An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Summary: Mettaton is an incorporeal monster who can't sleep. Papyrus is a corporeal monster who won't sleep. The first time they meet, it's an inane hour of the night, and Papyrus is doing squats in front of Undyne's house.
Word Count: 1132
For @papytonweek day 3: Voice. Set in the ghost chara series but can easily stand on its own
XXX
“Three hundred forty-one… Three hundred forty-two… Three hundred forty-three…!”
Mettaton rolled over on his bed, wishing that he had ears to cover. Who on earth could be counting so loudly at this hour? It clearly wasn’t Undyne. The voice was too staccato, and slightly higher pitched. It grated on him like stone on stone.
“Three hundred fifty-six… Three hundred fifty-seven…”
Mettaton stuck his head into his pillow. It hadn’t helped for the first hundred numbers, but he was out of other ideas to tune out the incessant voice. If he was to be corporeal someday, he needed to learn how to sleep. And to sleep, he needed at least some peace and quiet.
“Three hundred sixty-one… Three hundred sixty-two…”
He had heard of counting sheep from one of the human movies that he’d salvaged. Envisioning the endless numbers as small, fluffy animals hadn’t helped him fall into a trancelike state. Neither had picturing them as slow, sleepy snails. Mettaton was beginning to think that sleeping was a hoax.
“Three hundred sixty-nine…”
“That’s it.”
Mettaton threw off his covers dramatically, and they passed through him to land in a heap on the floor. His stupid bed was only useful as a prop for exaggerated tantrums. At least he had emotions to exaggerate today, unpleasant or not.
He phased through the door. Curses. He was supposed to be remembering to unlock it with his key. He was going to be awful at possessing physical matter.
“Three hundred seventy-five…”
Mettaton scowled. Forget the door. Whichever monster had dared to interrupt his sleeping practice was about to get a piece of his mind.
He clung to his spark of anger as he followed the voice around the corner, towards Undyne’s house. It would make sense that such a raucous monster would have equally raucous associates.
“SHUT YOUR—” Mettaton started to shout, before he finally saw the owner of the voice.
It was a skeleton. A skeleton wearing a crop top and booty shorts, which displayed the words “HOT ROD” every time he squatted.
“...beautiful mouth,” Mettaton finished weakly.
“Three hundred eighty—huh?” The skeleton straightened up from his three hundred-eighty-third squat. His skull swiveled back and forth. “Captain Undyne? Has my guardsman-worthy exercise routine earned your respect and admiration?”
Mettaton hovered back behind the wall, flickering erratically. His impassioned anger vanished like a… well, like a ghost.
“Oh well. Three hundred eighty four…”
The voice didn’t sound quite so annoying, anymore.
Mettaton peeked out at the skeleton, watching him squat with perfect form. Those legs. Mettaton would prefer something thicker for his eventual form, but it was impossible not to envy such powerful bones. And such confidence.
Mettaton found himself trying to bend and stretch, mimicking the skeleton’s motions. Foolish. As useless as attempting to sleep.
“Three hundred eighty-nine… Three hundred ninety…!”
Mettaton had no reason to stay. He had no reason to leave either, though. It wasn’t like he could fall back asleep.
…He would stay until four hundred. That was a nice, even number.
“Three hundred ninety-four… Three hundred ninety-five…”
“BOO!” Maddy burst out from the wall, nearly making Mettaton scream. He looked at the skeleton, but his counting had apparently been too loud to notice the noise.
“Why are you perpetuating dull ghost stereotypes,” Mettaton deadpanned.
“Because it’s fun~” Maddy smirked. “Why are you ogling someone so… corporeal?”
“I’m not ogling,”Mettaton huffed quietly. “Besides, you’re the one who’s always spying on Undyne from inside her training dummy.”
“At least I actually talk to her.”
“I’m rolling my eyes,” Mettaton muttered.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you two there!”
Mettaton popped out of visibility in shock. The skeleton was right there, close enough to touch. Curse Maddy and her loud voice.
“No, wait! Don’t… go.” The skeleton sighed, wrapping his arms around himself.
Maddy hadn’t left. She had just gone back to giggling inside the training dummy, leaving Mettaton at the mercy of the skeleton’s deep, mysterious eyesockets.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Mettaton said, though he couldn’t bring himself to phase back into sight. Not when the skeleton looked like that, and Mettaton looked like… nothing. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a nobody.”
“Nobody?” The skeleton perked up, chuckling a soft nyeh heh heh. “Nice to meet you, Nobody! I am the Great Papyrus, soon to be a famous and popular royal guardsman!”
Mettaton thought about correcting him, but decided that would only be more difficult. “Nobody” was a fitting enough name for the way he was now.
“Soon to be?” he asked in return. “I find it difficult to believe you haven’t won Undyne over already. What are you doing out here, beautiful?”
“Captain Undyne slammed the door in my face!” Papyrus beamed. “I can only assume it must be a test of my ironclad will and of my hardy survival skills. Luckily, I have a plethora of both!”
“Of course,” Mettaton said, as if that made any sense to him. Despite the years that Undyne had been his neighbor, he had no idea how the Royal Guard operated, much less how it chose its members. “So, you will be here until…?”
“Until Captain Undyne recognizes my worthiness!” Papyrus posed with his hands on his hips, and Mettaton fought off another spark of envy. He couldn’t wait to have hips of his own.
“Well. Welly well well,” he stalled, trying to stop staring and remember what Papyrus had actually said. Something about Undyne. How had she slept through all of his shouting? “Then… you’re staying the night, darling?”
“Unless Captain Undyne rises before the dawn!”
“She won’t. She usually rolls out of bed after we’ve finished feeding the snails… er, sometime around midmorning,” he clarified.
“Very well!” Papyrus strode back to Undyne’s welcome mat. “Then until midmorning, I will keep my vigil!”
Mettaton followed him invisibly. “But, beautiful, you’re corporeal.”
“Yes? And?”
