#bro bonding

Preston Arden lazily lounged by the infinity pool. In other words, it was a typical afternoon for him.

He had his hands behind his head, his designer sunglasses in place as he caught the gentle rays of the sun. Eyes closed, he listened to the gentle sound of running water behind him as the pool happily gurgled, seeming to whisper to him to come in and take a dip. He would in a few minutes, if he could be bothered.

"Your Julep, Sir." Preston opened his eyes to find one of the butlers holding a drink out to him. He took it and examined it with a critical eye.

"Needs more ice, Jeeves." The man's name wasn't Jeeves, but it amused him to call him that. "Fix it."

"Of course, Sir." came the deferential reply. A literal second later Preston was handed a perfect drink. He didn't question the fast timing; life had a way of giving him what he wanted after all.

What he deserved.

Preston took an experimental sip, finding it exactly to his liking, and let out a sigh of... well, not contentment, because he was never really content, but something approaching it. His thoughts were light, his mood was good, and the world operated according to his whims.

That's when he felt the slaps to his face. They were light at first, but quickly grew insistent. The world around him started to fade, another coming into focus as he heard a familiar voice, its tone playful.

"Wakey wakey, carnal." A final smack to his cheek brought him back to reality, the grinning face of Juan looking down at him.

"Qué?" came his tired voice, which then met with confusion. What had he just said? And wait, what was wrong with his voice?

Then it all came back to him. Reality reasserted itself as he looked around; the shitty apartment he shared with Juan(and the roaches) his brown skin, his muscles honed from years of hard manual labor. The curse that had caused all this, inflicted on him by his smiling roommate.

Soy Mateo Alvarez.

And the name felt right, felt real, even as he hated to admit it.

He put a hand to his face and groaned.

"There we go. All hittin you again, huh? Bet you felt surprised not waking up in your big fancy dormitorio today, huh? You get the floor now, güey. But 'considerin how passed out you were, looks like it suited you just fine. See, you ain't need all that fancy shit."

Mateo groaned further.

"Now c'mon, guero." Juan kicked him with one of his boots, not painfully but firm. "Get yo ass up. You don't wanna be late for work, and you ain't making me late. Shower's yours: I made sure to use all the hot water, not that there was much to begin with."

"You're a fuckin monster, vato." Mateo muttered, slowly rising to his feet. Juan chuckled.

"I'm also the closest thing you got to a homie now, so move."

Having no choice, the former heir did so. The ice cold water ensured he was in and out of the shower within a few minutes, and soon dressed in his uniform again. He hated how right it felt to this body; Mateo felt as home in this work gear as Preston had in his designer clothes. Even if he somehow found designer gear, he had a feeling it would feel wrong on this form, alien.

The pair headed off. Mateo stayed away from the seats on the bus this time, Juan clapping him on the back. "You're learnin, güey." He sounded almost proud.

***

A few weeks passed in Mateo's new life. And it was pretty much unrelenting misery.

He was worked to the bone at the site, treated like shit, like just another worker by the asshole foreman. The guy treated everyone like trash, but Mateo was used to special treatment. Or had been, anyway. Here he was lugging lumber, digging holes, and pouring concrete for hours on end. He became very familiar with jackhammers; Juan laughed the first time he used one and nearly deafened himself before he handed him ear plugs.

The worst part was the work didn't really get any easier. Mateo already had a body built for it, thanks to Juan's little "gift" but that didn't mean it was easy work. It wasn't. It was hard as fuck every day, and he doubted that would ever change. Juan told him he just had to suck it up and embrace the suck, but Mateo couldn't imagine doing this the next twenty years of his life.

Juan sympathized as only he could. Looking sincere, he placed an arm on Mateo's shoulder.

"Bro, you should be good for 30 years. Don't sell yourself short."

Home--God, and why did it have to feel like that?-- was little better. What should have been a place to rest was anything but. Juan had him working like a criado while he longed about, taking great joy in watching the former rich boy sweat. Though, honestly, Mateo preferred when Juan was relaxing; other times he liked to watch his work, and he always found stuff to critique about it.

"Give that toilet another scrub, güey. Still looks plenty nasty from here."

Mateo turned around and glared. "It wouldn't be so nasty if you aimed while 'pissin."

Juan shrugged. He was leaning by the doorframe, shirt off and beer in his hand. "What can I say? Had no one to impress till you got here, and now I have you to clean for me, homie. Funny how things work out."

It was his attitude that pissed Mateo off the most. Juan always got those digs in, and the worst part was it seemed like teasing. If the vato hated him and spoke with anger he'd at least get it, but he treated ruining Mateo's life like a big joke. Mateo wanted to let his body's natural reaction take over and wipe that smirk off his face, but there was that part of him that feared what else Juan could do to him; the guy was basically a god; in no way would it be a fair fight.

