#trickquestion

Let me start off by saying I’ve learned two very important things recently: 1. That my never-ending patience actually ends after midnight; and 2. When opened with enough force, my front door can launch a fully-grown monster a distance of about a hundred meters—give or take.

…

Okay, maybe add a third to the list: Skeletons are just as durable as they are persistent.

* * *

If someone wants to join the Royal Guard but feels they need a little extra help preparing for the intense entry process, the Underground has tons of options they can take advantage of if they so choose. We’ve got dojos, cram schools, personal trainers, you name it—each and every one licensed and verified by yours truly.

It used be that the Captain of the Royal Guard never got involved this early on, but I fixed that real quick. The Captain should be personally aware of everything at every stage, and they should be both accessible and approachable in case a problem shows up. Like, if there’s an issue at one of the prep schools, or if recruitment numbers suddenly take a nosedive, then that means something’s gotta change—possibly at a very basic or public level. And who better to kick start that change (or prevent the problem from happening in the first place) than the one who, basically, should be the most public face in the entire Guard.

At least, that’s what I think.

To this end, I’ve personally sat in on junior training exercises and given lectures; I’ve dined with recruits who passed the entrance exams on their very first try, and I’ve shared drinks with those who failed ten times in a row—but, dammit, let’s knock back a few and forget for a bit, ya hear?! I’ve also sat down with dozens of ordinary citizens who, though not shooting for anything like the Royal Guard, were just plain sick of the way their lives were going and wanted to turn things around.

I guess what I’m trying to say with all this is that even though I’ve earned an “official” title that affords me a lot of “official” privileges, I’m not about to turn my nose up to the average Joe. The Captain’s duties should go way beyond the fancy suit of armor, and I’m going to make sure it stays that way long after I’ve passed the position on and become a crotchety old pile of dust.

…That said, though, this is the first time over the course of my entire career that I’ve had the pleasure of working with someone of Papyrus’s—what’s the word—magnitude? This guy had the brass balls to bypass every proper, kingdom-accredited training method and bring his (nonstop) requests for “personal Guard preparation” straight to me. No hesitation. No concern for schedules, socially acceptable phone call hours, or even personal space. Rain or shine, there he was—a bony bundle of enthusiasm.

So when Papyrus unsurprisingly bounced back from his 3AM express trip across my lawn care of my front door, I don’t know if it was more exhaustion, admiration, or an overwhelming sense of concern for his well being that finally made the Captain of the Underground’s Royal Guard throw in the towel.

“Alright,” I said. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll run you through the ropes myself.”

And, covered in the muck of Waterfall, his smile could have powered a city.

* * *

I’d like to say Papyrus showed up bright and early for his first session, but that’d be a lie: He never left. I guess camping out in the yard was way more efficient than walking the short distance to and from Snowdin, and “A future Royal Guardsman has to be as efficient as possible. Right, *~*~*Captain Undyne*~*~*??”

I made my coffee extra strong that morning.

Once our start-time rolled around, I stepped out of my house to find Papyrus ready and waiting—albeit, looking all sorts of goofy with his chest puffed to his chin and his arms firmly glued to his sides.

“You can relax a little,” I told him. “This is off-record. I prefer getting to know people without all the stuffy formalities.”

“Yes, Captain Undyne! Right away!” But of course he didn’t relax until I realized he wanted me to say “at ease,” and when I did, he giggled the whole way out of his special form of attention as if it was the best thing he had heard in his life. Then, blatantly ignoring everything I had just said about formalities, he promptly asked, “Captain Undyne? Permission to inquire as to why you are not wearing your armor if we’re going to be sparring?”

“Uh… granted?”

“Why are you not wearing your armor if we’re going to be sparring?” The dude was seriously raring to go, his weight bouncing slightly from leg to leg like some kind of boxer on a sugar high.  

“Slow your roll, there,” I said with a laugh. “If you wanna pass the entrance exams, then there’s more you gotta worry about than just the physical.” From under the crook of my arm, I pulled out a ratty old folder filled to bursting with a whirlwind of papers. “You see, a good Guardsman not only knows how to fight, but when to fight, why to fight, and even if to fight. The twenty-page written exam makes sure all our candidates are aware of this—along with knowing a bunch of Underground laws and other general information. We’re gonna start with that so we can get it out of the way. Just think of it like… pulling a tooth, or something. Painful but necessary.”

Yet, when I tried to give the documents to Papyrus, he held up a hand and politely refused.

“Oh, I’ve heard tall tales about that dreaded test,” he said. “But I can assure you, Captain Undyne, that you won’t need to waste even a second of your precious time on helping me study. I’m a walking encyclopedia when it comes to the Royal Guard.”

