Apple Pie and Other Sweet Things

These are meant to clarify the names of characters since I stray from the popular, fandom nicknames

Horrortale Sans- Spinel

Horrortale Papyrus- Sugar

Underswap Sans- Peanut

Underswap Papyrus- Honey

Underfell Sans- Jasper

Underfell Papyrus- Deimos

Dusttale Sans- Hemlock

Dusttale Papyrus- Chervil

Killer Sans- Canus

Nightmare Sans- Orion

More to come...

Please check it out on ao3 if you can!

There’s some gore and violence up ahead so I advise minors to steer clear of my work

Apple Pie

Chapter 2: Something to Eat

Grumble…

….

….

Spinel trudges through the snow, depleted. He’s slouched over, dragging his axe behind him, leaving a trail in the snow of his whereabouts. This way, he doesn’t get lost since he’s strayed from his usual post in the white desert. He doesn’t usually go far from his shack, but he and his brother are particularly desperate today. His body hangs heavy with no sleep or food to support its function. He watches, vigilant for any sign of food. It’s been several weeks since Papyrus last had anything to eat. His single eye light glares wide with one intent in mind: survival.

Trees bunch in dark, tall, unnerving groves, hiding the disgusting secrets of gory sights. He just has yet to hear one of those precious whispers of a meal, but he can’t turn back, not yet. He can’t go home without something for Sugar. His crooked, gnarled teeth suggested a smile, but Sugar’s eyes betrayed his growing torment. The hunger consumed all of them, biting into their livelihood each and every day they were deprived of food. Sugar tried to deny his thirst in the sands of barren terrain, but Spinel knew him too well even as they let their emotions run high. Their yelling and passive aggressive moments couldn't hide how much they cared, and Spinel realized this. So, he strained his energy and strength to track down something for him. Sugar needed the food more than himself, and he didn’t need to know Spinel didn’t eat. Spinel would simply say he ate some on the way home.

…

…

Rising in the distance Spinel caught sight of urban structures. Buildings typical of a more modern town rest dormant, ruined as all seemed still. Doors splintered in various spots, windows cracked from the frames edges, and claws littered the area. He could smell the presence of some kind of mammal with the stink of fur. He didn’t know the location, but he could decipher that something lived here–something edible. His mouth nearly started watering at the thought. He prowled around until his instincts led him into a particular structure. This place held a certain feeling of holiness as the roofs sloped downwards before curving up towards the ends, and lanterns hung at each corner of the tiled tops. The pillars commanded respect as he peered at the architecture with passing interest. He slightly squints his eye, analyzing the place, and hears a slight shuffle inside. It’s time to eat.

He sneaks around a window, and looks inside to find several Tanu Tanu sleeping. He’s lucky the day protects him from the nocturnal eyes of one. If a single step creaked, he wouldn’t walk away without some struggle as a whole family rests within. Nothing his magic couldn't deal with, but he contained no control as his main source of command was torn away from him. And if he went overboard–using up all his mana–the thorny thrills of pain sunk into his bones. He really wishes he still had his eye, it would make surviving easier.

In the middle of the room, a pile of red apples lays, welcoming the start of rot. They hold the same essence as fuji apples, but grew corrupted by mold’s grasp. Spinel couldn’t pass up on the chance to provide food to his brother. He swings the wood of his grand axe onto his shoulder as he ventures forth. The door widens open as Spinel carefully steps through the entrance. No creature awakes from their daytime sleep. Not yet. The small murmurs of their breath and rising stomachs kept Spinel wary of their possible wake. He takes a few steps, only the subtle muses of rest and the threat of battle accompanying him. Nobody stirs at his movement as he creeps around. Spinel steps in front of the collection of putrid apples, pausing before greedily grabbing stuffing all he could into his trusted hoodie’s pockets. He knew the thing could carry him through this. Spinel turns around into an amble, breathing out in relief. He keeps walking until an apple, less decayed as the rest, slips out of his pocket. It hits the floor with nearly no sound, leaving some mush behind, but it’s enough to urge the sleeping monsters out of their slumber.

They rise with a fierce uproar, snarling at Spinel. The fur on their back stands at an end, and their teeth stand out despite the dim lighting. The world continues to darken around Spinel as all his enemies sharpen. There’s no time to panic–not when you’ve become the apple of an entire group’s eye. They’re ready to devour him whole, to crunch into his bones. They surround him, and he can’t help but grin. Ulna these pieces of meat were too much to face at once, but he could soften them up enough to get home to his brother.