So instead he just mutely nodded and started scrubbing the toilet again.

Juan offered him a beer when he was done.

***

Life continued like this for a little over two weeks before the first big upheaval came about, in the form of a rebar bar.

Mateo was tying down some plywood when a gust of wind hit, knocking a piece of it into him. The impact was just enough to make him lose his balance, and he staggered backwards directly into a pile of rebar. One of the bars directly pierced his left side, and pain surged through him.

"Mierde!" He hissed, pulling the bar away. He was bleeding. Not bad, but it had definitely cut into him. He'd had plenty of experience with pain and discomfort since coming to the site; his back basically never stopped aching anymore, and his feet had blistered up pretty quickly, the cheap boots doing little to protect them. So he kept his mouth shut. He could already hear Juan mocking him for finding a new way to injure himself, and he didn't want to give the guy anymore ammo. He doubted the rest of the crew or foreman would be anymore sympathetic either.

So he pushed through the pain and finished his shift, even though every step made him feel like a red hot poker was being inserted into his side. He'd go home and wash it; that ice cold water was sounding pretty damn nice right about now.

He'd just made it into their apartment when Juan spoke up.

"So ese, when you planning to stop actin like your side ain't wrecked?" His tone was casual, matter of fact.

"Don't know what you're talkin bout, bro." He tried to play it off. Juan snorted.

"You callin me bro? Yeah, you 'dyin, holmes."

"Rebar bar fucked up my side is all. No big."

Juan's stare looked less amused and more concerned. "And you didn't say nothin? Shit, holmes. Let me see."

"I can handle it myself."

"I've seen you limpin half the fuckin day, güey. Toss your shirt and let me see."

Mateo wanted to argue further, but he also lacked the energy to do so. Silently he lifted his shirt and tossed it on the couch. It missed, hitting the floor. Surprisingly, Juan did not offer up any wisecracks. Instead his eyes were focused on the large bruise on Mateo's side. "Holy shit, güey ."

The bruise was a very angry purple spread across most of his side.

"It looks worse than it feels."

"Bullshit. Get on the couch, I'll be right back." Juan's voice was authoritative enough that Mateo didn't object. He limped over to the couch and edged down. Juan returned a moment later, a first aid kit in his hand.

"Where'd you get that from?"

"Under the sink. Its a necesidad in our line of work, hermano. What, you think I never come home with battle scars?"

Mateo had never considered that. Part of him assumed Juan was indestructible. But for all his other flaws, he'd seen Juan work-- and sweat-- as hard as any other guy on the crew, so he must have been telling the truth.

"Hold still." Juan instructed, getting to work. He handed him a bag of veggies, instructing him to put it on the wound for a second. Then he pulled out a spray. "This gonna sting like a bitch."

It did.

"You don't havta do this. I can handle my own business Juan, I ain't soft." The voice that came out was fully street kid, fully Mateo. Preston had no experience with this; any boo-boos he had gotten had likely been kissed by his mother (or more likely one of the help.) Mateo though was a body who was familiar with pain, and he supposed he should be grateful for that; it prevented him from crying as he was sure his old form would have done.

"No one sayin you is. But you useless on the site like this guero. You just gonna make more work for the rest of us, and get a reputation for 'bein deadweight who don't know his own limits."

"Yeah?" Mateo snorted, which turned into a wince as Juan pressed down on the bruise with gauze. "Since when you care?"

"Since you got here. You my responsibility now." Once again, his tone seemed genuine. Mateo looked at him and found his stare was even.

"I didn't think you cared whether I lived or died." he admitted.

"I do, holmes." Juan's voice grew quiet. "Why you think I goin through all this trouble huh?"

"Maybe you just wanna keep me alive to keep torturing me."

"Two things can be true rich boy," Juan's lips curled into a smirk again.

"Ain't rich no more," Mateo's response came automatic again. It stung less than it used to, though maybe that was just because of the physical pain that overrode his mental angst.

"Exactly," Juan smiled again, looking almost proud as he finished up. "Ayy, look at you, güey, finally reaching the acceptance stage of things."

"Fuck off, vato."

By the time they were done, Mateo had a big ass bandage on the side, but he did feel a little better. Juan instructed him to sleep on his other side and avoid putting stress on it. "And tell me if it hurts worse. You start 'tryin be a hero I kick your ass, carnal."

"Fine. And...thanks, man." The word took some effort to force out, but he managed. It felt right to say in this circumstance. He tried to ignore how smug it made Juan look afterwards.

When they headed to bed, Juan insisted he take it.

"I taken the floor the next few nights, güey. But Ima kickin you out once you get feeling better, you feel me?"

This time Mateo allowed the smile to cross his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I feel you holmes."

