT SICK ENOUGH TO NOT WANT BREAKFAST THIS MORNING, AND STRUGGLED TO SLEEP LAST NIGHT, NOT TO MENTION THE WARMTH! SO! I WANTED TO MAKE SURE THEY WERE OKAY!”

The doctor nodded a little, “Well I can run h-their temperature, but the other symptoms just sound like normal kid stuff. They probably just didn’t like what Mom made for breakfast and wanted to stay up late. Unless that’s, like, super out of character, it’s not really something to worry about.”

Papyrus frowns because he doesn’t know if it’s out of character. He turns to Cyan, who’s still nestled under his arm. They shake their head a little, and he cannot believe he got so lucky for his child to be so intelligent and forgiving.

Papyrus knows it’s not his fault he wasn’t there, but Cyan is not yet at the emotional maturity to understand that. At least… Papyrus didn’t think they were. But they’re being surprisingly patient with him, and he can’t help but wonder if they got it from Sans. The doctor raises a brow but doesn’t comment. She grabs something from a drawer above one of the three cabinets set inside the counter holding the sink, and grabs a little black cone thing from a stack of them on the wall. Papyrus frowns a little, “WHAT’S THAT?”

The doctor’s lip curls a little, “Uh, an ear thermometer? Have you never brought her to the doctor before, or…?”

Papyrus clears his throat, “THEY. AND NO.”

Her nose wrinkles, “Did.. their mom bring them instead before? Are you just on babysitting duty or something.”

Oh. Oh, that’s something he genuinely cannot stand. He gently places a hand over Cyan’s ear, knowing fully well he won’t be able to block them from hearing fully, but he can at least try. “My wife is missing.”

The doctor at least has the decency to look ashamed for a moment, “Ah. Uhm. Sorry.” 

Papyrus nods firmly, removing his hand from Cyan’s ear. They reach to hold his hand, and he immediately softens, carefully squeezing their hand before simply holding it. “YOU’RE FORGIVEN! HOW DOES THE THERMOMETER WORK?” 

The doctor grimaces, “Uh, I just insert it into the kid’s ear and it tells me their temperature.”

Papyrus nods, aware of what a fucking thermometer is, thanks, “WHY THE EAR INSTEAD OF THE FOREHEAD OR MOUTH?”

The woman looks visibly aggravated but answers, “It’s more accurate.”

WAS THAT SO HARD??? 

He nods once, and turns to Cyan, “IS THAT OKAY, DEAR?”

Cyan nods a little and brushes their hair away from their ear. Papyrus holds their hair out of the way for them, and the doctor carefully inserts the cone into their ear for about three seconds before it beeps and she takes it back out. Cyan shifts, shivering a little and rubbing their ear against their shoulder. Papyrus tamps down a giggle because it’s adorable, and gently scritches behind their ear in effort to soothe the odd feeling. The doctor lets out a little confused hum, before turning back to them, “Uh… Your kid's temperature is 105. They should not be this calm. Also they should be like… dying. This is… really weird.”

—--------------

Shhhhit. 

Why are humans so puny!? What does this bitch mean you should be dying?? One hundred and five degrees is literally nothing??

Papyrus startles, placing the back of his palm against your forehead, then cooling your cheeks on his palms, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, DYING!?”

She shrugs, “No, it’s probably fine. I mean, you’re a monster, your kid is half monster… It’s probably something to do with that. Their ears are misshapen and their eyes are… weird, so obviously they have non-human traits mixed in. Well, actually, the eye thing could just be heterochromia. Did their mom have different colored eyes?”

This doctor was kind of doing you a favor by changing the subject from you dying, even if she was kind of rude as fuck about it, though Papyrus doesn’t seemed all that soothed. “YES, THEIR MOTHER HAD SECTORAL HETEROCHROMIA. CYAN HAS THE SAME. SO YOU HAVE NO IDEA IF MY CHILD IS DYING OR NOT?”

The doctor stares scrutinizingly at the yellow spots in your eyes, before shrugging. “Yeah, looks sectoral whatever. Is Cyan a monster name or..?”

You genuinely debate clawing the doctor solely because she’s stressing Papyrus out. You didn’t plan this to make him or his family suffer. You see it as a kind of… mutualism. You get fed, Papyrus isn’t depressed about his dead-but-maybe-not-really-dead wife. You doubt a mage dies so easily. Besides, Papyrus seems to believe that she’s alive very strongly, and you trust his soulmate bond to be true more than the common sense that she’s been missing for like six years. You think of it as… keeping him company. Just until she comes home, you guess. Obviously, unless she has no memory of the last five years, or she actually had a child, then she’ll know you’re not her kid, and you don’t think you can stomach glamouring her to forget that, it wouldn’t be right. But for now, you’re a distraction, and Papyrus is a caretaker.

You don’t bite the hand that feeds, of course. 

You’re about to bite this fucking doctor though. 

“YES, CYAN IS A MONSTER NAME. IS MY CHILD DYING.”

The woman straightens, “Uh…. I don’t think so. She doesn’t look like it.”

Papyrus shoots an impatient look, “ THEY.”

You smile into your shoulder. You don’t care that much about being addressed correctly by a human you know you will never see again, but it’s sweet that Papyrus is so adamant on making her get it right. The woman sighs, “Yeah. Look, I don't know. We don’t get hybrid’s here. You’ll have to bring them to a specialist.”

Papyrus nails her with glare, “AND IF THEY ARE DYING? DO YOU TRULY BELIEVE I CAN GET IN TOUCH WITH A SPECIALIST THAT QUICKLY?”

The doctor leans back on her heels, “Aren’t monsters supposed to be full of compassion or something?”

It takes everything in you to not kick her shins in, but you relent. Papyrus is pissed enough on his own, and his angry face is honestly a little hilarious to you, especially knowing that you are literally fine. Papyrus rises to his feet, gently helping you off the table and into his arms, “IF YOU HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE ON YOUR PRACTICE, THEN I’M AFRAID WE NEED TO LEAVE.”

The doctor glances at the camera in the corner of the room, and appears to grow a little frantic. Good. “Oh! Uh, I think, we have someone who might know! Just stay, uh, here, and I’ll go get him.”

She runs out the room, and Papyrus sighs softly, “This hasn’t gone nearly as well as I’d hoped. I’m sorry, my dear.”

You immediately shake your head and squeeze his hand. He smiles softly, “Do you.. Feel like you’re dying?”

He says it playfully, but you can feel the concern. Oh. He’s trying to play off the doctor's words as a joke. So you’re not scared. You shake your head, pointing at yourself then signing, ‘ok.’ Papyrus sighs softly, relief lacing his breath, “Well, that’s good!”

You smile and nod, fingerspelling ‘normal.’ 

He hums, feeling your forehead, “NORMAL? DO YOU JUST RUN HOT?”

You shrug, then make a so-so motion with your free hand. 

Papyrus nods, “I DOUBT YOU HAD READY ACCESS TO A THERMOMETER, SO THAT MAKES SENSE. I’M SORRY THIS HAS ALL GONE TO CHAOS, MY LOVE.”

You pat his sternum lightly and he chuckles, ducking to ‘kiss’ your forehead. 

Not a moment later, another doctor walks in. It’s a short man with a rough beard and too-tight gloves on his hands. Instantly, the vibes are off. The lady doctor was kind of a dick, but this guy seemed… worse. You glance to Papyrus to see if he felt it too, but you can’t see his expression from this angle. A shame. 

The doctor looks at you like an interesting science experiment, and you squirm away, pushing yourself further into Papyrus’ lap. He immediately adjusts to accept you closer, running his fingers through your hair, “THEY’RE JUST A LITTLE SHY. THIS IS THEIR FIRST DOCTOR’S VISIT.”

The man waved Papyrus off, looking directly at you, “How old are you?”

You tentatively hold up five fingers and he nods once, gesturing for the woman to write it down. She scrambles for her IPad, and the man sighs, “Really, Ms. Smith, get it together.”

Smith, you learn, nods quickly and begins taking notes. The man grins oddly, and offers to shake your hand. You frown and hide further into Papyrus’ hold. He slips an arm around you to secure you to him before shaking the doctor's hand with his free one, taking the ‘fall’ for you. “THEY HAVE A FEVER, AND I’M VERY CONCERNED. CAN WE GET INTO IT?”

