You are one of the best skelebro angst writers I know, could you maybe write a drabble on the "sans gave his HP to his bro growing up" theory? If not that's cool, no pressure!
Well, it's a little longer than a drabble and still not quite how I wanted it but I hope you enjoy anyway ^^"
"I've got you, bro. I've got you. You're gonna be okay."
With the scientific expertise he had now, Sans could safely assume that it had hurt like hell. It wasn't meant to be done; it shouldn't even be possible between monsters that lacked a parent-child soul bond. Defying their biology, winning against the perilous odds of both of them actually surviving it…That experience should have been emblazoned in his memory.
Small hands shaking, twisting in anxious protection around the tattered cloth keeping his brother close. The wind combing icy fingers through his bare ribs, prodding his soul into a frantic drumbeat.
“S’my job to take care of you…”
Somehow, miraculously, he’d forgotten the worst of the pain. That was the first of the two solitary blessings his choice had granted him, and it could never really compare to the second. Papyrus’ eyelights were dazzling as he spun away from his wall of milestone marks.
“I knew it, I knew it! I’m finally tallest in my class! Nyeheheh! I’ll be bigger than you next week, Sans!”
“Yeah, and then I’ll have to start telling you tall tales at bedtime.”
His job to take care. His job to give things up. Adults did it all the time and never seemed scared; they were even glad to if it meant their kids got to be happy. But he and Papy didn’t have any adults.
His job to be one. That kind of strength couldn’t afford the tears that were stinging his sockets, though they only worsened when Papyrus’ tiny fingers curled over his sternum, seeking the source of light and warmth within. Only a babybones and he already knew what he needed.
“You’re gonna grow up big and strong someday.”
That was the last promise made in a world where Sans could be strong for Papyrus—and a promise best kept. He felt the weight of those words like an anchor, pulling on his spine every minute of every day.
Did he ever regret it?
He would give everything for Papyrus—almost everything. The one HP he had scraped back for himself was only to ensure he would survive to see the fruits of his brother’s work.
Every ache and break, every spiral of dizziness, every time his body felt like a battered cage and the anchor dragged him to the ground, Papyrus had the power to bring him back up. His grip was firm, his bones sturdy and his shadow long. Sans could be content to live in it, with a soul as fragile as glass and as light as air.