Mine and @ollie-jumbleroni 's glistens

Men belong together — where physical affection is but a sign of their perfected bond standing above all and everyone.

—

sibling fluff my beloved oh my gosh.

ALSO i had to search for the papyrus font and i didn’t really get the official one so it might look just slightly different from what papyrus usually talks like!! this is supposed to be TS!Underswap but it could also be original Undertale or literally almost any iteration of Undertale because the skelebros relationship transcends universes

(Please ignore the minor voice discrepancy at the start)

Another three weeks passed, and the ice continued to defrost.

There was something almost grounding about Juan's presence these days. Infuriating as his roommate could be, Mateo couldn't deny he was dependable. He gave his all on the site, and never hesitated to help one of his fellow workers--Mateo included. When they staggered home they both had the same aches, and there was a comfort in that. Juan could easily have lorded over Mateo, but he seemed uninterested in doing so.

And sometimes he was downright friendly. Since his change, Mateo's life had been work and sleep; He had no interest in a social life. Juan finally decided he couldn't tolerate that, and all but dragged Mateo to his favorite bar. He had protested at first, but honestly it was good to see a few of the crew out in a social setting. Hell, it was good to be somewhere besides the home or the site. Even if the beer somehow tasted even more like piss here.

One thing led to another and Juan decided to get a game of pool going. Mateo didn't know how to play, even in his old life, so Juan spent some time showing him the ropes. Then he proceeded to demolish him and take twenty bucks from him, shooting him that infuriating smirk Mateo was coming to associate with the man.

"Ey, ain't like you 'usin the money for anything else, carnal."

Mateo had demanded a rematch, and his loss there only lit a fire in him. They started playing a few times a week; Mateo was getting better, and though he'd yet to beat Juan it was currently his number one goal. He found himself looking forward to their ongoing bouts. It was a pretty good way to unwind after a long day.

Mateo couldn't fully let go of his old life though, and one day curiosity got the better of him. He pulled out his phone--it was a clunky, cheap flipphone that took forever to do anything, another "gift" of Juan's when he had transformed him-- and looked up the Ardens. Mostly he wanted to know what happened to his parents. He was-- or had been-- their only child. What were they like in a world they never had him?

As it turned out... remarkably similar. His tata was still mostly focused on his company. His amá kept up with her various social causes (which honestly had been mostly a way to socialize with other bored wives of rich men.) It kind of stung a little, knowing they were pretty much the same with or without him in their life.

He was just about done his research when his eyes landed on someone else. Prescott Arden. Born the same day as him, he also looked very similar. A quick scan of his bio showed he'd pretty much had the same life as he'd had, too. He even had the same entitled smirk, but why wouldn't he? The world had always seemingly existed to serve him.

"Ey, Juan."

"Yeah?"

"You believe this shit?" Mateo showed him the phone. "My moms had another kid in place of me. Same exact motherfucker."

"Oh yeah, that happens." Juan said. "Universe is lazy, güey. Seems like when something changes it often tries to adjust things to be as close as they were originally. Your kinda bro there serves the same role you did. There probably were a few changes in his life compared to you, but chances are he's mostly the same guy you was."

The bitterness returned to Mateo, especially seeing his old face staring back at him, knowing this puta would have everything he was supposed to. Juan though leaned over and laughed, annoying Mateo.

"The fuck so funny, güey?" He tensed up, sure there was going to be another joke at his expense.

"Just... Prescott, holmes? Your folks were unoriginal. They really be going for the closest thing they could to you."

It was pretty absurd, absurd enough to make Mateo momentarily forget his anger as he cracked up.

"Fuck, 'yo right. Not that surprising I guess. Ima hard motherfucker to follow."

"Yeah, holmes. You grew on me. Like a fungus."

Mateo shot him a scowl and a "man,fuck you!" pretending to be more offended than he felt, before he reluctantly joined in on his roommate's laughter.

It only occurred to him later on that Juan may have started that whole diversion to distract him from his bitterness at being so easily replaced.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

***

Work on the site continued as well. Same shit, different day.

Things did change, though. The rest of the crew started to warm up to him, clapping him on the back when they saw Mateo or commiserating with him when they worked together. Mateo wondered if Juan had anything to do with this growing acceptance, but his roommate told him he hadn't.

"Nah. All you, güey. They see you sweating in the heat out there and not bitchin, just 'gettin mierde done. You one of us now, and it shows."

Mateo was surprised at how proud that made him feel, earning the approval of guys who had been doing this for years. It made it a little easier to handle the tough work, and every time someone gave him props, he found himself standing a little straighter.

Juan and him also started to eat together. Before this Mateo had mostly sequestered himself alone, quietly eating his food and taking what little break he could from the madness of the site. That lasted until Juan plopped down one day beside him without ceremony. Mateo was surprised when his arrival didn't even cause him a flicker of irritation.

