Papyrus groaned as he pushed himself off the grass, brushing dirt from his stripes.
“You were throwing me around like a ragdoll all day long…”
He glanced down at his knees, already dark with bruises. He scoffed, waving it off as if it didn’t matter. Just as he lifted his head again—
A familiar red bone attack came flying straight at him.
“—HAH?!”
It slammed into him, knocking him flat on his back. He hit the ground with a pathetic thud, coughing as the air was knocked from his lungs, one hand flying up to his head where he’d struck it hard.
Nearby, perched on a fallen log, sat his father.
Gaster looked almost relaxed—leaned back, arms loose, as if this weren’t supposed to be a training session, as Papyrus insisted on calling it.
Most of the time, all Gaster did was stand up just enough to avoid getting headbutted in the crotch by Papyrus’s enthusiastic lunges.
Other than that, he simply shoved him aside when needed, tossing bones now and then, teasing him relentlessly about how weak he was.
Papyrus was still in stripes.
And yet.
Gaster watched him with interest. The young skeleton never gave up, always scrambling back to his feet, more determined every time he was knocked down.
That persistence was what made Gaster agree to help him train in the first place.
Still, it was hard not to laugh.
Even the smallest bone Gaster threw sent Papyrus crashing to the ground.
“I know..,” Gaster said casually, breaking into laughter. “And I’m an old man! Imagine me in my prime.”
He laughed harder.
“I would have destroyed you.”
