skerb's stuff

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT,” the other groused, throwing a warning look over his shoulder.

Sans shrugged, not daring to breach the doorway. Instead, he leaned against the jamb and watched for a while, his gaze searching as he picked up the little hints and subtleties that his own brother had exhibited in his universe. The usual grand exuberancy in which he carried out his actions were masking trembles. Getting angry or irritated with him to raise his emotions, to hide the flush on his cheekbones. The way he rushed everything to make it look like he was panting from exertion and not simply because he had a fever.

Of course, this Papyrus was not dissimilar, with the same traits right down to the bone, despite being rough around the edges. Sans’ grin tugged absently with the thought, but was quickly expelled from his reverie when one of Papyrus’ knees jittered noticeably.

Yeah, this had gone on long enough.

“ok, bud,” he started, all business now despite another warning glare he received. He dragged his feet through the sudsy water on the floor, extending a hand to the other as a sort of peace offering. Papyrus was staring it down like it was some sort of profane object, instead. Every part of him stiffened and trembled through his struggle to keep upright. “i think i get what this is.”

“AND WHAT, PRAY TELL, MIGHT THAT BE?”

Sans schmoozed up to his side with a wink, leaning against the wet countertop without a care. “you got the flu,” he said simply, although Papyrus could detect the hint of a sing-songy tease.

“ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME?” he demanded, his phalanges gripping at the countertop with renewed strength through his irritation. “IS THAT WHAT THIS IS?”

“my buddy, you just dropped the pot and despite not livin’ your life by the 5-second rule like i do, you’re pushin’ even my standards,” Sans replied with a light laugh as he nudged at the half-cleaned pot on the floor with his foot. “you seem to enjoy that sink a lot. who knows, maybe i can smear somethin’ around, just for you. i know you like your ablutions.”

A marvelous crimson flooded the other’s face with the tease and Sans grinned a little more, proud he could get under Papyrus’ metaphorical skin, all the same. He had to know what was going on when Sans tilted his hand, and now it was a kind of dare as to who would fold first.

Papyrus being who Papyrus was, held his ground - or rather, the counter - with astoundingly unbending stubbornness. The fact he had not retorted to Sans’ accusation was either because he was still thinking of a witty response, or he was too fuddled to properly come up with anything. Sans could see it was the latter when he saw a small wilt in the other’s stance and moved closer to make sure Papyrus didn’t fall.

“c’mon. no need to put a damper on things,” Sans grinned, raising a brow bone as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. As he did so, he scooted a little closer; not much, but enough that he was within reach if Papyrus’ legs decided to give out. “what’re you tryin’ to do here? make soap?”

“SOUP.”

“not gonna lye, i heard soap.” Sans’ grin widened while Papyrus groaned audibly. It seemed the shorter skeleton was resolute in his plan to assault him with bad jokes in order to crumble his defenses.

“SOUP,”  Papyrus said again, pointing to a bowl of crushed tomatoes that had miraculously stayed on the counter. When he did so, the world swayed for a moment and he huffed out a hot breath when spots appeared before his vision.

Before he knew it, Sans had caught him. Although when he came to, whether it was after he’d hit his skull off the floor or not was debatable. Papyrus felt as though his head was pounding and there was no definite source as to where it was exactly emanating from. He heard Sans curse under his breath and felt arms encircling him, bringing one of his own arms over the other’s shoulder to hoist him up while his legs shook uneasily when he was pulled to his feet.

“ok. there’s no way you can say you’re not sick, man.”

“I’M NOT A SICK MAN!” Papyrus muttered stiffly, attempting to extract himself from Sans’ hold.

Sans was frowning at him, the gears turning in his head as the other blathered on about ‘DUTIES’ and how ‘A TRULY GREAT PERSON NEVER GETS THE FLU’ and ‘SICKNESS IS A WEAKNESS NOT IN MY CONSTITUTION’. He rolled his eye lights as Papyrus continued on, tempted to call out the other’s utter absurd behaviour - but this was his house after all. Technically it was both of theirs, but interdimensional timeshares would be a whole different ball game to sort through with the logistics involved.

“lemme at least get you to the couch or somethin’-” Sans offered, attempting to steer the other skeleton out of the kitchen; he had a lot of dead weight for someone who was nothing but bones.

Despite his efforts, Papyrus was still objecting as his legs automatically followed Sans’ lead; “I WILL NOT HAVE YOU CARRY ME LIKE A PETULANT CHILD-”

“then don’t act like one, man. c’mon.” Enduring the other’s protests, Sans had little difficulty bringing Papyrus over to the couch. He could’ve sworn he’d heard a relieved sigh escape the other skeleton when he sat down, and Sans started bundling him in blankets.