Spinel acts on instinct, and bones suddenly protrude from the ground. Some attackers nearly avoid the threat, while others shriek in pain. Their screams ring in Spinel’s ears, soaking into his hoodie. It feels so incredibly heavy as he watches their wounds pour out blood. The intensity of the moment rains down on him, but he continues to defend himself. He swings at the nearest Tanu Tanu, creating a brutal slice at the monster’s front. He can see all the moving parts of the creature within, working to stay alive despite the window into their space. Saddest of all, Spinel sees some of the Tanu Tanu eyeing the red on their friends. They look as if they've just been given monster candy, one that’s their favorite flavor no less. Spinel can’t help but notice the outline of their ribs. Teeth sink into his arm, ripping new holes into his hoodie, and Spinel desperately fights off the monster. He can feel his sweat drip down his skull as he summons a bone attack that sends the creature’s body slam onto the floor. He reminds himself that it’s not for himself, it's for Sugar. He needs to get out of here. Spinel deals another round of bones before he evades to the shadows where he reappears in the forest.

…

He nearly gagged at the sight. He didn’t have any other choice.

In front of him, Sugar tried keeping the rotten apple down. Fuzzy greens and grey taints the slush. Some parts are soft enough to slip through Sugar’s large hands, while most stay put. Sugar insisted they sit at a table, even if Spinel refuses to eat. So, he watches his brother try to lift up any of the food into his maw. The substance is disgusting. It’s far past the natural point of being edible, but for them this is the best they can get.

Sugar shakes as his bones reject the apples. He can’t sit still as he eats, otherwise everything he’s worked so hard to keep down will come back up. The sound of rotten food being forced down terrifies Spinel. The gross noise fills his mind as he can only watch his brother try to survive. He himself can’t help but gag slightly as the stomach churning scene unfolds. Suddenly, Sugar jolts forward with a hand over mouth and ribcage. His skeletal face glows into a putrid, unnatural color.

This one’s a bit long…

Chapter 1 Settled?

His eyes droop as he attempts to push them open. It’s like trying to stop a ballerina as she performs a tourner into the final section of her perfected routine. The action is very difficult. Since arriving on the surface with his brother, Sugar, Spinel has been able to sleep deeply, untroubled. He couldn’t sleep as much underground, not as soundly at least. When he napped at his old post, he never fully slept, half alert for any passing thing that happened to be edible— or something that wanted to try monster bones to pacify their raging hunger. If he didn’t remain attentive, he could miss a chance to provide Sugar some form of sustenance, even if Sugar hesitated at the source. Once, he almost let a human pass. She had precision with her ballet shoes that pranced around silently. She attempted to get past his station, and if it weren’t for the flash of dark blue Spinel caught in his sleepy vision, she could’ve succeeded. She didn’t last long after that— he swiftly threw his axe at the little girl, and her head fell clean off. It fell silently into the powdered ground as her body gracefully descended into its final bow. Blood pooled in the snow where her head and neck laid, tainting the white snow. Her eyes, blank and wide, stared at him as he took her to the meat grinder. Sugar never liked the head dogs, but they kept him alive. As he rises, the memory passes like a storm, but he still feels the wet residual of a chaotic time. He inhales in… 1…2…3… holds…1…2…3…4…exhales out… 1…2…3…4…5…

The bed creaks as Spinel starts groveling his way up and towards the bathroom. His room doesn’t have much decor, he only really focuses on what he needs. He has his mattress, his favorite books, a collection of rocks, and a notebook for his memory. Other than that, a pile of dirty clothes rests at the corner of the room, and a shelf houses his clean clothes. While messy, he’s made great efforts to improve his space. His therapy sessions emphasized how physical space affects mental space. At one point, he never even separated the clean from the dirty, everything sprawled out across his old room like a tornado of chaos. The disorder reflected his state of mind back then. Maintaining his room was the last thing he could think about— not when depression and starvation constantly threatened his life. An audible eauuhhh escaped him as he waddled to a clean set of clothes, then a ready waiting sink and shower.