“Don’t corporeal monsters need sleep?”
“I slept for a whole thirty minutes yesterday! I can’t fall victim to napping recklessly!!”
That didn’t sound right, but Mettaton didn’t know enough about the needs of corporeal monsters to be certain. Papyrus seemed awake, alert, and attractive… er, strong enough, so whatever he was doing must be working.
“Well then. In that case… I will grace your vigil with my presence.”
There was no need to be embarrassed. If Papyrus hung around Blook Acres, he would eventually come across a ghost or two. Mettaton was just another piece of the scenery. Papyrus likely wouldn’t even remember him.
Slowly, Mettaton phased back into sight.
“Oh!!!” Papyrus beamed at him, and Mettaton swore it lit up the cavern. “Nobody! You’re a Somebody!!”
Mettaton chuckled, feeling something flutter within him. Papyrus’s sockets were even more captivating when they were locked on Mettaton’s eyes. While being seen like that…
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Summary: Papyrus wields the power of the Antinewtonian Comedic Matter Effect (aka ACME) for a noble purpose: giving himself lips to kiss his boyfriend.
Word Count: 1712
For @papytonweek day 5: Cooking. Or at least it was supposed to be. I'm not sure that you can consider anything that occurs in this fic to be cooking. Hope you enjoy anyway lol
XXX
“How was your date, bro?” Sans asked as soon as Papyrus slammed open the door. Papyrus hung his scarf on the coat rack, wiped off his boots on the doormat, and altogether made any excuse not to meet his brother’s eye sockets.
“Wonderful!” he said through a tight grin. “Except for the parts that were terrible!”
He pressed his palms to his eyes, soaking up any tears before they could form. It had been wonderful, truly! The zoo had been lit with Christmas lights, reminding him of Snowdin. Mettaton had held his hand the whole time, even snuggling close to share Papyrus’s hot chocolate. The new snail exhibit had shown off a whole new side of the robot, prompting him to share an exciting array of snail facts that had put Toriel’s book to shame. It was the perfect date, which would have had a perfect ending, but—
But.
“Woah, what?” Sans sat up quickly from where he’d been upside-down on the couch. “I don’t get it. Did you have your first fight?”
“We’ve fought before.” He sniffed. “There’s no fight that can’t be fixed with an honest apology and dedication to improving.”
“Cool. Glad you two are good at boundaries.”
“We are! He is so good at boundaries!! And at everything else!!!” Papyrus threw himself dramatically onto the couch. The cushion bounced Sans into the air for a moment.
“Uh. So what’s the problem?” Sans asked. “You regret telling me not to follow you around and play Careless Whisper in the background?”
“Absolutely not,” Papyrus huffed.
“Okay. You’re gonna have to give me some more details, here. Unless, uh, it’s personal or whatever—”
“I can’t kiss him!” he burst, flopping across his brother’s legs. “Mettaton gave me a kiss goodnight for the first time, and it was wonderful and magical and terrible because I can’t kiss him back!!”
Sans gave him an awkward-yet-comforting pat on the head. That meant a lot, coming from Sans.
“I think if Mettaton was worried about that, he wouldn’t have dated a skeleton.”
A loud sluuuurp echoed above Papyrus’s head, despite Sans not holding a drink a moment ago.
Papyrus rolled over and snatched the styrofoam cup from his brother’s hands.
“SANS! How can you drink during a crisis like this??”
The bendy straw dripped blue liquid on Papyrus’s glove. Eww.
“‘S not alcohol.” Sans grinned.
“I don’t care what it is—actually, wait, what is this?” Papyrus squinted at the cup.
It smelled… strange. Aseptic. That was ridiculous, though. Sans would never touch something antibacterial!
“S’ just Windex.”
When Papyrus blinked, the drink ended up back in Sans’s hand. He reclined back on the couch and took a long, slurping sip.
With the lips that he suddenly had.
“SANS!” Papyrus sat up on his knees, gripping his brother’s shoulders. “You know how to give yourself lips!!”
“Yup.” He took another sip through the straw. “You don’t look as grossed out as usual.”
“It’s still disgusting when you do it. However!” Papyrus grinned. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner! You can teach me how to give myself lips, and then I kiss my gorgeous boyfriend! Nyeh heh heh!!”
“Sure.” Sans smacked his lips, wiping them off on the back of his sleeve. “You’re not gonna like it, though.”
“Please, Sans. Whatever difficult magical mastery it requires, I am sure I’m more than up to the task!”
“Hey, I don’t doubt that. You can do anything you put your skull to.” Sans held out his cup and gave it a little shake. “But do you love your boyfriend enough to drink Windex?”
Papyrus stared at his brother. This was some elaborate jape, wasn’t it? There was no way that Sans was actually… drinking…
“You are actually drinking Windex.” His jaw dropped.
“Yup.”
“Something about Windex… gives you lips??”
“Guess it doesn’t have to be Windex. It’s the Antinewtonian Comedic Matter Effect—ACME, for short. Like how you can run through the air or shatter glass inwards, long as it’s funny.”
“Yes, yes, I know about ACME.” Papyrus frowned. “I just don’t think drinking Windex is that funny.”
“Liar.” Sans grinned and took another sip. “If you didn’t, it wouldn’t work.”
Papyrus stifled a snort. Okay, so it was a little funny. But would Mettaton think so? Would Mettaton even want to kiss lips that tasted like Windex?
“You don’t have to try it. I’m just saying, it’s an option.” Sans shrugged. “Mettaton’s gonna love you either way.”
Papyrus sighed.
“You’re right, of course. I may have been… overreacting, just a little.”
Sans patted his shoulder.
“Nothin’ like a little Windex to show you what’s actually important.”
Papyrus squinted. “What made you want to drink Windex in the first place?”
Sans winked.
“A magician never reveals his secrets.”
XXX
“Papyrus! Are you alright, darling?” Mettaton burst through the front door, his screen flashing a panicked sequence of error messages that he couldn’t fight down.