“YOUR EFFORTS ARE WASTED,” Papyrus repeated relentlessly, to which Sans only hummed in agreement and pushed him back into the couch’s plush cushions. He leaned forward and briefly caressed the other’s skull, resulting in an indignant squawk from Papyrus, who hid his face in the blanket while Sans retreated back to the kitchen.

“stay there,” the shorter skeleton called from the kitchen.

Papyrus could very clearly hear crockery being messed with and seethed quietly - although it wasn’t in rage or irritation, not at Sans. He hadn’t shown it, not necessarily; Sans had a way of worrying that tipped him off. He stayed close. He lingered in rooms that he was in. He made small talk and tried to distract him by slipping jokes under his radar.

Papyrus shrunk down against the couch, his legs sprawled out over the edge of the cushions as their view wavered dizzyingly in front of him. A grand guardsman like himself couldn’t afford to take ‘sick days’. What would others think? He knew what they would think, that was the problem. Sickness was what monsters with weak magic reserves had to deal with, and he was beyond strong! Someone below him must’ve brought something in regards to that, he thought in bemusement…

His skull was aching again and he wrestled an arm out from Sans’ bundling and brought his hand to his face, cupping the side as though to gauge the temperature. Was he warm? He didn’t feel well, but he didn’t feel hot. If he was ‘getting’ a flu, he probably still had a day or two before it really settled on him, then he could… possibly make some excuse. Like… Sans. Who… possibly needed something. Far away. Probably Hotland. Was he hot?

Was he hot…

Clinks and running water from the kitchen pulled him from his swimming thoughts. How could the Great and Terrible Papyrus succumb to such a thing as a cold!? Who was the careless oaf whom he’d contracted it from? There would be answers - at least, that’s what he was planning for.

Soon enough, Sans had come out from the kitchen, somewhat spattered with red sauce. He had, to his credit, attempted to wipe the flecks of tomato off his hoodie and face with his sleeve, but Papyrus found himself glaring at the little splotches while his vision swam in and out of focus.

“better now that you’re sittin’?” the other skeleton inquired as he leaned in close. Papyrus hung his face against his hand and huffed heavily in response, not in any mood for conversation. But he did see it - that odd little way Sans’ eye lights constricted when he was worried and the way his grin tugged down ever so slightly, unconvinced.

“I’M NOT SICK…” he suddenly said, still clinging to the delusional hope that Sans would believe him. Despite how horrible and warm he was feeling, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep from shivering.

That fact was apparent when Sans could hear the subtle noise of bones knocking together. It seemed like his hunch was correct, and that Papyrus’ overzealous nature had finally caught up to him. Wearing himself down while having the flu… just like at home. Only this Papyrus was not his Papyrus.

He sighed and flopped onto the couch beside him, close enough to rest his skull against the other’s. When Papyrus froze, if only for a moment, Sans grinned to himself and tugged him so the other was resting against him.

“sure you aren’t.”

Whether or not it was due to the creeping warmth his sickened magic was coalescing, Papyrus continue to feel warm. Despite not moving for more than a few minutes, he felt exhausted and light-headed. Coupled with the tomato-y smell wafting from the kitchen, his senses were being overloaded by light, sound and vertigo.

Biting back a threatening miserable groan, Papyrus huffed as he buried his skull further into the comforter. Sans had turned his skull to see him better; Papyrus’ eye sockets were closed and his brow was knitted together in a fierce attempt to look ‘normal’. The flush of his bones betrayed how he truly felt however, and the rattling continued.

“you’re like the worst not-sick person i’ve ever seen, man,” Sans sighed quietly, bringing a hand up to cup the top of the other’s skull. He felt the coiling and restless magic fettering inside the other’s bones, signalling the fever broiling within him. Pushed to his limits, Papyrus shook his head, attempting to get the hand off him without much success.

A few moments passed with Sans gently patting the other’s skull, phalanges tracing soothing scuffs over the cracks and smooth bone until Papyrus finally settled. He was still shivering, but he was being leaned against like a large dog, threatening to bury his body with the cocoon of blankets Sans had wrapped him up in.

That’s when he decided to slip away - or at least, that had been the plan, had he the wherewithal to get away without jostling the other skeleton. As predicted, Papyrus cracked open an eye socket and seemed perturbed that he had been roused, or even that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING.” It was more of a statement than a demand and Sans had to laugh, patting the other’s skull.

“soup.”