Classic greenhorn confidence. Seen it a million times.

“Really now.” I challenged. “Then how ‘bout I ask you a few questions just to make sure?“

Contained within the folder I brought were all sorts of documents I had saved over the years: copies of Guard reports and case files, a few book scans, lists upon lists of various laws and definitions. It was a great big pile of organized chaos that I not only used as a constant reference but also willingly shared if one of my units was struggling with some of the more… technical aspects of the job. Some of it you could find in textbooks; others you’d have to go digging through the bowels of the courts to snag even a scrap. For a solid fifteen minutes, Papyrus and I went back and forth, with me tossing out what I thought were the most impossible questions I could find in an attempt to catch that rookie’s pluckiness of his off-guard.

“That’s an easy one, Captain Undyne! The Magic Conservation Act was signed into law by our very own King Asgore Dreemurr, in the Year of Our Dog 19XX.”

Okay, good, he got the year right. Most people miss that.

“Anti-Human Directive 10? That depends: Do you mean the original or the amended second edition?”

Wait, there’s a second edition?

“The Research Division? Why, that’s a special squad assigned to escort the Royal Scientist during important, castle-mandated fieldwork.”

Hang on, that’s not even public knowledge. I formed that group last week because I was worried about Alphys!

I slapped the folder shut, stunned. “Well, roll me up in rice and serve me with a side of soy sauce.”

“Did I win?!” Papyrus chimed. “Permission to ask if we can spar now, Captain Undyne?”

Somehow, by the grace of whatever crazy being drives this world, Papyrus answered every single Dogdamn question correctly. I didn’t know if I should shake his hand or file for a restraining order. Still, if he was so eager to jump into the fray, then I needed to be absolutely sure of something—that he knew the most important answer of all.

“Listen,” I said. “The reason you’re doing all this is so you can become a Royal Guard, right? You wanna get a cool suit of armor, make a name for yourself, maybe kick a few humans in the keister?” Papyrus nodded with so much vigor, I thought his skull would fall off. “Then, before you can even think of crossing spears with me, I need you answer one last question.” His nod that time was a bit slower. His expression grew solemn, showing that he understood this was important. “Papyrus, what is a Royal Guard?”

“What is a…” He tilted his head to the side, brows drawing together as he mouthed the question.

“…Royal Guard,” I repeated, assuring him that I did, indeed, ask the question correctly. “The individual, not the group—if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Right. Yes. That’s… what I was wondering. Thank you, Captain Undyne.” Papyrus’s voice trailed off into a mumble. He looked to the cavern walls, tapping the ground with a foot as the two halves of his jaw ground together in thought. There was honestly something deeply satisfying watching him fish for a response after he conquered my Q&A session. Finally, after some intense contemplation, he found one—or, rather, a series of them: “A Royal Guard is… someone employed by the Royal Guard? Wait, no. A Royal Guard is a living extension of our king’s righteous paw! Or, well, I suppose you could say that about a lot of things. A Royal Guard is—I’ve got this, Captain Undyne, I swear—is someone who has passed stringent tests and is officially licensed, under royal decree….”

And so on, and so on.

Once Papyrus realized his twisty little spaghetti strand of answers wasn’t getting him anywhere, he stopped talking and just kinda stared at me. Then, all at once, the confidence he built up over the course of the afternoon deflated from his body.

“I’m sorry, Captain Undyne. I guess I… I don’t know the answer to that.” He slumped over so far his voice was muffled in that weird costume of his. The poor guy probably thought he just ruined everything. I couldn’t help but walk over and give him an encouraging pat on the back.

“Well, that’s no good,” I said. “It’s hard to become something if you don’t even know what it is. Still, you’ve got time to figure it out. Study up, and see if you can find the answer. Once you do, we’ll move on to some actual sparring, okay?”

This time, when I handed him the folder, he actually took it.

* * *

Anytime I train someone, I’m reminded of what Alphys once said: The more you observe something, the more you start to notice patterns in its behavior, which then makes it easier for you to form a hypo- … hippoth- … Basically, you hang around something long enough, you get better at predicting what it’s gonna do.

For folks like Papyrus, experience has told me that I have to be a little careful when working with them. I’ve seen his personality type before: a naïve go-getter filled with all sorts of shiny fairy tale dreams that he hopes to live out if he gets into the Guard—which is fine; I’ve got some pretty faffy dreams myself. It’s just, when it comes to his particular type of personality, I’ve learned over the years that their spirits tend to, well, wilt when the going gets tough. Not always, but often enough. That’s not to say they don’t make excellent soldiers, though. The ones who’ve made it through and come out on top are some of the best damn Guards I’ve had ever had the honor of working with. They have this goodness inherent in them that’s getting more and more difficult to find these days.