Oops. Being fully corporeal was still taking some getting used to, and his thoughts were occupied with more important tasks than remembering to open doors. He’d flown over to Papyrus’s house in his box form as soon as he’d gotten the concerning text.
Papyrus wanted to talk. In every human romance movie he’d seen, that meant that disaster. Doom. Dumping. And just hours after their wonderful date! What could have possibly happened?
“That’s funny.” On the couch, Sans picked a splinter from his eyesocket and flicked it onto the carpet. “Didn’t think we got signed up for Extreme Makeover Home Edition.”
Mettaton flipped his switch, so that he could appropriately show his remorse through a grimace.
“Oh my. So sorry about that.” He took his wallet from his chest compartment and passed Sans a couple of hundreds. That would be enough to replace a door, right?
“Cool. Papyrus is in his room. Good luck.” Sans winked.
Now that was ominous. Probably. It was difficult to tell with Sans.
Mettaton dashed up the stairs and (thankfully) remembered to knock this time. It helped that Papyrus’s bedroom had plenty of KEEP OUT signs plastered across it.
(He really, really hoped those didn’t apply to him.)
“Darling? Love? Beautiful?” he asked through the door.
“Oh! Mettaton!!” Papyrus flung the door open. “I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly!!”
“Of course I did. I don’t take my partner’s concerns lightly.” Not to mention that if he’d taken any longer, he would have overheated from worry.
Papyrus’s grin stiffened. “Concern? I’m not concerned! I just had a, um, a thought.”
“A thought,” Mettaton echoed, brow furrowing. “A thought that we need to talk about?”
“Exactly!” Papyrus grabbed his hand, tugging him into the bedroom.
Under other circumstances, Mettaton would’ve been elated. Papyrus trusted him enough to let him enter his NO BOYS ALLOWED / NO GIRLS ALLOWED / PAPYRUS ALLOWED bedroom. But surely Papyrus wouldn’t have texted him just for that.
“Hasn’t this dramatic tension drawn on long enough?” Mettaton asked, fiddling with his gloves. “You can tell me anything, darling. I’m a professional. I can take constructive criticism.”
“Criticism? Papyrus’s head tilted. “I was just going to ask if you would still kiss me if I tasted like Windex.”
Mettaton choked.
“Y-yes? But, darling, in what scenario—”
“Cool!” Papyrus pulled a bottle of Windex out of his inventory and slammed it on his desk. “Then we can finally make out!”
Mettaton emotionally bluescreened for a moment. If he had been in his box form, his screen might have fizzled out entirely.
“Is this some sort of… kink thing?” he asked carefully. “Because while I have full respect for your preferences, I personally would prefer a few more months of dating before—”
“N-nonono!” Papyrus waved his hands, blushing furiously. “If I had one or more kinks, I promise they would in no way involve drinking cleaning chemicals! But, um—that’s not important. This… Windex… is purely a practical matter.”
Mettaton let out a sigh of relief. Despite what his stage persona might suggest, Papyrus was his first partner. It had taken him a month of dating to even work up the nerve to kiss Papyrus, much less do anything else.
“Alright. Could you explain more clearly?” he asked.
“Of course!” Papyrus smiled again. “Have you heard of ACME?”
“I was built by Alphys, darling. Of course I’ve heard of ACME. Half of my processes wouldn’t work without it. But what on earth does that have to do with Windex?”
“I’m glad you asked!”
Papyrus unscrewed the sprayer and replaced it with an MTT-brand curly straw. The cuteness of his boyfriend using his merch momentarily overshadowed any other concerns.
They came crashing back as soon as Papyrus started slurping.
“Oh my g—PAPYRUS!” Mettaton surged forward, smacking the bottle out of Papyrus’s hands. “What are you doing? You’re going to make yourself sick!!”
Papyrus caught the bottle with his magic, managing to avoid spilling a single drop.
“Sick? Why would you think that? You know I would never risk my health, even to smooch my wonderful boyfriend!!”
Mettaton blinked. “Alphys always says not to use Windex or other cleaning supplies on my interior processors… but, ah, I suppose you don’t have processors.”
“Or other internal organs!” Papyrus took the bottle again. “It’s completely safe! Even if the taste is disgusting. But I will sacrifice my refined tastes for the sake of our love!!”
Mettaton’s soul-tank warmed. He stepped forward, gently taking the Windex and setting it on the table.
“Oh, Papyrus, darling.” He took Papyrus’s now-free hands in his. “You know I love you no matter what, don’t you?”
“I-I do!!” Papyrus squeezed his hands. “I just thought… I would really like to be able to kiss you.”
“Enough to drink Windex?” He bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
Things were starting to make sense, now. Mettaton had been around the skeleton house long enough to see Sans’s ACME-induced condiment-slurping lips. Papyrus must have decided to sink to his brother’s level, an act of desperation that was as funny as it was endearing.
“Enough to drink Windex.” Papyrus smiled.
Well. Who was Mettaton to deny that level of dedication?
“In that case…” Mettaton picked up the Windex, gave the straw a swirl, and passed it to his boyfriend. “Pucker up, darling.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: G
Summary: Mettaton attempts Papyrus's Gauntlet of Deadly Terror 2.0.
Word Count: 1308
For @papytonweek day 1. The prompt was "puzzles" :)
XXX
“Take seventeen!” Undyne shouted, chucking the seventeenth clapperboard to the ground. Frisk dodged the splinters as it shattered to pieces, just like the sixteen before it.
Mettaton felt rather like that clapperboard after sixteen attempts at Papyrus’s Gauntlet of Deadly Terror 2.0.
“You’ve g-got this!” Alphys grinned, waving a giant foam finger in the shape of Mettaton’s box form.
“Of course I do!” He tossed his hair, making a show of stretching his metal arms. His body was already oiled to maximum flexibility, but it wouldn’t hurt to pose a little for his fans.