“SOUP?” As fuzzy as things appeared all around him, Papyrus blinked up at the skeleton grinning down at him. At least, he thought it had been him, but he was less sure now. It could be a trick. He didn’t make soup, nor did he think Sans knew how to cook.

Of course.

Sans didn’t know how to cook! Nothing in their time together had led him to believe that the other skeleton knew how to make anything apart from microwaved burritos or the odd piece of charred toast!!

Suddenly renewed through an internal horror of Sans demolishing his kitchen, Papyrus pushed himself up. He lurched threateningly as he pointed at the other’s face, hand shaking in protest.

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

“dare what? finish the food you were plannin’ on makin’ anyways?” Sans challenged, giving the other a light shove. The jostle was enough to send Papyrus back onto the couch with a weak grunt, unsteady where he sat. “geez. why the heck did you force yourself? look at you, loose an’ limp like a wet noodle,” Sans shot him a cheeky grin while Papyrus’ groan became louder in irritation.

“I’M COMING WITH YOU.”

“i’ll literally be in the next room.”

“THEN IT WILL COME TO NO SURPRISE TO YOU HOW EASILY THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS WILL OVERCOME SEVERAL FEET TO THE KITCHEN!”

“dude, you can’t even manage your own feet.”

“SEMANTICS.”

“more like pedantics, but alright,” the other sighed in resignation. It was far less an effort to drag Papyrus back to the kitchen and prop him up with chairs or something than it would be to argue over whether or not he could handle being upright.

Unfortunately, Papyrus’ unsteady and teetering balance proved difficult to manoeuvre to the kitchen table. At one point, Sans had to dip under his arm to steady him, keeping an arm wrapped around the other’s rib cage as the taller monster stumbled, off-balance to the side. He could tell how adamant he was at keeping his pride intact when he glanced at Papyrus, seeing the way his teeth were gritted and rivulets of sweat trickled down his face.

Man.

Why was he enabling this?

Sans helped Papyrus through the doorway and ushered him to one of the chairs, pushing him down. “there, happy?”

“IF YOU THINK THIS CONSTITUTES ANYTHING BUT PURE MISERY ON MY BEHALF, YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING.”

“you can just say ‘yes’, y’know.” Sans shrugged and checked the other’s temperature again, ignoring the stubborn yet dazed glare thrown his way. Papyrus didn’t answer him at least, so Sans made his way over to the stove where a large pot was bubbling with red onions, tomatoes, garlic and carrots.

“AT LEAST IT DOESN’T SMELL BURNT,” came the grumble from the other side of the kitchen, which Sans pointedly ignored. It seemed more of a compliment if anything, although Sans merely chalked it up to the fact that Papyrus was clearly becoming delirious. “I SHOULD GIVE YOU INSTRUCTION.”

Sans’ grin tightened as he cast a glance over his shoulder, not even registering the words as he automatically turned down the heat on the stove to a low simmer. He then pulled out a small pan from under the oven and put it on one of the burners, turned it on, and poked his skull into the fridge. It was one of the weeks where they actually had something he could work with, so he pulled out the butter and cream and set it on the counter.

Papyrus was watching, somewhat dumbfounded. He had barely opened his mouth when Sans seemed to be moving as though on automatic. Wow, he didn’t even have to bark out orders - Sans basically could read his mind! Although he wasn’t sure what the other was doing with the butter and flour now in the pan. Curiously, he leaned forward, bones still rattling under the blanket they’d brought from the couch.

It had admittedly been awhile since he had cooked anything, but Sans decided a creamy soup would be best. It was something that reminded him of when he had ambitions, when he was younger and when cooking didn’t tire him out. Some spices that this Papyrus had in the cupboard were enough to bring out the flavours. Meanwhile, the halved potatoes he threw into the pot did their job at soaking up a lot of the salt that had been dumped into the mix.

Papyrus’ silence had been worrying, but when Sans glanced over, he saw the other’s puzzled yet curious expression as he worked. Sans grinned to himself, face flushed through the hidden amazement and how it affected him. Although the other didn’t say anything, Sans could see he was impressed. He also hoped that Papyrus wouldn’t think this was a thing that would happen all the time; usually cooking burnt him out on the idea and he didn’t attempt it more than a few times a year. Sometimes less.

With Papyrus watching and leaning against the table, Sans stirred the roux and spices together, watching the pot boil on the other burner while the sauce thickened. Even though Papyrus’ concerns had been that he was worried for his kitchen, Sans was proving to be a pretty adept cook of his own caliber. Not that Papyrus would admit it.