The man nods, “In time, of course. First, we just need to run a test or two to figure out how magic interacts with her blood stream.”

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Papyrus gives him a harsh look, something you hadn’t realized Papyrus was capable of, and spoke plainly, “THEY.”

The doctor dons a confused expression before looking Papyrus up and down, “Oh. Monster stuff. Whatever. They need to get their blood drawn.”

You tense. Yeah, you don’t really fuck with needles. Something about something foreign and sharp and cold inserting itself into your body was very gross to you and most other shifters. You frown and look at Papyrus with pleading eyes, though you still can’t make eye contact from this angle.

After a moment, Papyrus sighs, “AND THIS IS NECESSARY WHY? I JUST CAME TO KNOW IF THEIR FEVER WAS SERIOUS.”

The doctor huffs, a little impatient, “They should be fine, human children are incredibly resilient, and hybrid children tend to be even more so. Something about determination.”

————————

That’s not really what he asked but fine. Papyrus has never seen himself as an impatient person, but wowie he fucking hated this entire experience! He can only hope Cyan isn’t as bothered. “I… UNDERSTAND THAT, I SUPPOSE. IF YOU COULD TELL ME THAT EASILY, WHAT ARE THE TESTS FOR?”

The doctor opened a drawer behind him and hummed, pulling out a syringe with a long needle and a tube attached, “I don’t believe you understand how rare hybrid children are! With some testing, research on these creatures could have a huge breakthrough! You’d benefit too, of course, I would probably be able to tell you why she’s sick or-“

Papyrus is sick of them misgendering his child, for fucks sake. They don’t even look like a girl! “THEY.”

The doctor sighs, “They, yes, apologizes-“

Papyrus waves him off, “UNLESS THESE TESTS CAN HELP MY CHILD NOW, I DON’T WANT THEM.”

The man flounders for a moment, “It would help them in the future! Think of all the-“

——————-

The doctor makes the mistake of grabbing your arm, the needle dangerously close to your false veins. You rip your limb away from him, sending your body back into Papyrus’ chest. The skeleton immediately rises to his feet, holding you protectively away from the doctor. You don’t even have time to sign Papyrus for help, when he forcefully shoulders past the doctors, holding you close to his chest and breathing too evenly to be genuinely calm.

Oh, he’s pissed.

You never expected to see Papyrus lose his patience so quickly, though you suppose having a child would do that to a monster, even if said ‘child’ wasn’t really a child and was also a parasite feeding on his love.

You find the name Cyanide so fitting. You’re such a poison.

You space out a little as Papyrus leaves the office. He stops at the counter and pays, which you surely wouldn’t have done, not when you can hear the doctors shouting behind you. You don’t question it, though. Papyrus has always been a good person, at least as you watched him through frosted windows and in the eyes of various wild animals and shadows. A far better person than you.

You’d have to learn to be good too.

————————

Papyrus is ever gentle with his child, carefully buckling them in the backseat, and gently brushing their hair out of their face. “I’M SORRY. I… I KNOW A DIFFERENT DOCTOR. SHE LIVES OUT OF STATE, BUT. SHE’LL SURELY COME DOWN FOR YOU.”

He feels a spark of guilt through the bond, and Cyan frowns a little. He pauses, “..DO YOU NOT WANT A DOCTOR? OR…”

They shake their head again, and he wishes they had a better way of communicating, but he’s not sure if they can read or write.

…

He doesn’t know if they can read or write. 

No, no, they fingerspelled in sign language. So they have to have some knowledge of writing, and he can pray that they haven’t just learned that from communicating with strangers and that they do know how to read.

Oh! They couldn’t have found his address if they couldn’t read! 

….

(How did they find his address in the first place? How did they get here?)

(Where did they come from?)

….

It doesn’t matter, because they’re in his arms now and they’re safe and Papyrus can ask questions once they’re communicating freely. And not frowning. “NO? IS IT THAT YOU DON’T KNOW HER?”

They shake their head again, and visibly struggle for a moment before making a fist and using it to draw a circle over their chest. ‘Sorry.’

..Oh. 

Papyrus frowns, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SORRY FOR, MY DEAR, BUT YOU DON’T NEED TO APOLOGIZE. THIS WAS MY FAULT FOR NOT CHECKING THAT THIS CLINIC WAS MONSTER FRIENDLY. I.. I THOUGHT HUMANS HAD MOVED PAST THIS, SINCE IT’S BEEN ALMOST TWO CENTURIES, BUT I SHOULD’VE CONFIRMED. DON’T FEEL BAD BECAUSE OF THEIR PREJUDICE, MY LOVE.”

Cyan kicks their feet lightly against the seat, pointing at him before fingerspelling ‘doctor’ and ‘friend’ and ‘travel’ before gesturing a large space between their hands.

Papyrus focuses on their hands and facial expressions, “DOCTOR FRIEND– HER NAME IS ALPHYS, BY THE WAY– TRAVEL… FAR? Travel far… Oh.”

Papyrus softens, gently taking their hands, “OH, SWEETHEART, YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT. ALPHYS HASN’T BEEN ABLE TO VISIT IN YEARS, SO I’M SURE HER AND HER WIFE, UNDYNE, WILL BE HAPPY TO COME VISIT! AND IF THEY CAN’T, WE CAN JUST CALL HER AND HAVE HER CHECK YOU OVER ON THE PHONE. WOULD THAT BE ALRIGHT?”

He realizes that his child is being opened to new experiences very fast and that having them meet more people doesn’t sound like the best idea. “MAYBE THE CALL OPTION WOULD BE BETTER, ACTUALLY. ARE YOU NERVOUS TO MEET NEW PEOPLE?” 

—-------------------------

Uh… Normally, no. But right now, yes. Captain Undyne and Royal Scientist Doctor Alphys were not a part of the plan. Of course you know who they are, and while you vaguely knew from old photos and shaky videos that Undyne and Papyrus were friends, you hadn’t expected him to summon her wife to come check on you. You especially did not want new monsters surrounding you, not when you don’t know how old they are. You don’t know if they know what you are.

You nod a little, holding onto Papyrus’ hands. He smiles softly and pats the back of your hands gently, “I UNDERSTAND. WE’LL WAIT A WHILE BEFORE INTRODUCING YOU TO FRIENDS. THEY’RE PERFECTLY SAFE, AND I PROMISE THEY’LL LOVE YOU, BUT IT IS ONLY YOUR FIRST DAY!”

You smile weakly, and he pushes forward to tap his teeth against the tip of your nose. Your giggle is real, and he kisses your head before pulling away, “WHEN THE DOCTOR GRABBED YOU, DID HE HURT YOU?”

You shake your head and offer Papyrus the arm he grabbed, to show there was no mark on your skin. He gently rubs your arm and turns it over to check the other side, before letting it rest at your side. He sighs softly, “THAT’S GOOD. I’M SORRY, CYAN. I’M CERTAIN THAT WAS SCARY.”

You immediately shake your head, giving him a thumbs up and a smile. Papyrus laughs, brushing your hair out of your face, “YOU’RE VERY BRAVE, MY LOVE.”

Oh, you know exactly how to throw him off, how to make him stop thinking about it. You point directly at his chest, then yours, and back. The gesture is incredibly vague, and a human wouldn’t understand it without prior knowledge of monsters and their culture, but Papyrus isn’t a human, and his eyelights do the monster equivalent of dilating, as he stares at your hands. 

—----------------------

Papyrus doesn’t know where they learned the gesture, and he hasn’t spoken nor signed MCL in years, and hasn’t seen another monster use it since he last saw Gaster, and he can’t for the life of him remember the direct translation, but he vividly remembers his personal usage of the motion over two hundred years ago. ‘I am from you.’

Papyrus stares for a long moment, trying not to cry. He hasn’t thought of his father in a while. Not really. His father gave him up very young, and Papyrus always had Sans. Sans has always been more of his dad than Gaster was.

But he remembers, back when he was maybe ten, maybe younger or older, signing ‘I AM FROM YOU’ to Gaster. 

Gaster just didn’t care.