Or for his boyfriend, who waved at him from the opposite end of the deadly obstacle course.
“I’ve just been warming up, darlings!” he said to the camera. “There would be no dramatic tension if I aced this puzzle on the first try.”
Undyne snorted at his bluff. He wished he could edit that out of the video, but they were currently livestreaming. Sans gave him a thumbs-up from behind the camera.
“C’mon, you don’t wanna keep my bro waiting. He’s not a patient guy like I am.” He winked.
“SANS! I HEARD THAT!” Papyrus shouted over the roar of flames, gears, and water. “I WOULD WAIT FOR METTATON FOREVER, IF I HAD TO! BUT! I DO HOPE THAT I DO NOT HAVE TO!! BECAUSE I THINK THAT WOULD MEAN THAT MY PUZZLE WAS UNFAIRLY DIFFICULT, INSTEAD OF JUST FAIRLY DIFFICULT!! NYEH HEH!!”
Mettaton pursed his lips. The puzzle was unfairly difficult, for anyone who was not as acrobatic and physics-defying as his boyfriend. But still. He was Mettaton, past star of the Underground, and current star of Papyrus’s ambassadorial YouTube channel. He couldn’t possibly fail in front of a live television audience.
Before he could tell Frisk to start the timer, they ran up and placed something in his hand.
“What’s this, beautiful…?” His eye widened.
It was a key. A familiar, bent, and distinctly unglamourous key.
“For good luck,” Frisk signed, giving him a knowing smile.
“Huh? What’s that?” Undyne asked. Mettaton hoped that if she couldn’t see it, the camera couldn’t, either.
“Just a lucky charm from my number one fan, darling.” He winked back at her, then glared at Frisk. They just laughed silently.
Oh well. It wasn’t like his luck could get worse… probably.
He dropped the key into his chest compartment.
“Ready?” Frisk asked.
He nodded, shaking his arms to loosen up. This was it. He could feel it in his rivets.
“Three… two… one… go!” Undyne punctuated the countdown with an airhorn.
Mettaton dashed towards the bridge. According to Frisk, this was even more deadly than the original Gauntlet of Deadly Terror, which had been built on a stone ledge only painted to look like a bridge. This very real rope bridge swung over a waterfall, one of the many that flowed off of Mount Ebott. He was lucky that Papyrus’s blue magic could save him if he fell.
(Which he had. Ten out of his sixteen attempts.)
“He’s back on the bridge,” Undyne announced over her megaphone, which Mettaton was sure she didn’t need. “Metta-toaster approaches the Gauntlet’s first obstacle again. You know the drill: he’s gotta run through when there’s a gap in the flames. Pretty basic stuff. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll get fried this time, though.”
Mettaton rolled his eye. The flamethrower hovering in midair choked for the briefest moment, and he dashed as fast as he could across the uneven boards. Child’s play.
“Woo! Go Mettaton!” Alphys cheered. It felt almost patronizing at this point.
The flamethrower was by far the easiest of the puzzles, though. Mettaton had to solve a Junior Jumble in under sixty seconds to open a gate, or a giant steel-toed boot would kick him off of the bridge. The Jumble was on an electronic pad and randomized each time, but by now, the words “PAPYRUS,” “COOL,” “SPAGHETTI,” “SKELETON,” “DEADLY,” “GAUNTLET,” and “DUDE” seemed to leap off of the screen. He circled them and dove out of the boot’s way a second before it would have kicked him into the air.
Swinging axes, swords, and maces now separated him from his love. This particular puzzle had put several dents in him already.
“I hope the mace gets him this time.” Undyne laughed.
Mettaton grit his teeth. She could weave through this maze easily, she’d said. The only reason Mettaton was doing this instead of her was because he would bring in more viewers. (And because she hated Junior Jumble.)
“YOU CAN DO IT! DODGING IS JUST LIKE DANCING, AND YOU’RE THE GREATEST DANCER IN THE WORLD!!” Papyrus reassured him.
That might have been an exaggeration, but Mettaton’s soul warmed anyway. Like dancing, hmm? He hadn’t thought of that before.
“JUST FOLLOW MY RHYTHM.” Papyrus swayed to an irregular beat, his cape fluttering in the wind.
No matter which way the blades swung, Mettaton could see him. Now all he had to do was follow.
This would be easier with music, he thought, only to hear a faint, familiar melody over the roar of the waterfall. A swinging, syncopated sequence of beats that made him want to stomp his feet.
“DO YOU LIKE IT? NAPSTABLOOK DONATED THE BACKGROUND MUSIC!” Papyrus beamed. “I HAD PREVIOUSLY TURNED IT OFF TO INCREASE THE DIFFICULTY, BUT IN HINDSIGHT, THAT WAS A MISSED OPPORTUNITY TO SHOWCASE THEIR WONDERFUL COMPOSITIONAL SKILLS!”
Mettaton bit his lip, but still couldn’t help smiling.
“Napstablook is quite the musician, aren’t they?”
“OF COURSE! BUT I THINK YOU CAN ENJOY THEIR MUSIC MUCH BETTER ONCE YOU ARE SAFELY IN MY ARMS, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MY DEATH GAUNTLET.”
“There’s no place I would rather be, darling.”
Mettaton smirked. He’d danced to Napstablook’s tunes since before he’d even had legs. He could prance through this puzzle like a froggit through a field of flowers.
He took a deep breath, hand hovering over the key within his chest, and danced towards the blades.
“What the heck,” Undyne deadpanned over her megaphone. “Alphys, you take over. It’s boring now that he’s not getting pummeled.”
“M-me?” Her voice echoed strangely, but Mettaton tuned her out. He was in the Groove.
He wove between axes like he was made of water. Like he was music, like he was romance. Papyrus mirrored his motions—or maybe Mettaton mirrored Papyrus. They were one with the beat and the blades.