Unfortunately, in this line of work, that genuine goodness is also getting more and more difficult to keep. When folks like Papyrus join up and realize what real Royal Guard life is all about—when “niceness” becomes “weakness”, when they’re constantly faced with the worst of society… with all the injustices in the world that don’t have easy answers (if any at all)—then that goodness starts to falter. Give it enough time, it rots into bitterness and then anger, even hatred. I’ve seen it mark the faces of many of our veterans. I’ve even struggled with it myself.

That is exactly why I didn’t want Papyrus to jump in to combat training as quickly as he had been hoping—and, probably, why I didn’t agree to train him right away. The most I knew about him before all this began was what I had heard from his brother, Sans, and even that was enough for me to form a conclusion. That first day of training only solidified it: Papyrus is too good. Too nice. In the most beautiful, wonderful sense, Papyrus absolutely does not belong on a battlefield, and I will be damned before I put him there.

I thought starting with the written portion of the entry exam would give Papyrus a good idea of what we do and how I work before he got a taste of the real serious stuff. My plan was to spend a week or two drilling him with questions, grilling him for every wrong answer, and ensuring he learned his stuff through the only way the Guard knows how to teach it—with no punches pulled. Maybe then he would realize, before he got too invested, that this might not be the life for him. That he could back out with no hard feelings and discover a ton of other options just waiting for someone like him.

Then, his uncanny knowledge of Royal Guard matters both public and highly top secret oh my god flushed that idea. Immediately after Papyrus’s first session, I found myself scrambling for a new plan of action.

I needed to know more. If I could learn more about him, maybe find out some of the things he liked to do, I could sort of… nudge him away from the Guard.

Maybe.

I was never good at subtlety, but it was worth a shot.

So, that week turned from “Let’s Learn About the Royal Guard” to “Let’s Learn About Papyrus Instead”—under the guise of teaching him more about the Guard, of course. One day, I took him for a tour of the castle grounds. The next, I showed him around the barracks. The day after, we grabbed a bite to eat at a popular Royal Guard pub in New Home. The whole time, I took a backseat during our conversations and let Papyrus do what Sans said he does best—talk about himself.

And, wouldn’t you know it, it worked.

“You’ll find that my magic is kind of like yours, Captain Undyne, in that it mostly takes the form of projectiles. You’ll also find that it’s not like yours in that it’s really popular with certain … canine types. I’m not sure why.”

“…So, there they were, trying to gang up on Sans. But then—and this is the best part, Captain Undyne—then came the Great Papyrus! Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! We never saw those troublemakers again.”

“…And that was third time I had to swoop in and prevent a giant brawl. All because he was too lazy to give up his special seat at the bar. Can you believe that, Captain Undyne? Who knows what might’ve happened had the Great Papyrus not been there? Sheesh!”

Outside of his countless tales of personal heroism, (all of which held about as much water as Hotland), a common trend across Papyrus’s discussions was his brother…

“Let me be the first to apologize for Sans’s laziness, Captain Undyne. Once I become a Royal Guard, I swear I’ll work three times as hard to make up for his churning void of inactivity.”

…And that got me thinking. Clearly, Papyrus was the type who loved to do things for others. Sure, he complained when “others” meant “Sans”, but it was obvious he still got a kick out of it beneath all his grumbling. If I could steer him towards something like that… something like cooking… cleaning… some kind of job that allowed him to use his talents for the sake of others… then….

It was towards the end of the week that Papyrus gave me back the folder I loaned him.

“I’m sorry, Captain Undyne,” he said. “I read everything in here front-to-back, but I’m afraid I still couldn’t find the answer to your question. And while these conversations have been incredibly enlightening, they, too, have led me no closer to the truth.”

I chuckled. “Well, it’s not exactly an easy question.”

“To say the least. You’ve posed a real stickler, Captain Undyne. A puzzle capable of japing even me! But, if it means you’ll train me in Royal Guard combat, then the Great Papyrus will never give up.” He flashed a confident smile. “So, I talked to some of the Guards myself to see what they thought.”

As it turns out, during the times we weren’t hanging out, Papyrus was running around asking every damn Guard he could find what they thought it meant to be a Guard, and when he pulled out a list of responses that unfurled all the way to the ground, some teeny tiny part of me might have started to think that maybe there was a better way of doing this.

