Chapter Text
The Capitol was abuzz. It was always noisy, but today it practically screamed with energy. A place as crowded and grey as this would take any excitement. The appearance of their king was certainly that.
He was in the oldest part of the city, the part where masonry crumbling and falling from on high was more common than new paint. The denizens rarely bothered to sweep up the dust. Why would they? It wasn't theirs.
But today the kind, caring king was knocking on every door. He spent a few minutes speaking to every monster he encountered. Speculation was rife as to why he was doing this. He wasn't known for leaving the palace except for his annual visits to the schoolchildren. Maybe that would be changing?
Late in the evening he arrived at the door. On the surface, this door wasn't any different from its neighbors. The brown paint was peeling and cracked. Boot marks dented the bottom of the door. The knob was littered with key scratches no one had ever bothered to buff out.
It was the little details that made Asgore think this might be there right place. For one thing, most of the scratches on the door were below the handle. Pry marks around the lock had bone fragments still embedded. And finally, below the boot marks were blue and orange stains.
Still, that didn't guarantee that this was the right place. It could be coincidence. The parents might have moved. The boys might have misremembered.
When the door opened, though, he knew he wasn't mistaken. The tall skeleton that stood before him bore an unmistakable resemblance to Sans. Well, not in height, obviously. That trait was clearly passed on to Papyrus. No, it was the rounded shape of the skull that they shared. That, and the suspicious glare.
“Howdy. I was wo-”
“WHADYA WAN?”
The voice was loud like Papyrus, although not nearly as friendly. Something in the way the words sounded was harsher, thicker, and more formal than either of the brothers, even through the slur of drink. The smell certainly didn't help.
Asgore decided to cut to the chase. This did not seem the kind of monster who would tolerate small talk.
“Are you acquainted with two monsters named Sans and Papyrus?”
The transformation was amazing. The face that had showed only mild annoyance before twisted into a mask of fury. Their sharp fangs were bared, their brows were furrowed in a deep W, and their sockets lit up with purple and contaminated yellow flames.
“THOSE TWO REBREBAES! LEFT DID ME, AFTER ALL I DIH! NUH RESPET. LIL SHICKS. BITS. WHA’ER. OOSLESS. STUBID. LAZY. WEAK. NE’ER ME LISTEN DIH THEY. ALWAYS SAYIN “HUNRY”, “THIRSY”, “TIRED”, “SICK”. BAH. NUH LIKE I DINT GI’EM FUD. WORK MY BUH OFF. HEH. THEIR BUHS TOO. WHY SHOO I ONLY BE ONE WORKIN.”
“Ah,” Asgore lowered his head, “I see.”
Asgore considered everything he knew about the situation. Undyne had told him that both brothers had all but told her they had been abused. Sans had the stronger memories of the two, having been older. He also seemed to have been impacted more. They had run away because to stay was dangerous and unhealthy.
Alphys had told him of Sans’ condition. It was easily manageable, and yet instead of helping him his parents had left him for dead. Both he and Papyrus had scars from old, unset breaks. Both showed signs of childhood malnutrition. Both, without doubt, had mental trauma.
“And their mother?”
“HUH?”
Asgore clenched and unclenched his fists under the mask of his cape. He needed to know this. From what Sans had reluctantly shared, she was just as guilty as his father.
“What happened to their mother?”
The drunk skeleton tilted his head, “WHA? NUHIN. SHE AT BE WORK NOW.”
Ah. That was a pity. Asgore would just have to stay and wait. In the meantime…
The king used one giant paw to topple the leaning monster into the small, dirty apartment. He let out a small noise of surprise and protest. Asgore ignored it. He folded himself through the doorframe and carefully closed the door.
“Now, I'd like to discuss further the disgusting, illegal facts of your neglect and abuse of your own children.”
From outside the apartment, ones could hear a whimper. One could also see the lock turn.
Inside, a very frightened skeleton was being held down in the battered, much-patched brown sofa that dominated the living room. His head was free, and he was being pinned in a sitting position, but that didn’t matter to his alcohol-soaked psyche. It decided he was being attacked. His struggles were remarkably forceful for someone in his condition.
“Please don’t worry. I will not harm you. I admit that I would very much like to, but I will not. Something like yourself isn’t worth the effort. But you do deserve punishment.”
“DONE NUTHIN WRONG,” the voice was surly.
Asgore shook his head, “If you honestly believe that, there was something wrong with your upbringing. Tell me, what were your parents like?”
“HUH?”
“Answer the question,” The pressure from Asgore’s hands increased minutely.
The skeleton attempted a shrug, “DUNNO. CAVE-IN. M’UNCLE RAISED ME.”
Asgore nodded, more in the manner of someone wanting the conversation to continue rather than someone agreeing with the speaker.
“And this skeleton?”
Another shrug, “HE WUS NICE’NOUGH. WARM BED IN DA ATTIC, HELP IN DA STORE, FOOD AT NIGH. MORNIN, TOO. CLOTHES AND SHOES AND STUFF LIKE THAT. NOT BAD.”
“Then why didn’t you give those same things to your children?”
“BAH. LAZY FREAKS DIDN’ EARN IT. CRYIN ALL NIGH, BIGHIN MY FINGER, BREAKIN STUFF WITH MAGIC.”
“Mhmn. And how old were they at the time?”
The skeleton’s eye lights crossed.
“FOUH? THREE? SUMMTIN LIKE THAT.”
Asgore’s grip tightened and made the monster’s bones creak.
“HEY, WATCH DA-”
“Babies cannot control themselves like adults can. They cry because they are hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or uncomfortable. It is the only method of communication they have. They bite things because their hands are not coordinated enough to explore with, and their mouth is the next best thing. All children have a hard time controlling their magic - many adults feel the same. Especially if they are sick, or tired, or in pain. You expected them to be something other than they were, and because they could not meet that impossible expectation, you punished them for the rest of their lives.”
The skeleton pinned under his hand slid his gaze across the messy room. Bottles of varying shapes, colors, and smells lay around the room like snow poffs in Snowdin. Some were filled. Some were empty. Most were somewhere in between. A few were leaking their various liquids onto the mold-stained carpet. The walls were only marginally less gross, although the ugly, faded green-and-orange zig-zag wallpaper made them look worse.
Asgore’s anger escaped and dissolved in a sigh, “I suppose talking to you now is useless. You are too drunk to understand.”
The king ignored the protest wrapped in a snarl that followed that. His eyes had slid to the couch he stood over. Stains beyond anything he’d ever seen before criss crossed and dotted the thin brown fabric. Some of them looked like burn marks. Others looked disappointingly familiar. There were several that looked like caked on blood and gold-blue magic.
At least the evidence was clear enough. He didn’t even need to look through the other rooms; this couch and the verbal statements were all he needed. Finding a judge impartial enough to try this case would be much more difficult. It seemed everyone he met knew the skeleton brothers in one way or another.
He hated having to use his authority, but situations like this were exactly what it was for. Tori would have locked him away from the start of it, not even giving the monster a chance to tell his side of the story. Asgore had given him that, at least. Not that anything could excuse what had been done.
“I, as King of Monsterkind, am arresting you. Your crimes are child neglect, child abuse, and any other crimes that are discovered during the full investigation will be added to...”