But Papyrus cares so much and he will simply never understand how Gaster didn’t. Because this is his baby, playfully signing a phrase that destroyed Papyrus’ view of his father and they don’t even know. He can feel through their bond–- the bond his child initiated at first sight because they wanted to be with their father, just like Papyrus wanted Gaster to stay-– their meaning of the phrase, ‘I get it from you.’ They’re talking about his magic, that his main trait is Bravery, but it’s so much deeper than that to Papyrus. 

It’s claiming, almost. His child wants him, and now, two hundred years later after he was shut down with the use of the same phrase, Papyrus gets to love them.

Papyrus will never understand Gaster, but Sans showed him how to love, and his child will never experience what Papyrus did. 

—--------------------

You don’t know if you used the sign right. MCL, Monster Common Language, as dubbed by Queen Toriel about… a hundred and seventy years ago(?), was a very difficult language for shifters to learn. In the old days, Monsters were often safe from shifter plots simply because of how difficult their language was to learn. It required a shifter to learn the language manually, because the language, while spoken allowed, had an exact sign language counterpart. They had the exact same grammar and were designed and developed to be spoken and signed at the same time, so deaf and hearing monsters could communicate equally. 

You don’t know if you signed the wrong thing, or if it just meant a little more to Papyrus that you’d (falsely) inherited a piece of his main trait, but your ‘father’ grows emotional for a long moment before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He stays there for a moment before pulling back. “I LOVE YOU.” 

It strikes you harder than you think he means it to. It’s all part of the plan, but the traitorous, wanting side of you lights up immediately. 

Your eyes go wide and you stare back at him a moment before signing ‘I love you’ with shaking hands.

Monsters as a species tend to despise shifters. Not just because of your practices, which are often quick, shameless, and brutal, but because of how shifters can fake intent. They can fake bonds and meaning and words and love and to a monster, in which all of those things are at the tippiest top tier of importance, a creature who feasts on love is downright demonic. Papyrus would hate you if he knew what you are. 

You know you hate yourself for it. 

Chapter Text

Papyrus drives home with tears in his eyes. He hopes dearly that Cyan doesn’t see, not because he would mind them knowing he cries, but because it would devastate him if Cyan thought he was crying because they hurt him.

They could never.

They just gave him what he’s wanted for a century, just healed a part of him long scarred over. Papyrus loves that child so fucking much it hurts, and their shaky, little hands signing ‘I love you’ was far too much for his fragile soul. He drives carefully, and the radio is playing the song he was humming earlier, a song his Merise associated with coming home, but he barely hears it over the rush of his magic. 

Papyrus pulls smoothly into the driveway and parks. He stretches once, before hopping out of the car to help Cyan out. They sit perfectly still on top of the backpack he’s using as a carseat, rubbing their feet together passively. He unclips their seatbelt and scoops them into his arms. 

Cyan immediately curls into his arms, resting their head against his collar. He relaxes a little, pressing his teeth against their forehead as he closes the car door with a tap of his heel before making his way inside. He unlocks the door with one hand, careful not to drop his child and nearly collapses on the couch.

Cyan giggles softly at his dramatic display, and it melts him. It sounds so achingly much like his Merise, if only younger. If only she was home.

He shakes his head, because he can’t focus on his loss right now, and sits up, letting Cyan wriggle to get comfortable on his lap. “DO YOU WANT TO WATCH A MOVIE, MY DEAR? OR THE SHOW WE WERE WATCHING BEFORE WE LEFT?”

They hold up one finger, and Papyrus nods, fishing for the remote between the couch seats to put on a movie. Merise had long found some bootleg cable box to watch any movie without having to pay for it. He scrolls through the vaguely wrong UI until Cyan sits a little straighter. He’s on the children’s shows, so he’s okay with them watching mostly anything on the screen, but if they know they like a show, he’d love to know them.

Papyrus takes them under his arm, smiling, “DO YOU LIKE ONE OF THESE?”

Cyan smiles softly and points at the screen. It’s not the most helpful considering there’s about twelve movies on the TV, but at least he knows it’s one of the three on the right. “THIS ONE?”

They shake their heads, then nod when he clicks down one. “MY LITTLE PONY? OH, THIS IS THE MOVIE WHERE THEY’RE HUMANS, KIND OF? I THINK THIS IS THE SEQUEL.”

Cyan nods again, and their little smile is adorable. He turns the movie on, because he’s seen it before and actually finds the music within to be quite good, and his child is expressing a like to him for the first time and he wants to reward that behavior. If he fucks up now they may never trust him with their interests and that’s the last thing he wants, because he loves them.

They watch the movie.

—-------------

You like Sunset Shimmer a lot. 

Your reasoning is simple. 

She was evil, and now she’s not. And she changes because she wants to. And despite that, she makes friends and fixes her life. And people like her!

And she has red hair, which you have right now, so that’s cool! It’s much more interesting than the black hair you used to have, even if you liked the color. A shame it’s tainted now. 

.

Papyrus seems tired. He’s watching the movie with you, commenting on jokes and the quality of the music (incredible for a kids movie from over two hundred years ago, honestly), but you can see he’s exhausted. 

You don’t think he slept the night before, which- neither did you. You’ll probably sleep tonight… unless you stay up to waste the excess magic and just be tired tomorrow so you can acclimate faster.

Is that healthy? No. Do you care? No.

You curl tighter into his side and yawn. Papyrus gently runs his fingers through your hair, careful not to disturb the braid he’d done, and undone, then redone over the course of the movie, which was about to end. “ARE YOU GETTING TIRED, LOVE?”

You shrug a little, turning to him. He tilts his head, before smiling and tapping a kiss to your forehead. He opens his mouth to speak, before freezing, “WAIT, YOU HAVEN’T EATEN! ARE YOU HUNGRY?”

Oh. Fuck. You are so bad at this whole… being alive. 

Shit.

—-------------

SHIT.

He is so bad at being a dad!  

Cyan looks a little startled, so he forces his body to relax, and keeps his freak out entirely mentally. He forgot to feed them.

Granted they haven’t motioned that they were hungry, but they’re mute so he has to do better! He scoops them up, pressing an apologetic kiss to their temple, and carries them to the kitchen. He sits them comfortably onto his hip and opens the fridge. While he’d love to formulate a perfect meal plan to keep them on a healthy diet for their age, to make sure they get absolutely all the nutrients they need, right now, they just need to get magic into their system. 

He gestures loosely at the open fridge, filled with ingredients, leftovers, and quick snacks. He pauses, then opens the freezer too, showing off some frozen bags of single serving gumbo, Merise’ idea, though none of the bags remaining are her cooking. (Papyrus nearly cried over his last bowl. They saved it for as long as it would keep in the freezer, magically prolonging the life for an extra year. Grillby cooked Gumbo decently often, and tried desperately to replicate Merise’ recipe, but she made her own roux- gumbo base- with her older sister’s recipe from when Merise was seventeen. They never figured it out, even in seven years of trying.) There lie some quick TV-dinner microwave-ables, Hot Pockets, because Sans loved them despite living with two chefs, and frozen pizzas. They had the big family sized ones, and the tiny square ones Merise liked. 

Cyan swings a leg back and forth, staring at the food with wide eyes. They look a  little overwhelmed, so he crouches a little to let them see better. “YOU CAN PICK WHATEVER YOU’D LIKE, MY DEAR. OR I CAN PICK FOR YOU, IF IT’S TOO MUCH?”

Cyan stares for another moment before pointing, wordlessly as usual, to a salisbury steak dinner. He nuzzles gently against their cheek before grabbing the red box and shutting both the freezer and the fridge doors. He sets the box down on the counter, before setting his child on the counter next to him, away from the stove because he has to teach safety somehow. “THIS IS USUALLY HOT!” He taps lightly at the black glass, “SO DON’T TOUCH, OR IT’LL HURT YOU!”

They fiddle with their fingers and nod. Papyrus softens, pressing his teeth against their teeth and making a loud kissing noise that prompts them to giggle, “BUT, YOU’RE A BABY, AND KIDS MAKE MISTAKES. IF YOU EVER GET HURT, PLEASE COME TO ME. OR GRILLBY, OR SANS. ME AND GRILLBY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, AND WE CAN FIX IT RIGHT AWAY. PLEASE DON’T KEEP SOMETHING LIKE THAT A SECRET. I PROMISE YOU THAT I, NOR YOUR UNCLES, WILL NOT BE ANGRY WITH YOU. WE LOVE YOU. WE DON’T WANT YOU TO BE HURT.”