Spinel finds the sharp scent of toothpaste waking him up as he brushes his teeth. His teeth, prepared for meat, are sharper than that of an average skeleton. They glinted the bathroom light as the foam bubbles off with a quick swish of water. Once he spits out the mixture, he begins shrugging off his clothes at his own pace. He slides off his blue hoodie. It’s a newer one, with more fluff than fur on the hood, more friendly in a way. His old one had a myriad of holes… and certain stains. The old thing had comforted him, staying the same when his whole world changed. It stood by his side like a loyal dog, aiding him against the desperate monsters of the underground. Although, the hoodie became a reminder of the harsh past when he didn’t need as much protection anymore. While letting go of the same hoodie that lasted him through hard times was difficult, hanging on simply wasn’t feasible. Especially when the sunlight beamed through every hole. It wasn’t until Sugar gently suggested that he upgrade that he even realized how bad it was. It was like someone used the hoodie for shooting practice—and it, really, had. More than a few claws and knives tore through the fabric, leaving ugly holes, but it served as his companion during difficult moments. He still smiled at the thought of the hoodie; it reminded him that he would always have someone—or something—at his side. Without reminiscing long, he strips off the rest of his clothes, stepping into the water. As he touches the water, he’s indifferent to the temperature. He’s not very affected by heat due to being a skeleton and all, but the pelting water creates a comforting pressure that streams down his scarred bones. In his persistence to survive, he’d forgotten how it felt to be so at ease. He stands under the water, and allows the water to wash away his worry. He can just take care of himself under the consistent shower. Sometimes such occurrences still caught him off guard—like he still clung to something without knowing how to hold it. By the time he grabs his cobalt blue towel, he feels lighter, yet still carries the weight of something he doesn’t know how to transfer elsewhere.

Spinel idles in front of great big cabinets as he lets the grogginess roll off of him like raindrops on a roof. He takes a second to breathe. His therapist always encouraged him to take the time to focus on his breath in between tasks. It keeps him centered, and keeps his fractured mind from splintering off into too many thoughts. His fluffy reaper-themed slippers are the only thing between him and the cool, blue tiled floor. Soon, he’s opening the gates of white to a landscape of ingredients. His eye glows in familiarity at the arrangement. Sugar, his brother, always made sure to re-organize the cabinets before he left to volunteer at the local library; he knew Spinel appreciated the consistency. Sugar always put in the time to help his brother, even when they had their differences in the underground. Sometimes their arguments tensed their interactions, but if someone dared threaten them, they would gladly tear the intruder apart together. Their brotherly bond held strong, even as their values conflicted. Just as he glossed over such memories, his eyes caught the jar of sugar. Each particle, small on its own, transforms a pie when gathered together. In instances of fiery pain, Sugar sweetened his life. No matter how they clashed at times, Sugar was essential to Spinel’s life, always appearing when needed. He changed the burn of strife into something bearable—more whole. Like caramelized sugar.

The knowledge that his brother is at side, even when away, gives Spinel the tranquility to start. Apple pie—the recipe that never failed him. He lifts the granulated sugar, each grain glittering like a snowflake, another piece in the continuous cycle of water which always reshapes and reformes. The brown sugar moves, denser, darker, with a little less grace like the runoff after a heavy rain. He pairs them on the counter, moving into the rhythm of preparation. The flour flows into place, a constant in baking just as water to life. Spinel excitedly eyes the cinnamon. The spice, ground, powdered, refined, hits Spinel with the force of any cinnamon stick, strong as ever. The addition of a little nutmeg, small yet potent, makes a warm, harmonious combination. The bread shortening is the base of the entire crust. Spinel feels out for the divots of the box with care, grounding himself with the familiar feeling before lifting it onto the counter. He freezes for a minute, unable to remember why he needed shortening. He turns to his notebook, filled out the brim with day to day notes, to understand why he needed the ingredient. Ever since his eye left him, and left a literal hole in his head, his mind struggled to work at the same pace.Through constantly writing in his notebook, he can recollect reality and anchor each step through the frost of life. Without shortening, he wouldn’t be able to emulate the same flaky texture that felt as familiar and steady as his notebook. Once he gathers the salt, he’s turning to the fridge. Egg and butter wait for him, and lead him to the sight of granny apples. Green, bright, acidic, the apples remind him of the best part of his favorite pie, tart enough to balance the sugary sweet dessert. They didn’t fit the typical idea of an ingredient for baking, more sour than most other fruits. They started out bitter, tough to eat on their own, but with enough work and patience they became the heart of one of the best desserts out there, allowing it a second chance to redeem its taste. Just like water changing form, granny apples morphed into something better, more enjoyable. Spinel sighs in contentment, happy to start the filling to this apple pie.