“LAST OBSTACLE!” Papyrus beamed, so much closer now than Mettaton had realized. This was the farthest Mettaton had gotten through the course yet. “DEPLOY THE DOG!”
A small white dog swung in on a rope. It rotated slowly, panting and wagging its tail.
“Hello?” Mettaton’s head tilted. He shouldn’t drop his guard, though. For all he knew, this dog could shoot lasers from its eyes, or something.
He approached it, hands raised protectively. It licked his finger.
“CONFOUND YOU, TRAITOROUS CANINE!” Papyrus stomped his foot.
“I think it’s sweet,” Mettaton cooed, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears.
“O-OF COURSE! THAT IS MY VERY DEADLY AND TERRIBLE PLAN! TO KEEP YOU CONFOUNDED WITH THE… CUTENESS OF THIS MEDDLESOME DOG. AND THEN YOU WILL NEVER COMPLETE THE PUZZLE! NYEH HEH HEH!!”
“I thought you wanted me to complete your puzzle.” Mettaton pretended to pout, staring up at Papyrus through his lashes.
“I DO! BUT NOT SO EASILY!!”
“I hardly think seventeen attempts could be considered ‘easily’...”
“Are you gonna finish the Gauntlet or not??” Undyne shouted through the megaphone, nearly knocking Mettaton off of the bridge with her sheer volume.
“I was just savoring the climax, beauties.”
He gave the dog one last pat, then strolled off the bridge into his love’s arms.
“I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!” Papyrus squeezed him tight, spinning Mettaton until he was wonderfully dizzy.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: The town called Hometown isn't Papyrus's home. But until he can find his way back to his universe, he'll cheer up the melancholy ghost who sounds like Mettaton.
Papyton AU where Undertale's Papyrus ends up stranded in the Deltarune universe.
Chapter 2 up for Day 4: AU for @papytonweek!
XXX
“Howdy!” Not-Asgore smiled wide when Papyrus entered his cute and tidy flower shop. “I haven’t seen you around before. If you need flowers, though, you’ve come to the right place.”
Papyrus’s grin was strained. Of course Not-Asgore didn’t know him. This truly was the worst timeline!
Well, maybe not the worst timeline. He was, after all, here to pick up flowers for a very special someone.
“I am the Great Papyrus, and I am in need of flowery assistance!” He tugged at the collar of his turtleneck—he couldn’t wear his sweaty Jogboy outfit to every hangout with Mettaton. Unfortunately, Not-Sans’s store didn’t sell clothes, so Papyrus was stuck with Not-Papyrus’s dull fashion sense for the time being.
“Golly! This is so exciting! I haven’t had a customer inside the store in… er, nevermind that.” He bustled over to one of the raised flowerbeds, plucking an assortment of stems before Papyrus could even explain what he wanted. “What is the occasion? Tomorrow’s festival? A birthday? A hot date?”
He winked with that last comment, making Papyrus blush.
“It’s—for a friend!” he clarified quickly. It would be rude of him to make any further assumptions, even if Mettaton had invited Papyrus over for several days in a row now. “Today I’m planning to ask him a very important question—”
“A proposal!” Asgore dropped the flowers back in their bed, instead crushing Papyrus in a dangerously tight hug. “Congratulations, my new friend! I will find the perfect combination of flowers that will make him remember exactly why he fell in love with you!”
“Er, that would be very impressive, considering you don’t know me? Or have any idea who he is?” Then Papyrus’s eyesockets widened. “Unless you do know who he is?”
Had Mettaton come to buy flowers for Papyrus, too? The thought turned his skull as red as a fresh strawberry. Mettaton had always wanted to try strawberries. Maybe Papyrus should get him some to go with this not-proposal, because if it all worked out, then maybe, soon, Mettaton would be able to eat them. And if not, Papyrus could “kill” them with tiny bone attacks, and Mettaton could eat the berries’ ghosts.
“Who?” Asgore asked with an innocent blink.
“Er—nevermind! It doesn’t matter, because I am not proposing! Nyeh heh!” Papyrus stepped back and brushed white fur off of his sweater. “Today I am going to ask my ghostly friend if I can help him design his dream body!”
“Ghost?” Asgore’s head tilted slightly. “Golly, I didn’t know any ghosts in our little town used he/him pronouns! Then again, I didn’t know that we had two skeletons, either.”
Asgore returned to his flowers, tapping his claws against the wooden edge of the flowerbed.
“I know that Napstablook likes the pale white flowers I drop off at the station… and Mew Mew seems to appreciate anything, as long as I flex while delivering them.”
Papyrus tried not to wince at that vivid mental image.
“Well!” Papyrus cleared his throat. “I happen to know Mettaton’s favorite flowers, so further inferences or extrapolation will be unnecessary.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Asgore rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. (Goatishly?)
Papyrus pointed out the red roses and pink carnations that he knew Mettaton liked best. Asgore snipped them from their planters, then plucked a few leafy additions of his own.
“You can trust me on this,” he said while he assembled the blooms and fronds into a bouquet. “A good flower arrangement is all about balance, you know.”
Papyrus didn’t know. He’d never bought a bouquet for anyone before. But he supposed Not-Asgore would know best, considering this was his job.
“No need for that, friend,” Asgore said gently when he saw Papyrus reach for his wallet.
(Not-Papyrus’s wallet, technically. Papyrus hadn’t kept his own on him while jogging. But he was sure that his alter ego would understand.)
“Are there other payment customs for flowers in this—er, town?”
Not-Asgore gave a hearty laugh.
“No, no. I just couldn’t charge for a friend of the Blook family. Napstablook is an old friend and… former coworker of mine.” His smile turned a little more sober.
“That is rather kind of you, but I insist.”
Papyrus counted out the amount listed on the sign for a large bouquet. The flowers were to be a gift from Papyrus, not from Not-Asgore. It wouldn’t be right to take them for free.
Asgore looked at the bills on the counter as if unsure what to do with them. Eventually, though, he popped open the cash register and slid them inside, passing Papyrus the flowers in exchange.