Eventually, everything blended together into one pot and the tomato smell wafted to Papyrus’ senses. It was much less of a smell than disgusting ketchup, but more mellow than marinara sauce. The taller skeleton frowned as his blurry vision settled on the back of the blue hoodie shambling around the counterspace, every clink and scrape of dishware jarring against his throbbing headache.

Groaning pitifully and having no more mind to keep up any pretense of dignity, Papyrus let his skull drop onto his arms on the table. Well, as long as the other didn’t burn down the house, he supposed it was permissible…

He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but the quiet slide of a bowl against the wooden table jerked him awake. Sans was smiling down at him, eye lights softened with the spark of concern as again, Papyrus felt his hand against his skull, rubbing soothingly against him. He sighed and sunk against the table a little more, fully coming to terms that… perhaps he was not feeling one-hundred percent after all.

“I THINK THAT I DON’T ENJOY BEING SICK,” he grumbled into his arms.

Sans laughed, although it didn’t hold any spiteful undertones. “are you finally admittin’ it?”

“NO, I JUST ENJOY RANDOMLY STATING WITH PROLIFIC OBSCURITY MY DISTASTE FOR MAGICAL INTERFERENCE.”

The other scoffed and shuffled into the opposite chair, then idly stirred the soup in front of Papyrus until he lifted his head. When Papyrus’ hazy vision settled on the deep orange soup, he frowned at it.

“YOU… MADE THIS.”

“sure.”

“AND IT’S NOT…”

Sans levelled him with a look. It wasn’t anything challenging, but Papyrus could feel the subtle rebuke in his gaze. Instead of testing his company further, he pulled a hand from inside the blanket and shakily took the utensil offered to him. Then he tentatively allowed the spoonful of soup to drop back down into the bowl with jaded, scrupulous judgment.

“hey, if you’d rather me get somethin’ from grillby’s…” Sans left the threat unfinished and Papyrus glared at him, his face reddening anew. Then, stubbornly, he forced a spoonful of it into his mouth.

Sans watched as the other fought his own movements, however it was his intention to continue cooking, no matter how lacklustre the end product was. It was lumpy, maybe the spices weren’t all there and he had haphazardly chopped up the cooked potato for it to be a bit more filling, but in the end it worked out.

As Papyrus ate, Sans tapped idly at the tabletop, supporting his head on his left hand. He stayed quiet, but inside he was wondering if it was enough. Papyrus’ movements were slow and he had only eaten two-thirds of the bowl before pushing it away and sinking against the table again.

“so,” the shorter skeleton mumbled nonchalantly, “how’d you like it?”

“IT WAS… TOLERABLE.”

“glad you didn’t hate it, at least.”

“IT WAS SURPRISINGLY SATISFACTORY,” Papyrus rephrased, turning his head in his arms. He caught the sheepish grin that had passed over Sans’ face and straightened up with renewed strength.

“back to the couch, i guess,” Sans sighed as he pushed himself up, waiting for Papyrus to do the same. But there was a problem; with Papyrus more subdued, he was less likely to argue. At the same time, he wasn’t about to put up a fight if Sans genuinely wanted to help him. He narrowed his eye sockets. Sans… did want to help him, right? That seemed logical.

Still, his thoughts were swimming and Papyrus was finding it was becoming more and more difficult to focus on any other task except settling down and perhaps closing his eye sockets to rest. For a few minutes. He’d be fine for a few minutes, he thought, just as his skull tilted forward in a doze. The quick movement roused him and he blinked in confusion when he felt the other encircle his arms around his chest and hold onto him tightly.

Then the world dipped. It did absolutely nothing for how dizzy he felt and Papyrus nearly stumbled off-balance when his foot hit the couch’s leg. He bit back a mild grunt of irritation, unsure when or how he was able to fall asleep while standing. It was the only way he figured that Sans was able to cross the distance in such a short amount of time. Either that, or he had been carried. Or he had stumbled, much like his thoughts were constantly doing.

He huffed all the same when the other carefully manoeuvred him around to sink back onto the plush couch, helping to tuck him in before settling in beside him. A few of the channels had cleared enough for a bit of warbling dialogue to filter through the sound of static, but it was enough white noise that Papyrus was drifting off to sleep again.

As much as he hated to admit it even in his private thoughts, the soup had been good and made him feel a little better. He could sense that Sans was worried in his own way with how he curled against him, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. With how he feigned indifference and disinterest, Sans certainly had a way with showing how he cared. It was preposterous how much he fit in that way in Papyrus’ universe when he did like that.

Still, Sans’ arm lay around his shoulder as Papyrus slipped against his torso, listening to the subtle hum of magic within the other’s body. As Papyrus finally drifted off, he thought that perhaps it was alright to show weakness.