—-------------------------

‘We love you.’

The words punch into your chest, and you debate putting your hand on the stove later just for attention. Just for him to prove it. 

But Papyrus is worrying about you enough right now. 

You save the idea for another day.

You instead sign ‘I love you’ again, crossing your arms quickly against your chest and nearly fucking up the sign in your haste. 

The tension in his shoulders falls, and he gently envelops you in his arms. It’s warm and soft, and safe.  

Papyrus' voice is watery as he murmurs, “I LOVE YOU TOO, MY DEAR.”

He squeezes you gently to his chest and sighs, “THOUGH I’M SURE YOU’D LOVE TO BE FED, TOO.”

You giggle softly against his collar, and he laughs along. “OKAY.”

He lets go of you to tear open the cardboard box to pull out the black, plastic container. 

You used to love those things. Your last family got lazy with cooking often, and this exact food was constantly stocked in their old white fridge. It’s familiar and safe, and it may bring back memories, but they probably won't be poor ones. The smell fills the kitchen as the dinner starts to thaw in the microwave, spinning mildly behind the glass. Papyrus hefts himself on the counter next to you, and hums softly, “I KNOW IT’S NOT.. TOO LATE IN THE DAY, BUT IF YOU’RE TIRED I DON’T MIND GOING TO SLEEP A LITTLE EARLY! OR TAKING A NAP! I’VE HEARD NAPS ARE GOOD FOR TINY BODIES!”

You giggle softly, and he holds you under his arm, affectionately rubbing your shoulder. “YOU’RE ADORABLE.” He straightens and pokes your cheek, “OKAY! I WOULD LIKE TO RUN BY TOMORROW’S PLAN WITH YOU! IF YOU ARE FEELING UP TO IT, I WOULD LIKE TO GO TO THE STORE WITH YOU. IF NOT, IT CAN WAIT FOR ANOTHER DAY, THOUGH I ASSUME YOU WOULD LIKE CLOTHES THAT FITS YOU PROPERLY, AND WE HAVE TO GET A CAR SEAT! FOR SAFETY! AND, WE CAN GET SOME STUFF FOR YOUR ROOM!”

You actually feel alright, which is a far cry from this morning, but it’s a dramatic shift you’re incredibly okay with. You offer him a smile and a thumbs up, and he takes your hand in his, “GREAT! IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, DON’T HESITATE TO TELL ME, DEAR. DO YOU MIND IF SANS TELEPORTS US TO THE STORE?”

He looks visibly nervous asking, but there’s no reason for it because teleportation is the one magic trick you haven’t been able to replicate because you haven’t experienced it yet, so this sounds perfect. You nod vigorously, signing ‘c-o-o-l’ excitedly.

Papyrus laughs softly, “IT IS COOL, EVEN IS YOUR UNCLE’S A LAZYBONES AND USES IT TOO MUCH! ONE DAY, YOU MAY BE ABLE TO TELEPORT TOO! I CAN BUT MY VERSION OF IT ISN’T ALL THAT USEFUL. I CAN TELEPORT ANYWHERE I CAN SEE, IS ALL.”

You! Did not know that!

That’s actually cool as shit!

And you get to do that?!

You wave your hands to show your excitement best you can in silence, feeling a bit like a mime. 

Papyrus smiles warmly, “I’LL SHOW YOU TOMORROW.”

The microwave beeps above you, and Papyrus pulls your meal out carefully, throwing away the thin, clear film. He grabs one of the plastic kid-forks from the utensil set Grillby opened last night, and sets it at the table, before coming back to take you down from the counter. You hold his hand following him back to the table, and he chuckles when you climb onto the chair. He rambles on about plans and movies he thinks you’ll like as you wait for your food to cool. Once it’s stopped steaming and you’d be able to play off not feeling pain, you eat.

It’s… the same. 

The formula never changed, and the textures are identical. It tastes like being on that farm again. It smells like running through tall grass with a sibling that looked nothing like you. Like a home. But not yours. 

You finish eating quickly, wanting to rid yourself of the memories, regretting picking the TV dinner in the first place, and Papyrus ushers you for a bath. 

You kind of smell like a hospital, so you’re grateful for the quick wipe down he gives you with a hand towel. He pauses in washing your lower back. 

You realize too late that you were too distracted to hide an old scar.

You don’t remember if Sans saw it, and he hadn’t mentioned it, which means you may be completely fucked. But Papyrus has definitely seen it, and you can feel his dull fingertips gently tracing the white line of scar tissue. 

It’s.. nothing. 

But it could’ve just ruined everything. 

You don’t let yourself cry, because it’s your fault.

—---------------------------

Papyrus’ breath catches in his throat. He can’t believe Sans hadn’t noticed the scar the night prior, though he had mentioned Cyan was covered in dirt, and that he’d given them a bubble bath, both of which could have easily covered the scar. But. 

It’s terrifying. 

Cyan can’t speak, can’t tell him when something’s wrong, can’t tell him they’re hurting, and has giant fucking gash carving through their lower back. It’s at least seven inches long, and so  jagged, yet almost perfectly straight, that he has no idea what made it. It could’ve been a serrated knife, just as easily as it could’ve been a bullwhip.

The scar is white, fully healed, but he cannot help the healing magic sparking at his fingertips, wanting so desperately to heal his baby.

They’re a baby. Five years old, a little, tiny person, looking up to any adult that crosses their path. Wanting a parental figure. Wanting love. 

And his child was hurt. It was far in the past, he knows this, because he can’t mend something already healed, but it devastated him even further to know that they must’ve been even tinier when they received the wound.

…

He finishes cleaning them, feeling a little bad to give them a towel wipe down, but he feels they’re both too exhausted to commit to a full bathtime. Once they’re dressed, he takes the toddler into his arms and squeezes gently. 

“...I KNOW YOU’RE NOT READY TO TALK YET. I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’LL EVER… SPEAK. BUT IF YOU WANT TO TELL ME SOMETHING, I WILL FIND ANY WAY TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU.”

Cyan nods a little, hugging his ribs. 

It kicks the air from his chest, and he sighs softly, hugging them a little tighter. “BUT I WOULD LIKE TO ASK, IF THAT SCAR WAS MADE ON YOU INTENTIONALLY. DID SOMEONE MEAN TO HURT YOU, OR WAS THERE JUST… AN ACCIDENT?”

Cyan looks at him for a moment, before ducking their chin under his jaw. There’s a long moment where Cyan doesn’t respond, before they tap his ribs once. 

His soul squeezes painfully, and he wishes his Merise was here to help with this, because he cannot fathom putting a hand to a child, let alone a weapon. He can’t mentally handle that it was his child. 

Someone purposefully hurt his child. 

Someone looked at Papyrus’ baby and felt they deserved to be struck down. 

Papyrus had never hated someone more in his life.

Chapter Text

Papyrus assumed Sans had missed the scar.

You don’t breathe fully until Papyrus is sitting next to you on the couch, putting twin braids into your hair because it calms him down. You faintly recall the mage having braids in her hair often, but you hadn’t realized it was Papyrus’ doing. It kind of makes you sad.

It shouldn’t, because Shifters aren’t supposed to feel emotions, but you suppose sympathy can be another way you are broken.

Maybe you’ll figure out a way to find her once Papyrus and the others figure you out. As an apology for wasted time and resources. You’d have to learn how to track people, something most shifters learn how to do early that you could never figure out, but hopefully you’d figure it out by then.

You wouldn’t kill them. If they found out.

So far, everything’s been… soft. So soft. Papyrus’ blunt fingertips in your hair, Grillby’s S-Tier meals, Sans’ calmness and instant care in your arrival. 

It’s pathetic that you’re attached at all, let alone two fucking days— not even!— into staying here. Perhaps it’s your distaste for change, which is ironic considering your kind is usually at the forefront of ‘change’ since Shifters never stop changing, but you don’t want to have to restart. 

You know you will eventually, when they pass away, but that’s at least twenty-

No.

They’re monsters. 

Monster’s live for ages.

…

This could be permanent.

…

Why is that so terrifying?

——————————————-

Papyrus braids their hair to give his hands something to do.

 If he doesn’t he’s going to keep trying to heal them. 