The sweet smell brought a smile to Papyrus’s face. That scent would be something Mettaton could appreciate, even if the ghost was hesitant to accept Papyrus’s proposal.
Body-creating proposal, that was! There was nothing romantic whatsoever about wanting to make his perfectly platonic friend’s dreams come true.
The fact that he was skull-over-calcaneus for Mettaton was completely unrelated.
The bones scaling the wall of the ghosts’ home were a permanent fixture now, as was the broken third-floor window. Mettaton said he preferred it that way, and Papyrus was just happy that the ghost was getting some fresh air.
He held the bouquet in his teeth as he climbed up towards the jagged glass. His soul fluttered in his ribcage with each passing moment. What if he was being presumptuous? What if Mettaton incorrectly assumed that Papyrus didn’t like him the way he was? What if Mettaton did want a body, but Papyrus was somehow whisked back home before he could deliver?
It had been awfully long, now. Almost a week. The only person who might be able to help him, though, also happened to be the one who could help Mettaton.
Hopefully.
“Darling!” Mettaton flew to the windowsill as Papyrus dropped inside. The ghost gasped dramatically, his stubby arms attempting (and failing) to cover his mouth. “Oh my… what a beautiful bouquet… could it be…?”
Papyrus took the bouquet from his mouth, twirling it with a flourish.
“For you, Mettaton!” He grinned as he held out the flowers.
He’d been right, of course. Mettaton’s eye sparkled at the display, in a way that sent Papyrus’s soul from fluttering once-per-moment to twice, no, thrice-per-moment.
“Is there a special occasion?” Mettaton looked up to Papyrus’s eyesockets. “Oh no, I haven’t anything for you, beautiful. I… still don’t get out much, you know.”
“No, it’s nothing like that!” Papyrus waved his hands, inadvertently scattering a few tiny leaves. There was some kind of festival planned for tomorrow—Not-Sans had mentioned looking forward to closing the store for the day—but that was unrelated. “I mean, the occasion may be special! If you would like it to be!”
Mettaton smiled softly at that. “Every occasion is special with you here, Papyrus-darling.”
Papyrus’s cheekbones warmed. Every moment with Mettaton was special.
(He wouldn’t let himself worry about how many he had left.)
“Then this occasion is more than special, it’s—splendiferous!” Papyrus said. “I have a meeting with the great doctor—er, Mew Mew’s friend Alphys.”
Mettaton’s head (well, his top half) tilted slightly.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow, darling.”
“If you don’t object, I would like to ask for her help in building you a body! A corporeal one, that is!”
Papyrus willed himself not to sweat. Mettaton was his friend. Even if he didn’t want a robot body, he wouldn’t be upset with Papyrus for trying.
Mettaton’s good eye widened.
“A corporeal body… Like Tettatmon?” he asked breathlessly. “You can do that?”
“Well, Alphys has more robotics experience, which is why I am requesting her help, but I have a design in mind. Which I can show you, if you’d like, but, um, my hands are still occupied with these flowers…”
“Oh! Of course, beautiful!” Mettaton finally accepted the bouquet from Papyrus’s shaking hands.
Ridiculous—the shaking, not Mettaton. This wasn’t even a romantic proposal. Even if flowers were involved, and Mettaton looked like he was about to cry, like in all of the wedding videos that Papyrus had binge-watched.
Papyrus distracted himself by carefully pulling a large sheet of cardstock out of his inventory. The thick piece of paper bore the best drawing of Mettaton—his universe’s Mettaton—that he could create from memory. Considering Papyrus watched his TV show every day, and that he had a photographic memory, he was willing to bet that it was perfect.
Now, he just hoped that this universe’s Mettaton had the same taste.
“This is just an idea—you can change it however you want. It’s your body, after all!” Papyrus held up the drawing, his soul practically beating out of his ribcage.
Mettaton flickered. Opaque-translucent-opaque. His mouth fell open.
“Oh.”
He floated closer, as if he could possess the paper if he only stared at it intently enough. The bouquet brushed up against the page; a drop of dew left a small damp dot over drawing-Mettaton’s core.
“Oh,” Mettaton breathed again. “Papyrus, this is… Stars, if I had this body, I would hug you right now.”
“You—um, yes! Very wise of you! Skeletons are among the most huggable monsters, after all.” Papyrus released the breath he hadn’t needed to hold. “So you… you like it?”
“Like it? Darling, I adore it.” Mettaton set the bouquet in an empty cup of ghost juice so that he could take the drawing. “That silky black hair… those luxurious legs… it’s as if you’ve seen into my soul.”
Finally, he looked up from the page, staring into Papyrus’s eyesockets.
“You truly are a magician,” Mettaton said. “Or perhaps an Angel.”
“Ah—it was nothing! Just my masterful art skills, a handful of colored pencils, and some good luck!” He rubbed the back of his neck, which felt as warm as the rest of him.
Maybe it had been a bit too on-the-nose to draw the other Mettaton’s body so accurately. But Mettaton loved it, and that was what mattered!
“Anyway!” Papyrus clapped his gloved hands together. “Alphys will be ready to see us as soon as school lets out, so if you would like to come, that’s in—” he glanced at Mettaton’s star-shaped clock, “—ten minutes.”
That was by design. Papyrus had planned the timing so that if Mettaton was offended by his offer, he would have an excuse to leave quickly. After all, he still had his own reasons to visit Alphys.
“Nonsense! It only takes five if we run—er, float quickly!”
“No need to censor yourself on my account.” Mettaton chuckled, but then turned away. “It has been… awfully long since I left the house.”
“Then there’s no time like the present!”
Papyrus offered his hand—a gesture that was only symbolic, of course. Mettaton couldn’t hold his hand, no matter how much Papyrus had fantasized about it.