“Were… any of those the right answer, Captain Undyne?” Papyrus asked, once he had read off each and every one. “Don’t tell me it was ‘Bark’ the whole time. Otherwise, I may have to rethink my opinion of Lesser Dog.”

And although I had suddenly learned more about my own guards in the past hour than I had over years of working with them, all I could do was shrug. Papyrus still didn’t get it.

“P-permission to ask for a hint?” His face was the picture of disappointment.

“Do you get hints in the heat of battle?”

“…Yes?”

I shook my head with a laugh. “Chin up and keep working, Papyrus.”

* * *

That weekend, my routine patrol turned up some disturbing news. Papyrus refused to leave his house.

“Eh, sometime yesterday he started moping around. It got so bad, I actually had to go out and buy our groceries. He’s giving even my laziness a run for its money.” Sans’s signature grin only widened, as if this behavior of his brother’s wasn’t something incredibly worrying. “But I always knew he’d grow into his true calling. He’s kind of a late bloomer.”

With that frightening thought in mind, I marched myself right over Papyrus’s place and pounded on his front door. Once, twice, three times. Yet there was no answer.

“Papyrus?” I called. Still no response. Is he in his room? I rounded the back of the house and peered up. A shadow moved behind the second floor window of Papyrus’s bedroom. Bingo. I balled up a wad of snow in my gloves and tossed as lightly as I could. Sure enough, the hefty thump was loud enough to draw a bony white face to the glass.

“Captain Undyne?” Papyrus opened the window a smidge. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I said. “What’s going on? Sans says you’re being quite the lazybones.”

“What? That is not true!”

I shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, it’s weird and it worries me, so I’m not leaving until you come out.” He made as if to protest, but I cut him off. “Papyrus, I’m wearing four layers and am fully trained in survival tactics. Also, there’s a general store down the street. I will wait as long I have to.”

He couldn’t win, and I think he knew it. With a sigh that fogged up the glass, Papyrus disappeared from his window. Not a minute later, I heard the front door open, and I met him on the porch. Dude was a mess. I mean, dark circles under his eye sockets, definitely-did-not-sleep kind of mess. The whole thing gave me a prickle of déjà vu.

“You were thinking about that question again, weren’t you?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Papyrus seemed to fold against the doorframe. “Captain Undyne, should I really be aiming for the Royal Guard, when I, apparently, don’t even know what a Royal Guard is?”

Oh. Oh boy. Here we go.

Well, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

But I didn’t think he’d be this upset!

He really put his all toward this, didn’t he?

What was I thinking?

I…

“Follow me,” I said. “Class is taking an emergency field trip.” When Papyrus didn’t budge, I pulled out my trump card. “Captain’s orders.”

* * *

At the garbage dump between Waterfall and Hotland, there’s a particular place I like to go to whenever life gets me down and I just need a good think. It’s a small hill overlooking the cascades made up of a bunch of appliances that have all rusted together into one big pile of Dog-only-knows what. It’s just close enough to the tourist-y parts to let me keep an eye on everyone while still far enough away to provide a little bit of peace. It’s where I first saw Alphys.

It’s also where I took Papyrus.

Carefully, I hoisted myself up onto what was left of a washing machine. Papyrus plopped down next to me and, staring at his lap, sat there absentmindedly kicking his legs in the air. You could practically see the rain cloud hovering over his head.

“Permission to ask…” He stopped himself. “Um, why are we at the dump, Captain Undyne?”

“So you can see what a Royal Guard is,” I said. “At least, to me.” That seemed to perk him up. He straightened slightly.

“What do you—”

“—Hey, close your eyes, listen for a bit, and tell me what you hear.”

Papyrus did so. “Well, okay. Let’s see … I hear the sounds of the river. I hear bits of trash falling into the water. Oh! I also hear the Great Papyrus.”

“Anything else?”

He listened again for a minute. “…Kids. I think I hear kids.”

Sure enough, a group of tiny voices—the usual crowd of mischief-makers; I could tell—gradually rose above the din of the dump.

“Whoa, check this thing out!”

“What is it?”

“It looks like one of those human game machines. Yeah, see? You use these buttons to move what’s on the screen.”

“Does it work?”

“I dunno. They probably wouldn’t have thrown it out if it did. I can ask my cousin. He knows all about this kind of stuff because he uses lightning magic.”

“But wait, we don’t have any games to go with it.”

“Oh yeah. Well, maybe there’s some nearby. Let’s keep looking.”

The kids carried on like that for a good while, buzzing with excitement over all the things they had found. It was only after they had gone did I turn to Papyrus again. “What do you make of that?”