He has no idea if this is a scenario in which he should ignore it, because it’s old and healed and his child doesn’t seem to be all that tore up about the mark, other than physically— which is going to piss him off again if he thinks about it too much— or if he should be seriously concerned because his child was purposefully harmed by someone. That second one feels right, because someone hurt his baby and he should be concerned. But.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or what to do. 

He takes a deep breath, fumbling with the remote to put on the threequel of the movie Cyan liked, dropping the remote again to tie their second braid off with a ponytail. It’s funny how often Merise lost the damn things, when Papyrus found them fucking everywhere after she left. 

Cyan yawns a little, and Papyrus wills his hands not to shake as he picks them up, settling them closer to his side against the soft couch, allowing for them both to lean back. 

Papyrus would love to take a shower and go to sleep right now, but the idea of leaving them alone for even fifteen minutes had him feeling ill. He hums softly, squeezing Cyan’s little shoulder and letting his voice drop to a murmur, “Would you mind sitting with your Uncles while I took a shower? Once they get home? And then we can go to bed?”

Perhaps he should be more assertive, and he knows he needs to get Cyan on a routine, because he’s sure they could use some normalcy right now, he can’t help but want to be lenient, and to check everything by them. 

How could he not want that?

Papyrus basically fucking abandoned his child to be whipped. Or stabbed. Whatever the hell they did to his baby. 

He frowned, “CYAN? CAN I ASK ONE QUESTION ABOUT THE SCAR? I UNDERSTAND IF YOU DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, BUT I WANT TO KNOW WHAT MADE THE SCAR. AND.. AND HOW OLD YOU WERE?” He looks into their big, cyan eyes, painfully innocent. The little yellow spot in their eye hurts his soul because he can see Merise in it. “..THAT’S TWO QUESTIONS, ISN’T IT? THAT WAS SILLY.”

Cyan smiles, chest contracting with a silent laugh. They wiggle around to get closer, sitting on his femurs and resting their head above his soul– which makes him mentally force tears back with a stick– then lift a hand. They hold up three fingers, and Papyrus almost loses his mind because he assumes they’re giving their age of when they were harmed, when they tilt their hand to the side with their pointer and middle fingers together. Their hand tilts back up, and their pinkie raises for a moment, before their hand turns down again, their pointer finger pointing out, thumb touching the second knuckle, their middle finger pointing straight down, and their other fingers folded neatly out of the way.

W-H-I-P

He stares at their hand silently for a long, long moment. 

When Papyrus touched on the idea of it being a whip wound, he wasn’t the most serious. For good reason, because who would strike a child with a whip?

He drowns his fury, breathing calmly for a long moment, “DO YOU REMEMBER HOW OLD YOU WERE?”

Cyan shakes their head, looking at the floor. 

Papyrus shifts to sit up a little straighter, adjusting his child to sit on his lap. Cyan looks up at him curiously, and Papyrus barely keeps himself from crying. He cups their little cheeks, chubby with baby fat despite their too skinny frame, and feels his eyelights burn with the feeling. It’s.. It’s nothing short of devastating. 

“YOU’RE VERY BRAVE, CYAN. MUCH BRAVER THAN YOU SHOULD’VE HAD TO BE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, AND I’M NOT GOING TO FORCE YOU TO TELL ME. YOU CAN WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, BUT THAT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE TODAY. BUT, I NEED YOU TO KNOW, THAT THERE WAS NOTHING IN THIS WORLD THAT YOU COULD’VE DONE FOR YOU TO DESERVE THAT. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.” Cyan’s eyes go wide, as if a little startled, and it hurts. Papyrus takes them into his arms again, “Please, know that. It wasn’t your fault, my love. A-And know that neither me, nor your uncles, will ever put a hand on you like that.”

—------------------------------

Papyrus didn’t seem to type to hit his kid. 

It was one of the reasons you picked him.

The confirmation is nice, though. 

You shut down your unnecessary, frivolous and false ‘feelings’ and lock your jaw. You ignore the tears in your eyes, because any child would cry in this situation, so you’re just playing the part. That’s all. Papyrus squeezes you tighter, and you allow your hair to hide your face. 

Your plan is working. 

That is the only important thing.

Shifter’s don’t feel things. 

And you are nothing but a shifter. 

—--------------------------------

Papyrus is about two episodes into Phineas and Ferb, a show he would like Cyan to watch simply because it promotes unordinary family structures, togetherness, and creativity– as well as his genuine love for the ‘villain’ character who still struggled from his past abuse but did not take it out on his daughter– when his brothers returned home. Sans hums softly, expression going incredibly fond at the sight of Papyrus and Cyan on the couch. Cyan was visibly half asleep on Papyrus’ chest, with the skeleton gently scratching Cyan’s back through their striped shirt. Sans smiles and leans over the back of the couch to pat Papyrus’ head. Cyan blinks a little more awake, looking curiously up at him. 

Sans snickers and pats their head too. Grillby chuckles behind him, setting down his bag and resting his elbows on the top of the couch, “Hello, little spark. How was the doctor’s?”

Cyan’s nose wrinkled, but they didn’t seem too upset. Grillby can’t help but boop it. It makes the child laugh, so no regrets. 

Papyrus on the other hand looks… minorly livid.

Sans raises a brow, “what happened?”

Papyrus sighs softly, “The doctor visit didn’t go as planned. They said Cyan was dying, then said Cyan was fine, then said we needed to do all kinds of tests because Cy’s a hybrid–” Papyrus pauses then faces his child, “CAN I CALL YOU CY?” Cyan nods and offers two thumbs ups, so Papyrus smiles, presses a kiss to their forehead, and continues. “-- and when I said no because the doctor was weird and absolutely did not have Cyan’s best interests at heart, he grabbed Cyan. Obviously we immediately left– Oh, and I didn’t even mention they misgendered Cyan the entire time despite the fact that I corrected them! Firmly! Many times! And had the nerve to ask if I was on babysitting duty for my own child.”

Cyan laughs silently, their shoulders shaking with mirth. Papyrus softens, and he cannot help his smile, “WELL, I’M GLAD THAT YOU FIND IT FUNNY, MY DEAR, EVEN IF I WISH YOU HADN’T HAD TO WITNESS IT.”

Cyan shrugs a little, unbothered. Sans snorts, ruffling their hair again, “brave kid, huh?” 

Papyrus laughs softly, gently fixing their hair, “VERY MUCH SO.”

Grillby’s yellow eyes crinkle fondly, “Are you guys hungry?”

Papyrus perks up, carefully scooping his child into his arms as he gets off the couch, spinning Cyan around to make them laugh before setting them back onto the couch, “CYAN’S EATEN, BUT I HAVEN’T. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WOULD KEEP THEM COMPANY WHILE I TAKE A SHOWER?”

Sans nods immediately, “‘course, paps. we’ve got the baby bones.”

Papyrus rolls his eyelights, but doesn’t protest the pun-nickname because Cyan looks genuinely delighted and he doesn’t know how well they understand tone yet. He doesn’t want to playfully berate Sans for his puns, and cause Cyan to believe Papyrus dislikes their interests. He’ll nag Sans for his shitty puns when he’s sure his child knows he’s only kidding. 

Papyrus hesitates before leaving. He literally has not left Cyan’s side once since they’ve arrived at his home– which seems odd, because one would think Cyan would need a bathroom break at some point, though Papyrus assumes they’re a little more monster than human in terms of biology– and can’t help but feel nervous stepping away, even if he trusts his brothers to keep them safely entertained.

He sighs, leaning down to press another kiss to their forehead before walking off.

——————

It’s very domestic. You kick your feet back and forth, looking up to your… uncles. Interesting. You don’t remember having any of those before. Your last owner-

..

Parents. Your last.. parents lived alone on a farm with their two other children. One of them is the reason you have the scar on your back. 

You have other scars, but they’re much smaller. Less important, easier to hide. You’re not sure if it’s a shifter thing, or a you thing, but you find scars that left a mental impression on you much harder to conceal. 

Like the scar on your back. 

You figure Papyrus will tell your... Uncles about it later. You need to get used to that. 

Not Papyrus. Your… Dad. 

You need to get used to that fast as shit.

(You can’t call him father. That title is tainted.)

Grillby watches Papyrus leave before poking your cheek, “Would you like me to read you a book?