“I must say, your enthusiasm is contagious.” Mettaton smiled. “Alright. I suppose it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
XXX
Alphys’s facebook page showed countless pictures of handcrafted hot robots—though she called them “Transformers,” on account of them folding up into realistic cars. Papyrus wondered if she could make Mettaton’s new body able to do that. Frisk had told him that his universe’s Mettaton couldn’t drive a car to save his life, so perhaps the transformation ability would be useful.
As it turned out, inquiring about her robots had been just the message that Papyrus had needed to send. While she had ignored his five other messages, she had finally agreed to meet with him to discuss her hobby.
Papyrus didn’t know why she wanted to meet at her work, but that was fine! He was adaptable!
…He did wish she’d reply to his message asking which classroom was hers, though.
“This place feels… eerie.” Mettaton shuddered. He cast a pale shadow in the golden light filtering through the school’s windows. “Aren’t schools supposed to be filled with children? It’s so empty, it feels like…”
“Like it’s haunted?” Papyrus joked, trying not to laugh.
Mettaton pouted.
“Very funny. Maybe this is all normal to you, but I haven’t been anywhere that isn’t haunted. I’ve gotten used to hearing my cousin scream at her television on the lower floor.”
“Sorry.” Papyrus gave a smile that he hoped was appropriately apologetic. “I’m sure Alphys is nearby, so we won’t be alone for long! The Alphys I know wouldn’t ghost us!”
“How well do you know Alphys?” Mettaton asked. The pun didn’t seem to have reassured him.
“Well enough to have heard her opinions on Mew Mew Kissy Cutie on twelve separate occasions.” Nine in his universe, three in this one. Did the times cancel each other out if those opinions were completely opposite of each other?
“That means nothing. Even I can’t avoid hearing her talk about that awful cartoon, and I don’t leave my house.”
Papyrus couldn’t help laughing at that. It echoed ominously in the empty building.
“No matter! We’ll just check all the rooms sequentially until we find hers!” He put his hands on his hips before pointing dramatically at the double doors directly down the hall. “Starting with that incredibly important looking one!”
“Alright, darling.” Mettaton hovered close behind him. “Lead the way.”
He did so, despite the strange feeling emanating from the doors.
“Doctor—er, Miss Alphys?” He knocked on the metal door—
And it swung open, revealing nothing but pitch blackness inside.
“Are doors supposed to do that?” Mettaton whispered.
“Well! Maybe she forgot to turn on a light…?” That would be like the Alphys that Papyrus knew.
He took a step inside.
His foot passed through the nonexistent floor.
“That’s odd,” he said, falling straight down.
“Papyrus!” Mettaton shouted, his bright form illuminating the darkness above him.
“Don’t worry! I’m just seeing where this strange shaft goes!” Papyrus called, wind billowing up through his turtleneck.
He wasn’t worried. Blue magic would cushion him whenever he landed. It was weird, though. He was pretty sure his childhood school didn’t have any secret pitfall traps. Maybe it should have. Imagine the puzzle techniques he could learn from whichever monster had crafted this trap!
“Could you fly ahead of me?” he asked. “It would be nice to see the floor before I hit it.”
Mettaton did, but as soon as he passed Papyrus, he disappeared in a flash of light.
“That’s concerning,” he said as light flashed around him too.
Luckily, he managed to land on his feet despite being temporarily blinded. Something felt off, though—or, something finally felt right.
He was back in his battle body. He was back in his battle body! He laughed, hugging himself tight. Finally, no more accursed turtlenecks!
But. Wait. If he was back in the clothes from his universe…
“Mettaton?” he called out, spinning around.
The sky was completely black. All he could see was a fountain of darkness on the horizon, gushing up over an equally dark town. There was no sign of stars, or a moon, or a luminescent ghost.
“Mettaton!” His shout was more desperate this time.
He couldn’t… Papyrus couldn’t have left him. Not now, not when he’d promised to make Mettaton’s dream come true. Not even if it meant that Papyrus could go home.
This didn’t feel like home. Though whether that was because of the empty sky, or because of the lack of his friend, he couldn’t tell.
“Owwww…” a voice groaned from the ground.
Papyrus looked down. A tall, winged robot lay crumpled on the ground like one of Sans’s discarded burger wrappers. Papyrus peered around the multicolored wings to find a face.
“…Mettaton?”
He didn’t look like the Mettaton that Papyrus had drawn. If anything, he looked like a cooler version of one of Alphys’s flashy cartoon characters. That was mostly due to the wings. And the cannon taking the place of his right arm.
But Papyrus would recognize his handsome face anywhere, in any universe.
“I’m sorry, darling, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I feel…”
Mettaton sat up, his massive wings shifting. His hair flared away from his face, showing off the x shape of his bad eye.
“What are you staring at?” Mettaton squinted. “Do I have something on my face?”
Papyrus’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. How could he describe how cool Mettaton looked?
“That was a joke, darling. Ghosts can’t get things on our faces.”
“What about robots?” Papyrus asked.
“...Come again?”
Papyrus wished he had a mirror to show Mettaton his transformation. He settled for the next best thing—a cooking pot that he pulled from his inventory.
“Are you seriously hungry at a time like—” Mettaton cut off, his eye widening.
He leaned forward, left hand reaching out to touch his reflection in the shiny pot. Then his hands flew to his face, his hair, his legs. He leapt up with a laugh—only to almost fall on his face.
“Careful!” Papyrus said, catching him with blue magic.
He slid an arm under Mettaton’s shoulder for more tangible support. Certainly not because he wanted an excuse to hold him.
“I—I don’t understand… Was this all part of your surprise?” Mettaton asked, his wings fluttering slightly. The feathers tickled where they brushed the top of Papyrus’s skull.
“Well, it is surprising,” Papyrus admitted calmly.
If he didn’t worry, then hopefully Mettaton wouldn’t either. Despite wanting a new body, it had to be shocking to transform without warning.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” Mettaton hugged the pot close to the heart-shaped emblem on his chest. “I’m beautiful.”