He slices through the fruit with an experienced hand, creating the perfect portions while avoiding the core. The blade surges through the skin and the body of the apples in a way he came to know underground. While brutal circumstances forced him to learn such a skill, the applications stayed practical long after he left. The thought doesn’t cause shaking in his hands anymore, instead he maintains precision, still with the understanding that he had the capacity to form something undiluted, free of blood. He has the choice to create rather than kill now. He relished in his freedom, the crisp scent of opened apples tying him to the present. The strong aroma in the air only multiplies as Spinel pours the sugar and spices into a bowl with the apples. The waterfall of flavors cascade in a way that resonates with his peaceful joy and glitter like the ocean's sands after a receding tide. He grasps the paper surface of the flour which crinkles under his touch; the flour trickles in after the others. Spinel waves all these ingredients together, tossing it into one, delicious filling. Just as Spinel coats the apple slices in sugar and spice, the swing of the front door alerts him to his brother’s return.

“Spinel! I just had the loveliest time at the library.”

Sugar quietly ducked under the doorframe to squeeze into the kitchen where Spinel turned to him, still continuing his task.

“What did they have you do today, bro?”

”Well, rather than just organizing books in the back, I got to read to the children!”

”Really? That’s a real page turner.”

”Yes! Seeing the monster children’s eyes light up was such a delight! Even some human ones listened from their mothers’ sides this time!”

Spinel lets out a weary breath. Sugar doesn’t blame the children—ever the optimist—but Spinel couldn’t avoid how intimidating they look. They were afforded the chance to heal on the surface, grow as people, but their sharp, giant forms frightened those who didn’t understand the story behind it. Sugar wore braces now, to fix the mangled mess of his teeth, but Spinel couldn’t exactly cover the gaping hole of his skull. That combined with their statures gave most people a scare. Spinel notices how Sugar’s smile falters, the darkness of exhaustion casting over his eyes.

“Hey how about you help me out too,” Spinel couldn't help but try to distract his brother from that reality. Sugar knows the truth, but he still holds out hope.

”Oh, but I’ve never joined in your baking sessions before,” Sugar’s sockets widened as he bent over to Spinel’s level, pointing at himself.

”Yeah, well… I thought it would be nice to do this.. together”

Spinel has no idea how much he made Sugar’s day. Sugar stands straight up, eyelights widening, as he nods to himself.

“Okay, just tell me what to do!”

”Alright, now this is the core part of the pie…”

”Spinel!”

So, Spinel puts Sugar in charge of the crust, finally involving him in his most personal habit. He instructs him on the entire process, from mixing the dry ingredients before incorporating the fat and shortening to slowly adding in the ice water. Spinel silently embraces the moment, finding happiness in his brother’s company. Most days, he would try to spend some time with him, but that time eluded him, slipping like water through his hands. When survival became the essence of their life, they grew distant. Their core values misaligned, and they fought. So instead of staying home to constantly keep watch over Sugar, Spinel posted outside, hunting. Whenever he did go home, they didn’t even have the energy to fight after a certain point. They didn’t have the fuel to have such energy. Standing here, in a well-kept kitchen with his brother, teaching Sugar about something so personal to Spinel felt… good. It was a warmth he’d never known before, like the warm wind of autumn on the surface.

Eventually, Spinel finishes mixing the filling; he finalizes the step by grinning, calling out to his brother, “I’m gonna start up the oven—I oven need to check on the temperature.”

“Oh my god brother!”

Sugar pounds the mixture at a rougher pace, exasperated by his brother. Spinel only chuckles at Sugar’s reaction to his terrible pun. They are bad, Spinel knows that, but he still cracks them anyway, just like those eggs.