"Sup, güey."

"Not much, holmes," Mateo shrugged, the word slipping out without much thought. "Just 'tryin to rest my ass; gotta finish up the foundations after this."

Juan whistled. "Gonna need your strength. Here." He handed over the rest of his torta.

Mateo stared at it a moment. "I got my own lunch." He gestured to the remains of the rice bowl he had.

"Yeah, but ain't no reason you can't eat this as well. You a growing boy!"

"Pretty sure I did most of my growin when you changed me up." Mateo pointed out with a smirk. "Like a second puberty right there."

"Hey, don't bitch cause I made you into a beast, homie. Old you would have snapped in half doin this work. But now?" He reached out and squeezed Mateo's bicep, the muscle like solid rock where before there had barely been a pebble. "Yeah, that's some real strength right there."

Mateo couldn't quite keep the grin off his face as he looked at his arms, idly flexing them. "Fine, not the worst part of the change. Hurt like a bitch, though. Coulda done without that."

"You know what they say: No pain, no gain. Now shut the fuck up and eat the damn food, fool."

Mateo did, and he and Juan talked for the rest of lunch. The next day when Juan showed up he wasn't at all surprised. But he was pleased. Somewhere along the line of living and working together, Juan had gone from someone whose company he hated, to tolerated, to maybe sometimes actually enjoyed.

A few nights later found a heat wave hitting the city, and Mateo and Juan's apartment--already almost always uncomfortably warm-- was now a circle of hell.

"Goddamn oven in here,' Mateo complained. He and Juan were sharing the couch, their shirts long discarded. It hadn't helped. Nor did the lukewarm beer, or packs of frozen veggies both men were holding against their bodies. "Ten hours of slinging concrete under the sun, and somehow we get home and its still hotter in here."

Juan gave a laugh besides him, though even it sounded tired. "Bet you 'missin your fancy ass AC right about now, huh güey?"

Mateo let the teasing roll off him. He was more or less used to it by now. "You goddamn right I am, ese. Can't you will some AC into reality or some shit? I'd even take a fan that don't just blow heat around."

"No dice, hermano. This place is tied to me; means I can't change it, or at least improve it. Gonna have to learn to enjoy the sauna, bro."

Mateo shook his head in disbelief. "Damn, 'yo powers aren't good for anything but punishing pendejos like me."

"You said it güey, not me." Juan patted him on the shoulder. "But hey, AC's for pussies. Sweatin 'yo cojones off builds character."

"Could do with a little less character, my güey."

They sat in comfortable silence until something occurred to Mateo.

"Ey, Juan. Remember when we first met?"

An amused look was his answer. "Got a memory or two of it. Why? We at the stage in our relationship we can laugh bout it? Cause I been wantin to. And I guess have been."

"Naw, I just remember something you said. Before you changed me, you mentioned you been workin since you was a kid to support 'yo family." It was a reality Mateo now remembered for himself, though less for his family and more for his own survival.

"Yeah?"

"I've been here, what, two months? A little less? And I ain't ever see them, holmes. Not even seen you call them." He adjusted the frozen food on him. "You guys not close no more?"

"You could say that, yeah." And for the first time, there was something downbeat in Juan's tone. Enough to make Mateo look over at him, which confirmed it; the smile was still there, but it was a sadder one now.

"What gives?"

"I first got these powers at-- shit, 15? Woke up one day and just knew I had em. I experimented a little. You already know nothin I do for myself works. Ima always gonna be this."

"Thing is," he continued. "It worked for them."

Mateo's eyes widened.

"I was tired, güey. Tired of seeing my Mamá stressin bout bills, my Tío doin the same work as us at way too old an age. Tired of seein my little sis have an insane talent for drawin but have no money to practice it.

"So I changed em." He admitted, looking down at his drink.

"You made them rich? And white?"

"The fuck man?" Juan glared at him. "No I didn't make em white, why'd I do that?

Mateo held up his hands. "Okay okay, chill. Just thought, since, you know, you made me poor and brown you did the reverse to em."

"I made you brown because you were a racist jackass, guero." Harsh, but Mateo couldn't really argue with it. "But no, they're still them, just rich as hell. Maybe you heard of em. The Martinezes."

Mateo searched his foggy mind. "Of Martinez Shippin?"

"Yep."

Of course he'd heard of them. They were one of the few families that could compete with the Ardens in wealth. But something still nagged at him.

"Wait, they been famous all my life. I remember I had a Martinez in my class in middle school. If you only changed em a few years ago, how's that possible?"

"Reality rewrites itself." Juan explained. "It probably rewrote your memories along with everything else. As Preston you probably didn't know them originally, but once I flipped things up it seemed like you always did."

Not for the first time Mateo marveled at the immense power his roommate had. For the first time it didn't intimidate him.