dankmemes | (no subject)

(no subject)

( five + one )

how it works:

i. post a comment with the characters you play.
ii. go around and prompt other players with a 5 + 1 prompt (e.g. "Five times Hope said sorry and one time he didn't")
iii. write a fic for the prompts people leave you!
iv. enjoy your fic? we hope?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sans! Your mailbox is getting full again!" Papyrus announces as he enters the house with his mail. He does a lot of things for Sans around the house, picking up his brother's slack with the chores and even feeding his pet rock for him, but the mail is where he draws the line. It is an invasion of privacy to go through someone else's mail!

But nobody responds.

"Sans? Are you in your room?" Papyrus asks, knocking on his door. "Have you not woken up yet? It is 1 PM, that is Pee Emm, it is far too late for you to be sleeping still!" Papyrus opens Sans' door to wake him. Sans' room looks the same as ever. Sock pile, trash tornado, mysterious crumbs everywhere. Someone really ought to vacuum in here.

On Sans' bed, the mattress is stripped of its sheets, which have been bunched up into a pile in the center. From out of the crumple of sheets pokes a few toe bones. Sure enough, Sans is still in bed.

"1 PM still?" Sans says, muffled beneath all that cotton. "Way too early in the morning. Don't talk to me before I have my coffee, am I right?" But he doesn't stir, doesn't move an inch from beneath his blanket cocoon.

"You have not eaten breakfast and it is already time for lunch, you lazybones!" Sans says nothing, moves nothing. Papyrus stops himself from nagging further, realizing he's not getting anywhere with this. He wouldn't. Not today. One of those days Sans has where he doesn't move, barely talks, and... he's probably been up for far longer than Papyrus thought to check on him. Maybe even hours.

That was a mistake, wasn't it? He should've checked on him at breakfast... Papyrus sighs, disappointed at his own lack of care. If he has to take responsibility, he should be doing it right. But he's already made a careless mistake, and he's not sure he can right it.

He can only do his best.

"Would you like me to read to you from one of your books?" Papyrus ventures. Sans makes a noncommital noise. "I can bring you brunch in bed?" Papyrus tries once more.

"Not hungry," Sans says, and at least he got some words out of him. Sans seems to reconsider the silent treatment, and continues, "'M just tired, Paps. Can't a guy sleep around here?"

Papyrus almost incredulously asks if he means to sleep for an entire day, but he knows that won't help so he bites his metaphorical tongue.

"Hmm, let's see what I got in the mail today!" Papyrus says, remembering the letters and flyers still clutched in his hand. He squints at the first letter and sees a bill, flips past that one because that certainly won't help any. "Oh! Grillby's sent us a takeout menu! What gripping literature awaits us in this tome?"

Sans says nothing. Hmm, no bites just yet. Papyrus opens the menu and starts to read from it. "'From the grill to your home, nothing hits the spot like Grillby's! Let's see... Burgers, fries, onion rings, hot dogs... This place is a haven for grease and grease only! Oh, wait, there's a house salad! Have you ever tried that, Sans?"

"No," comes the vacant reply from the bundle of sheets.

"Ah, yes, I forgot, you are above such things as 'salad'. Well, I will stick this menu on the fridge just in case you need it! Oh, the Royal Guard sent us another recruitment flyer... I wonder who does the art for these! Do you know, Sans?"

"No," the pile of blankets says.

Papyrus glances up at it, out of mail. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I... will make you some brunch!" Papyrus announces, hesitating only slightly. "A balanced breakfast! You do not need to eat it right away, just... whenever you get hungry, okay? It will be there for you, right next to your bed!"

"'Kay," Sans says. Maybe he's agreeing just to agree. Papyrus just has to hope he'll change his mind once he smells some good food.

In the kitchen, Papyrus cooks some sausages (a little too long, leaving them dry) and some French toast (weirdly soggy?). He sets it neatly on a plate, which he sets neatly on a tray, which he sets neatly at Sans' bedside.

"I will let you rest for now, Sans!" he says once he's done, proud of his hard work. "Eat up once you are feeling hungry!" Maybe he can think of something better to do for Sans, somehow, something that'll definitely work. Before leaving, hesitantly, he says, "I love you, Sans."

"Love you too," comes the automatic reply. Sans doesn't stir.

Papyrus brainstorms with a pen and notepad well into the night. Nothing sounds right, nothing new he can think of to try to help Sans seems like it would work. He ends up trying in vain to read one of Sans' weird science textbooks aloud, but struggles with a lot of the hard words. Still, he stubbornly sits in the corner of Sans' room, breaking the continual silence with the sound of his voice pronouncing words like "fermion" and "het-- he-- heterotic" until the telltale sound of soft, muffled snores drifts throughout the room.

The food goes cold.