Spinel positions himself in front of the oven, turning the temperature to 204°C. He stands for a few minutes, watching the machine slowly heighten its heat. He stops, and turns towards Sugar’s mixture. Sugar is tentatively stirring the mixture, unaware of the over-mixed state of the batter. Spinel freezes. Sugar stagnates, confused, letting the spoon sit in the bowl. The mix is supposed to be crumbly. Why is it smooth? It’s meant to be crumbly. Why did he let this happen? His pinprick shrinks down to the size of a crumb, and his body straightens out. He messed up, he never should have let Sugar in the process—he doesn’t understand! Now the whole thing is ruined, he has to start over! He feels the drops of sweat roll down his back, the heat of the oven sinking into him. Suddenly he can’t breathe. His pie—his ritual—is all wrong! How does he go back? How does he regain control? Why can’t he move? Why can’t he breathe? Why can’t he just—stop, stop, stop! He can’t let them consume him! He can’t! He can’t!

“What the fuck are you doing!”

Sugar looks at him like a deer in headlights.

”It’s wrong! All wrong! Shit!”

His hands wring at his eyesocket with no light, grasping onto anything even if it hurts. His hands shake even as he tightens his hold. The oven’s ticking as it changes temperature becomes persistent. The tap of a droplet of water angers him. He feels his entire head throbbing—particularly where there’s no bone or light to be found. It feels as though stupid Undick has torn out his eye light, leaving part of his skull to fracture again. It feels unbearably painful, he can’t help but grit his teeth. He hunches over, and it feels like he reopened a wound that never fully healed.

“Sp-Spinel it’s okay… I’m here you’re here… it’s okay”

Spinel only continues to spiral, grunting in pain. He can’t grasp onto anything, everything feels like water slipping through the crevices of his bones. No matter how hard he tries to ground himself, he can’t focus on his breath. He can feel Sugar’s worry, but he can’t stop himself. The air feels unbearably hot, the oven’s heat rising with his temperament. His slippers slide slightly against the friction of the floor, and his grip on the present slips. He’s constantly switching between erratic fits of breathing and periods where he can barely drag in a puff of air. He can only let out small sounds of despair as he freezes over.

Spinel finally ticks, crying out, when a wooden spoon taps against a ceramic bowl, letting out a small, yet terribly loud, sound. He can’t even cry, he’s so overwhelmed, his pains aching. He can’t even let out the storm building within him, so he bellows out instead.

“Listen, we’re going to sit down and breathe… okay?”

Sugar guides Spinel to the chilling tile of the kitchen floor, and Spinel—although still tense— complies. He curls into the frozen ground, unable to move like a frozen lake. Sugar just sits beside him, and gingerly keeps his hands on Spinel’s shoulders. Spinel can only whimper as his brother tries to aid him. Sugar stares off in concern, knowing he can only do so much. Soon, he looks to Spinel, and recounts, “remember the 5-4-3-2-1 method, what are five things you can see?” But, Spinel couldn’t even respond if he was less disassociated. Sugar can’t help but hold on a little tighter as Spinel continues to spiral.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry you had to carry so much…..”

Sugar doesn’t know what else to do. He can only manage himself so well during his episodes, but his brother operates on a different wavelength

“You did so much to keep me alive, us alive. You let me follow my ideas even when it puts myself in danger… You brought home food that helped me make it another day; you lost your eye just to sustain everyone else…”

Sugar shakes as he speaks, completely washed over with emotion while trying to stay together for Spinel. Spinel starts to still, staring off into space.

“You faced all of it by yourself, when we both just needed to survive… And I’m so so so sorry you carry all that weight to this day!”

Sugar just sits next to Spinel, pouring his heart into every word as he hopes that his brother can hear him.

Somewhere, somehow, a dam cracks, and a body of water floods forth, relentless. Slowly, tears stream down Spinel’s sockets. He looks exhausted as emotion releases from his broken skull, steadily–but surely–crying. Sugar grows somewhat relieved yet mindful. Sugar’s mouth hangs slightly agape at the new sight, but Spinel keeps spilling tears until he’s full of sobbing.

Spinel cries, and wales, so overcome with sadness, frustrations, anger, desperation–he can’t forget. He never will forget, his past will forever hang on him like hydrogen in water. He wouldn't be the same being without his past, but it floods his lungs almost everyday–making it impossible to just inhale, exhale. So, he just lets himself weep, unbridled.

Sugar sits at his side, holding onto him, coming to embrace Spinel entirely. But Spinel still carries everything alone. He can’t hug onto Sugar, he can’t hold onto anything without fear of losing his control again. But he allows himself to be encompassed in Sugar’s taller frame, for just a moment.