You are… very literate, but you don’t hate the idea. You nod once and wiggle off the couch to meet him around it, Grillby visibly softens and brightens, and the room goes just a little warmer. His tail whips back and forth once before it calms, offering his hand for you to grab. “Can I pick you up? The bookshelf is a little high, but I’m sure you’d like to pick the book.”

You nod, because you’re aware Grillby is apparently terrified of you being scared of him. And you want him to.. Not feel that. 

You’re okay with him starting your relationship like that though, because now when you prove him wrong with your ‘Bravery’-- Experience– he'll be all the more attached to you. He’s already confided in you a little, and you’ve only been here a day, so your side plan is going well. 

…

You’re a freak.

You half want to laugh, because you kind of find that word hilarious, but the word stings oddly. Kind of like a whip.

Haha.

Grillby lifts you easily, resting you onto his hip so you can look into the– The very well stocked bookshelf. You blink owlishly, finding books from literally hundreds of years ago settled quaintly next to newer novels. You actually really like older media, though you doubt Grillby would read the Hunger Games to a five year old, so you settle on the Tales of Despereaux. You’re decently sure it was the first novel you’d ever read, back when you were stupid enough to sneak into a preschool in an attempt to learn how to read and write. 

It’s always the first language that shifters struggle with, their first, native language that shifters have to learn legitimately.

….

You think, at least. You’d learned to read and write the normal way, and it translated quickly to other languages. You found kanji (Japanese specifically, despite you never getting the chance to travel there) the most interesting to write. 

Grillby picks up the book after you point at it, glancing over the back before nodding, “Good pick, little spark. I think your mom liked this one.”

Good guess, you suppose!

You don’t really remember fuck all about the book other than the mouse, and the girl that was hit so many times she couldn’t hear… or smell? You forget. 

You remember kind of relating to her though. Oops.

Grillby sets you onto the couch, sitting next to you and opening the book. He angles his shoulders so you can lean into him to read if you’d like, or keep you space. You’re actually kind of cold and he is a literal space heater, so you shift to hide under his arm. He freezes for a precious, terrifying moment, before the arm rests comfortable around you. 

It’s warm.

He starts reading.

—------------------

Sans watches the interaction from behind the couch, expression painfully soft. Grillby always gets real nervous around kids, and Papyrus’ child was… meant to be no different. Kids were usually either terrified of his fire, or their parents were. Papyrus on the other hand, is Grillby’s little brother, so he at least knows that Grillby is completely in control of his temperature, but Grillby was of course nervous to frighten Cyan. 

Cyan arrived in rags, covered in earth, and terrified. The last thing he wants is to scare them again. 

Sans smiles at the two as Cyan curls into Grillby’s side to read the mouse book with him. Grillby’s voice is soft as usual, though he does try to do the voices, which makes Cyan and Sans chuckle alike. Sans forgets his hunger because this moment is incredibly sweet, and sits on Cyan’s other side. 

The child doesn’t flinch, but they do look up to the skeleton. 

Grillby pauses for a moment, but Cyan does nothing else other than take Sans’ hand in one of their tiny ones. Sans’ clenches his jaw because this kid is adorable before shifting closer, leaning on Grillby’s shoulder and carefully surrounding the child between them.

—------------------

Papyrus rushes his shower at first, before he recalls that Cyan is safe and he can take a small moment to relax. Cyan isn’t stressing him out, though everything else is, and perhaps Papyrus can simply breathe for a moment. 

Letting Cyan have some quality time with their uncles would be a good thing! They should be close!

He’s… He’s so lucky to not be alone in this. 

Sans and Grillby could’ve left. Or could’ve wanted nothing to do with Cyan. 

But Sans coaxed them into a bath and Grillby cooked one of Merise’ recipes to make his child feel at home. 

…

He loves his family so much. 

Papyrus ignores the ache in his soul as he gets dressed, quietly leaving the bathroom because he’s curious what the others had gotten up to and wants to see without disturbing them first. Perhaps he’s a little nosy.

Over the banister, any lingering worries of his brothers and child not getting along, which were silly to have in the first place, diminished. His baby is curled into Grillby’s side and settled comfortably in his lap as they read, Sans leaning on Grillby’s shoulder and letting Cyan use his chest as a backrest. 

It’s adorable and soft, and domestic, and the ache in his chest grows sweet. He can’t hear the words, but can tell Grillby is the one reading out the book, narrating while Sans occasionally  mumbles funny voices.

It’s…

Papyrus sighs softly, grinning at his little family, one short. 

It’s the closest he’s felt to complete in a long time. 

Chapter Text

Sans is a calm monster. A patient one. 

Keeping that calm, drowning outward emotion, forcing his breaths to even, and his expression to rest in his usual, casual smile is not something he’s struggled with in a very long time. He has a feeling that he’s going to be feeling this… moderately intense fury often, with the baby bones running around. 

Not at the babybones, of course. Sans has been in their presence a precious two days and he already loves that rascal to pieces. But he’s aware that they’re in a vulnerable position, and that vulnerable people are prone to be taken advantage of. In one day, in one trusting– so trusting, of Cyan to allow Papyrus to take them— outing, in one doctor’s visit, Cyan had already had an attempt on their… magic? An attempt to test on them? The flashbacks he’d gotten to the amalgamates as his little brother recounted the experience was… unpleasant to say the least. As in the freeze response it caused was the only thing that stifled his feelings on the matter. Which is good! Because the last thing he wants is for Cyan to be uncomfortable with their uncle knowing about bad situations. A severe emotional response could scare them. 

Cyan doesn’t seem to scare easily, Sans finds. 

Cyan’s shoulders bounce with silent laughter at Papyrus’ explanation, evidently finding his non-threatening aggravation amusing. Sans remembers Papyrus giggling at him when he’d curse out the other neighborhood kids for fucking with their mailbox in their childhood. His soul warms with the memory and connection, and he cannot help but feel his anger fade. For now. 

He’ll be reporting the doctor and the clinic itself to Alphys very soon. But at the moment, Sans will pay attention to what’s of actual importance. Cyan is too young to entirely understand the gravity of the situation, and until Cyan is going out on their own, which would be absolutely no time soon, they don’t need to know. Sans couldn’t protect himself, or Papyrus, in their childhood, but as a collective they can protect Papyrus’ little munchkin from too much paranoia. 

Said munchkin, that’s around got all of them wrapped around their little baby fingers. Sans wants to squeeze them, just a little. 

—-------------------

Grillby finds the bravery residing in this child remarkable, especially considering it would have to be a tertiary trait at the very most. Grillby knows, logically, that they must have a patience soul, sparked with Justice, he can just feel it, and it reminds him so dearly of Sans that Grillby is sure he would’ve been soft on this child no matter who they belonged to, but Papyrus’ bravery resides beautifully under the surface. It’s subtle, but Grillby is sure it is not just him who can see it, not with the way Sans immediately calls it out, even in a  playful manner. 

Grillby believes Cyan to be incredibly brave.

Perhaps not in a traditional way, but as Cyan’s silence has begun to shape their character, he finds the subtlety fitting. He is unsure of the steps Cyan has taken to survive, nor what they’re gone through to get here, to find their home, but he’s sure that many other children would’ve been terrified of two skeletons and a fire elemental, even after nearly two centuries on the surface. Humans don’t tend to change easily. Humans don’t tend to accept change easily.

Not like Merise did. 

Grillby is almost surprised about the thought. He’s incredibly old, old enough to have served in the first war, old enough to have seen and spoken to creatures of mythical status, incredible beings that no longer appear on the planet, and horrific entities of the night. He’s lived hundreds of lifetimes, in a human’s eyes at least. He’s quite accustomed to loss.

He supposes he just wasn’t expecting to lose her. 

Grief washes over him, and he cannot help but grieve for Papyrus and Cyan. For Sans and himself. He lost a dear friend, a little sister. Papyrus lost the love of his life, his wife, his best friend, his soulmate. Cyan lost their mom. 

Grillby does believe Papyrus when he says she is alive somewhere, but Grillby also believes there are fates worse than death.

Creatures that he doesn’t believe to be extinct. 

He tries not to think about it. 