“Sounds like they were having fun.”

I nodded. “Right? But isn’t it a little strange? I mean, think of where all this stuff came from.”

“…From humans,” said Papyrus.

“Exactly. The very things that killed our ancestors, drew us into an unwinnable war, and then stuffed us all into the Underground. The very things that, even though we haven’t seen one in-person for years—thank Dog—are still part of our society.” I held my arm out over the mountains of trash. “They’re in our classrooms, textbooks, and museums. They’re in our picture books, our TV shows, our homes. They’re even in the far corners of our dreams. For what it’s worth, those kids shouldn’t want to associate with this stuff at all. They should be scared of it. But they’re not. And you know why?” I stood up on the washing machine and gave Papyrus the best grin I could muster. “Because they know they don’t have to be; the Guard will protect them.” I took a breath. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be stuck down here, so the best thing we can do is make sure everyone sleeps soundly today without having nightmares about tomorrow. That, to me, is a Royal Guard: someone who keeps even boogiemen away.”

Papyrus had grown quiet. I wasn’t sure if he was just listening—or if he was surprised, stunned into silence, or what—but his expression, unreadable though it might have been, told me he was hinging on my every word. So, I went on.

“You see, you can memorize facts and protocol until your brain bleeds, master every fighting style known to monster, work your way up to a spot higher than that of even the King … but it all means jack if it doesn’t serve a purpose; if you don’t have a reason, a goal, something that gets you up in the morning and pushes you to do what you do even when every fiber in your body is telling you to stop. For a Royal Guard, well, that’s what makes a Royal Guard.” I gave him a nudge with my elbow. “And that is something you have to define for yourself, Papyrus. Nobody else can tell you the answer.”

Having said what I wanted to say, I took a breath and let my words sink in. Before Papyrus got too involved, before he decided to throw his life—his goodness—out into an uncaring world, I needed him to fully understand: A Royal Guard is what he makes of it…but it shouldn’t be about the gear, the status, the parties, the semi-legal ability to use semi-lethal force… It should be something greater than himself, greater than even the Great Papyrus.

“I’ve got it.” Papyrus’s voice wrenched me from my thoughts. “I know what a Royal Guard is!” He stood up and, once again striking that dorky pose with his hands on his hips, proclaimed to the Underground, “A Royal Guard is someone who makes the world a little safer for those who are small and don’t have a lot of HP!”

That… was quick. I whistled through my fangs. “Nice! I dig it. A ‘protect the weak’ kind of person? That’s totally you, Papyrus!”

He fidgeted and flushed straight to his forehead. “W-well, I don’t know if I’d necessarily say ‘weak’. On the contrary, Sa—”

Unfortunately, the sudden addition of Papyrus’s full weight, coupled with his now excited jitteriness, had loosened the washing machine’s age-old hold on the mountain of trash. With the explosive creaking of corroded metal, our former seat sent us tumbling to the ground atop an avalanche of household appliances.

Again, like I said before, skeletons are just as durable as they are persistent. Fortunately, the same can be said of fish as well. Soaked in nasty water and garbage, and surrounded by a mob of concerned onlookers, we laughed and laughed until we realized our guts hurt not from laughter but from possible internal bleeding.

* * *

As we walked back from the dump that day—two bruised and bandaged peas in a pod—Papyrus had his head tilted to the sky, and his steps seemed doubly as sure of themselves. Yet, watching him saunter about in that overblown stride of his, I got the strangest sense that, for the first time in a long time, Papyrus had finally, truly begun to relax.

Now, if only he could teach me how to do that.

Not gonna lie, I was still worried about him. Like some neurotic, different-species mother, I knew deep down I was gonna worry about him and that brilliant goodness of his ‘til the day I was six feet under. But, I also knew that if I stuck to him like glue, if I became the best Captain I could be…

No, wait, scratch that last bit…—

“Hey, Papyrus? Before we start your training proper, I need you to do one last thing for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m ready for another tough question just yet, Captain Undyne.”

“It’s not that, ya dork. I need you call me ‘Undyne’. No more of this ‘Captain’ stuff, okay?”

“…”

“Remember what I said? Formalities get in the way of getting to know people. I mean, unless you call all your friends ‘Captain’ because, if so…”

“What?! No, not at all! It’s just, you really want to be my… friend?”

“Why not? I think we make a pretty cool team.”

“B-but I’m not a Guardsman yet! I haven’t been trained in honorable combat! I haven’t even—”

“—Papyrus.”

“Yes, Capta-, er, Undyne?”

“Permission to be your friend?”

“P-p-p-p-permission granted!!”