Grillby focuses his attention on the child in his arms, easily trusting his flames, and that he won’t drop them as he shows them the book shelf. He hardly held their hand yesterday in fear of scaring the poor thing, but Papyrus’ little spark doesn’t seem to falter easily. 

Brave little child. 

Brave. He wonders if they’re like that movie. It reminds him of his time in Scotland and growing up in Ireland.

He sits on their couch with the little spark of life in his arms, eyes filled with hope and wonder and… longing. 

He figures the movie might be a little too intense for a baby. He can tell them all about Ireland when they get older. 

—------------------------

Papyrus makes his way downstairs as quietly as possible, though Cyan notices his presence immediately. He assumes it’s likely due to their incredibly fresh Parental Bond– which Papyrus stared at for a solid five minutes in the bathroom in pure wonder– because Papyrus swears he did not make a sound, yet his child turns their head to him the moment he steps down from the landing. Grillby glances up from the book as Papyrus approaches, eyes soft. Sans glances up as well, but is quick to get back to his silly voices to regain Cyan’s attention. 

Papyrus leans over the back of the couch, more than content to listen in.

It’s soft.

They finish the chapter, and Grillby searches in the small drawer in the end table for a bookmark. Merise enjoyed painting little strips of paper to use as bookmarks, and had a small addiction to buying the fancy ones at the bookstore she frequented. Grillby finds one easily, and Papyrus cannot help but huff a small laugh. Merise collected so many bookmarks, yet she could never find one when she was actually reading, and Papyrus found her using candy and gum wrappers incredibly often. She absolutely despised the idea of dog-earing pages. 

Cyan doesn’t fuss with the cut off, or cliffhanger, content with Grillby’s quiet claim to read to them the next night. Papyrus finds himself incredibly pleased with the idea.

Merise would’ve as well. Reading is very important!

And Cyan seems… calmer. Not that they seemed tense prior, not noticeably, but they have a soft aura of content.

—----------------------

You are freaking out. 

Reading the book eased your nerves a bit, but you could only focus enough to keep track of the plot. As… entertaining, you suppose, the silly voices and comfort was, you could hardly find enjoyment when you’re silently counting down to the moment that Papyrus mentions the scar to Sans. Waiting for the moment that Sans firmly recalls not seeing any scars. 

Even if you do somehow get away with this, they will flood you with concern, and you will be sick again. 

You’re starting to miss being a dog. It was a lot less complicated.

Papyrus leads you quietly upstairs, holding your hand like you’re fragile. You notice that he’s projecting his movements more clearly, which is silly because you could slaughter him with a flick of your wrist, but you appreciate the gesture. Vaguely. 

You’re not sure if you like being treated fragily.  

…

It doesn’t matter what you like.

If he believes you are fragile and weak, you will play the part. You will keep your mouth shut and you will pretend.

Like shifters are supposed to.

Papyrus allows you to curl in his lap again, his long fingers gently re braiding your hair yet again. You wonder if it’s a nervous tick. Again. 

He plays white noise to sleep, though he whispers stories of what your… ‘Mom’ was like. 

Mom and Dad. 

(Not mother and father.)

(You had a Mother, and the man that you called father is who gave you the scar on your back.)

(Your father’s blood is on your hands.)

But you won’t have your ‘Dad’s. 

Calling him that is… incredibly strange, but you know you need to become acquainted with the name. It would make him more attached, in any right. 

…

It reminds you of something your creator told you. 

“If your insolent mouth gets you killed, it will be of your own doing. But calling out for a mother may give you another chance.”

You recall being disgustingly young, barely able to hold a form beyond slightly too-blue shadows. “But you said Shifters don’t have mothers?”

“Prey does not know that. Mortals are emotional. We are not. You will take advantage or you will die, and you will deserve it. You will be what you were made to be, or you will not exist.”

If only you were better at all that. 

You called them mom anyway. You still do, just to piss her off in your head, wherever they are. ‘Creator’ seemed silly. 

Maybe you’re the problem. 

—--------------------------------

Papyrus doesn’t ask you to talk about the scar, and you feel sick at the thought of pushing it off to another day.

Instead, he gives you… a choice. 

One you weren’t expecting.

At all. 

“I wanted to know how you felt about Sans and Grillby knowing? About the scar? Grillby… maybe be able to assist in treating it, even with it healed.”

You didn’t know that was a thing, but you also can’t comprehend why Papyrus is asking your permission right now. You don’t care. It’s as silly as him moving slowly around you, and warning you before sudden movements and touching. You’re not scared of him. Or Sans. Or Grillby.

…

Whatever. 

You shrug a little, unsure how to respond without words, and if you could speak your response would unfortunately be “why would I give a shit?” so maybe your ‘creator’ was right in you keeping your mouth shut. 

Papyrus hums, “Grillby’s past is his own to share, but there are non-magical– or.. er… treatments? To help things like this? Even after they’ve been healed, I mean. Grillby’s got scars that ache in the cold, and has his own remedies…” Papyrus trails off.

You are struck with the realization that he has no idea what he’s doing. 

Papyrus doesn’t know how to parent, or to be a dad. 

He just wants to help you.

…

You take pity on him, signing “t-e-l-l” and flashing a thumbs up. 

Your scars burn occasionally, but you find the pain a useful reminder of why you should keep your mouth shut so as to never end up in a situation where you’d gain another. 

Your tiny scars don’t hurt at all, though you figure Papyrus will never see those, so you put them out of your mind. 

You can only focus on your plan right now.

Like a good shifter. 

(As if you could ever be considered as good.)

Chapter Text

You actually sleep. 

Papyrus remains wrapped around you most of the night, a hand covering the scar as if protecting it. It’s oddly comforting. No one has touched you there without causing you pain. 

When you wake, you’re not nauseous.

You’re pretty sure this is how shifters are supposed to work. You decide not to think too much about it considering ‘being a normal shifter’ is #1 on your bucket list and knowing you, you’d somehow fuck it up. 

You are…kind of bored though.

The room is still pitch black, and you can tell it’s the middle of the night without needing to look at the digital clock next to the bed.

 3:33 AM.

Love to see it.

You silently debate what to do. You could cuddle with Pa— Dad for the next four or more hours. Pros being that he’s very warm and very comfortable. Oh, and your plan. That’s the important part. Cons being that he’s beaming love and care and worry at you and you really don’t want to be nauseous right now.

So, you slip under his arms, silently crawling out of bed and padding out of the room. You figure you can blame the outing on needing a glass of water or something. He doesn’t know you don’t need it.

You consider teleporting to the first floor, even if just to verify that you can teleport when not actively stealing either Sans or Papyrus’ body, but decide on simply walking down the steps. It would add to the logistics of how you got downstairs in case anyone could hear you walking down, and you just said you don’t want to be nauseous.

Teleporting feels like being held upside down then spun.

Pass for now.

The living room and kitchen are pretty dark, though you can see fine. You don’t actually want to wake anyone up, so you don’t turn on a light and you remain as silent as physically possible in this form. 

You climb on the counter to reach the cups, only finding glassware. You mentally shrug, assuming they kept the kiddy cups that came with the children’s dinner set elsewhere. You’re a big shifter, you can drink from a glass without breaking it. 

Figuring out the Mettaton Brand Refrigerator (Trade Mark Pending)’s water system was an interesting forty seconds in which you quickly give up the idea of having ice in your water (too loud anyway) and also give up having fridge water as you can’t figure out the stupid buttons and you’re too short as a five year old to read them properly.

Could you shift to be taller? Yes. Would your piss-poor luck entail you getting caught doing that? Also yes.

Sink water works.

You fill the glass (which is a struggle in itself to the point that you just climb onto the counter again to hold the cup under the faucet), and stare out the window as you sip it.

Your little legs dangle off the counter top as you stare into the treeline.

Three days ago you were watching from the trees.

Now, you’re inside the house as if you’re meant to be there.

You shiver, moving your gaze to the cup as you sip the water. The woods freaked you out even before you lived in them. You’re not the biggest bad out there.

You ignore the fear crawling up your spine, but you don’t hesitate to close the blinds and the curtains on the sink window.

No need to tempt fate.

—————————

Grillby doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night often. It’s been a long time since he pulled all-nighters, and he can usually fall back asleep after a nightmare.

Tonight, something feels off. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he dreamed of Merise again, fighting in a war that happened a thousand years before she was born, and watching her fall asleep and never wake. Maybe it’s that he hears running water. 

He gently pushes Sans off his chest, carefully setting the skeleton onto the mattress and nestled into the spot Grillby previously occupied so he stays warm. Grillby can’t help but press a kiss to his cheek, smiling as Sans sleepily shifts closer, before walking to the doorway.

The door creaks half open, and he can’t see anything from here, but he can feel a presence in the kitchen.

He hesitates in the doorway.

The presence doesn’t feel threatening, more neutral than anything, but it’s fucking terrifying to feel something in your house and not know what it wants.

He slips quietly out of the room, and catches two new reflections in the kitchen. Eyes, far too reflective to be anything human, and a glass of sloshed water.

Even at his grown age, Grillby is still capable of being startled. He stares silently into the eyes for a moment, before recognizing the cyan hue. 

Cyan.

Cyan.

The child is sitting on the counter, curled around a glass of water and appearing equally startled by his presence as he was theirs. They blink owlishly up at him, lips pressed in a thin line. Their little hands curl protectively around the cup.

Grillby deflates, his fear fading into affection. 

He approaches slowly, and Cyan relaxes, dumping the rest of the water into the sink and carefully setting the glass inside it. The fire monster leans back against the counter next to them, staring out at the darkened living room. “Hello, little spark.”

His tails sways silently behind him, brushing against the cabinets. Cyan turns to look at him, their eyes still wide, but visually calmer. They wave, and Grillby chuckles brightly. “Y-Yes, hello. Are you alright, my dear?”

Cyan squirms closer to him, curling against his side and nodding. Grillby lets his arm rest around them, a little safety net for his own comfort in fear they fall. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Cyan shook their little head again, nose bridge wrinkling. It’s adorable and Grillby chokes down a giggle. “Just thirsty then?”

The toddler nods, gently running their hands over the lengths of their braids. Grillby softens, gently thumbing some of their hair out of their face. He’s happy to see Papyrus braiding again.

“Did I frighten you?” 

Cyan sits up, blinking at him before shaking their head. 

Grillby is certain he startled the child, but he calms slightly as he can assume besides the initial jump that he wasn’t too scary.  Cyan rests their head against his chest and he sighs softly. “Can I pick you up, little spark?”

Cyan immediately nods, shifting closer to let Grillby pick them up a bit easier. Grillby scoops them up, supporting their weight on his hip as he walks to the couch.

They curl tighter, soaking up his warmth.

Grillby chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “We can read another chapter from that book, if you’d like?”

Behind them, resting against the back of the couch and rubbing at his sockets tiredly, Sans mumbles, “i can do the voices.”

Grillby glances up, smiling sweetly at his soulmate. Sans smiles back, bending over his shoulder to kiss him before turning his attention onto Cyan.

Cyan waves.

Sans snorts, waving back before mindlessly offering the kid a fist bump. 

He forgets this isn’t Frisk.

————————

You flinch.

You hate that you can hardly lie to yourself about it. You don’t want Sans or Grillby to believe you’re afraid of them and flinching at a fist bump, in which Sans hadn’t even moved quickly. 

It was an obvious movement. You’re being dramatic.

You know logically why you flinched. But you’re still annoyed by it. You sit stock still, staring at Sans as he slowly retracts his hand, eyelights reduced to pinpricks. You refuse to look at Grillby, but you can feelfeelfeel his worry. You swallow your pride. 

Your eyes drop to your lap, hands balling up on top of your thighs.

Your ears burn with…

Embarrassment. 

Huh. 

You feel embarrassed. 

…..

That’s… new. 

…………..

You aren’t supposed to feel at all, Cyanide.

—-------------

Sans’ jaw locks, hand unfurling then retracting to clench at his side. He takes a silent, shuddering breath before forcing himself to relax. Sans sets his hands on the top of the couch, in sight but unthreatening. He tilts his head to look at them, but their face hides in the remaining loose pieces of their hair. “hey, mini. i’m sorry, kid.”

Cyan doesn’t move. 

Sans frowns, humming. “kid..? cyan.”

Cyan winces, looking up. They’re not crying, thank the stars, Sans thinks he would actually break down if he’d made them cry, but it’s clear they’re upset. 

They’re.. Embarrassed. 

Oh.

Sans sinks to a kneel, leaning fully on the back of the couch and resting his chin on the plush fabric. “...are you okay?”

Grillby gently brushes their hair back, shifting to better see their face, “Take a deep breath, my little spark. We.. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, though I want to assure you that no one in this house would ever put their hands on you. Nothing you could ever do or say would cause one of us to bring harm to you.”

Sans nods against the thick fabric. “you’re allowed to feel nervous. you’re allowed to feel scared and upset. you’re just a babybones, that’s pretty normal. you can feel whatever you need to and still know we’d never hurt you.”

Cyan swallows thickly, before reaching up with their tiny, tiny little hands to hold Sans’. 

Sans stares at them for a second, choking back his emotion, before gently accepting their little hands. Cyan leans forward, shifting to hug Sans’ neck, and Sans immediately slips his arms around their back. He’s surprised, and genuinely touched, when Cyan’s little hands switch into the correct ‘skeleton’ hold. Sans hasn’t held a babybones like this since Papyrus was this small. 

He takes a deep breath and has to ignore that Cyan smells like Merise’ soap, pressing a kiss against the child’s temple. “‘s alright, kid. you’re safe. i’ve gotcha.”

—-----------------

Sans is still rocking you when Papyrus pads downstairs, soft, frantic thumbs marking his entrances. “Are they alright?” Papyrus frets in his lower volume, “What happened?”

Sans twists to allow Papyrus to see you better, you feel the directional shift, but you keep your eyes closed and your face buried against Sans’ nape. 

Grillby’s voice is smooth and calm, and you can feel Papyrus relax a little. You think about how Grillby is Papyrus’ oldest brother, not just Sans’ partner. Interesting. 

… kind of sweet. 

“I heard them in the kitchen a couple minutes ago and came out to check on them. Cyan just wanted a glass of water. I was asking if they wanted to read another chapter of the book– Uh, they didn’t have a nightmare or anything, don’t worry– and Sans said he could do the voices, and—-”

Sans gently squeezes you tighter. “i tried to give kid a fist bump.”

—--------------

Papyrus tilts his head a little, “...Okay?”

Sans winces, “i uh.. i wasn’t thinking. you know, about where they came from. cy flinched.”

Papyrus stills. “Oh.”

Sans gently pets Cyan’s hair, grimacing. “i’m really sorry.”

Sans… is visually upset. Papyrus doesn’t blame him, he’d also feel like shit if he’d made a child flinch in any situation. Cyan being five and new and his nibbling certainly made that feeling worse, he assumes. Papyrus softens, stepping forward to gather Sans and his child into his arms, gently pressing a kiss to Cyan’s forehead. “I am not angry with you, Sans. And I am certain Cyan isn’t either. A previous guardian put their hands on them, and Cyan may be a little.. Uhm. Jumpy, I suppose, because of it?”

Papyrus’ brow furrows, and Sans shifts the toddler to Papyrus. He immediately accepts them against his chest, rubbing their back. He’s half asleep, part terrified and pumped with adrenaline after waking up at four in the morning and finding his bed empty— again, not again, please— and part somehow feeling like he understands exactly what his child needs.

Reassurance. 

He can tell they’re not fully asleep, they latch on too clumsily to be a reflex, but he can tell they’re close. 

Sans and Grillby make concerned eye contact. 

“Someone hurt them?”

Papyrus grimaces, pressing a kiss to their hair. “I noticed it when wiping them down last night.” 

————

You feel the cold breeze of the fan against your back as Papyrus gently tugs the back of  your shirt up an inch or two to show your uncles the scar.

Your eyes slide just barely open, and you find a strange comfort in their horrified expressions.

You have to wrangle your expression into something neutral when Pap— Dad whispers that it was a whip wound. Grillby immediately looks ill, launching from the couch and pacing silently between the couch and the coffee table with a hand clamped over his mouth as is nauseated. Sans looks stricken, and furious. 

It’s comforting.

Something Grillby said sticks with you.

“Nothing you could ever do or say would cause one of us to bring harm to you.”

Nothing you could say.

…

You wonder if he would promise that.