“Of course you are,” Papyrus replied, his soul practically glowing.
Mettaton was as beautiful as he’d been in any form, in this universe or another. If he was more beautiful now, it was only from the waves of joy pulsing off of him.
“I don’t know how you did it, but… thank you.” He dropped the cooking pot and squeezed Papyrus tight, engulfing him with his soft wings. “You truly are my Angel.”
“If anyone is an angel, it’s you.” Papyrus smiled, not that Mettaton could see. Papyrus’s face was still buried against his metal chest. “I mean, with those wings…”
Mettaton laughed. “Oh, darling…”
If he was going to say anything else, it was interrupted by the sound of clanking footsteps.
“Woah / Sick Robot Dudes”
Papyrus jumped, bonking his head against Mettaton’s chin. His wings parted, giving Papyrus a view of… an eyeless blue robot. The space where her eyes would have been was replaced with a black screen, which read “COOL” in red letters.
“Who is that?” Mettaton whispered, crouching behind Papyrus. It didn’t have much effect, considering Mettaton was now at least a foot taller than him, and he was nothing but bones.
“Um. A new friend, hopefully!” He puffed out his chest. His cape billowed behind him dramatically. Truly this was the best dimension!
…But, still not home. Would he keep being thrown from place to place without warning?
“Sure LMAO / I Just Came Because I Heard A Loud Noise (Clang) / Glad No One Is Hurt” the blue robot said. “So Yeah Like Welcome And Stuff / You’re Going To Love The Castle / I Made Ralsei Install A Battery Acid Pool And Everything”
She looked back and forth, her face displaying a row of question marks. “Speaking Of Which / Where Is The Fluffy Boy / And Kris And Susie / And My Small Round Boy”
Papyrus looked back at Mettaton, who still didn’t seem to be up to talking. That was alright! Papyrus was verbose enough for both of them!
“I don’t know anyone with those names, I’m afraid! We actually, er, fell here by accident? Possibly from another universe?”
It was everything he hadn’t wanted to share before, but if these mixups were going to keep happening, he had to cut to the point more quickly. Besides, it was possible that this new universe’s Doctor Alphys had created this robot. Maybe she could take them to her.
“Yeah Lightners Do That Sometimes LMAO” She laughed, an elegant ohhhhohohoho. “I Am Serial Number Q5U4EX7YY2E9N / But You May Call Me / ‘Queen’”
“Nice to meet you, Queen!” Papyrus grinned. “I am the Great Papyrus, and this is my friend, the incredible and very cool Mettaton!”
Mettaton gave a shy wave with his cannon arm. Papyrus melted a little at the sight.
“A-anyway! We should really be getting back to our universe, so, if you know a way out of here…?”
Papyrus wanted to be optimistic, but he still prepared himself for disappointment. At least if he was stuck here, he wasn’t alone this time.
“Oh Yeah / The $!$? Squad Can Take You Back To The Light World / Whenever They Get Here I Mean”
“$!$?...?” Mettaton echoed the strange noise that she’d made.
“Wow! Very impressive how you can both do that with your mouth! But what exactly is the, er…”
“$!$? Squad” Queen grinned. “Kris And Susie Specifically / They Can Traverse Between Light And Dark As They Please / I Thought That All Lightners Could (Data Error) / Perhaps They Just Need To Teach You How”
“That’s great news!” Papyrus clapped his hands together.
“In The Meantime / My Castle Town Is Equipped With The Following: / Dojo / Grumpy Cat / Cakes (Edible And Boy Varieties) / Dungeon / Butler Café / You Can Do As You Please (Goodbye)”
With that, she ran comically off towards the town.
“That was…”
“Interesting?” Papyrus finished.
“Incredible,” Mettaton corrected. “She saw me.”
He gripped Papyrus’s shoulders—well, gripped one shoulder, and rested his cannon hand on the other.
“She saw me! She thought I was ‘sick’!” His grin vanished for a moment. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“I believe in the context she was using, yes!” Papyrus smiled back. “Unless she meant that your robot form has a computer virus…?”
Mettaton blanched.
“Joking! I am only japing you, nyeh heh!” Papyrus raised his hands. It was a white lie, but it had been irresponsible to worry about Mettaton’s new form out loud.
Mettaton’s head hung, his wings drooping.
“You make a point, though. I don’t know anything about this body. I don’t know anything about… being.” He sighed. “I couldn’t even talk to another robot. I finally had the chance to make an impression, and I wasted it.”
“You still have a chance! I bet that town is full of monsters to impress!” Papyrus gestured towards the distant town. “And, you know… I made the same mistake, actually.”
Mettaton’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, darling?”
“When I first… um, when I first moved to your town… I was afraid to talk to anyone.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, I know! It’s difficult to imagine the Great Papyrus fearing anything! But it’s true!!”
Mettaton laughed behind his cannon hand. “It is hard to believe. Especially considering how hard you tried to talk to me.”
“W-well! I…” He didn’t have any explanation for that. None that would make sense with his carefully crafted backstory, anyway. If Mettaton knew that he really was from a different universe…
Papyrus should tell him. Eventually. Preferably sometime before he was sent back to his own universe.
“It’s alright, darling. You don’t have to explain fate.” Mettaton smiled, stroking Papyrus’s cheekbone with his thumb.
A warm shiver went down his spine. It tugged him out of his thoughts and back into the present.
“Why don’t we start with the Butler Café?” Mettaton said. “I promise I won’t make you do all the talking this time.”
“S-sounds wonderful!” It would be a great place for Mettaton to try eating physical food for the first time. It was going to be so exciting!
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Mettaton’s hand slid down Papyrus’s arm, fingers finally tangling with his. Papyrus could feel the warmth all the way through his gloves. It was even more amazing than he’d imagined.
“Don’t forget to watch your step this time.” Papyrus grinned teasingly.
Of course, anyone would struggle to walk if it was their first time having legs. Particularly considering those legs ended in high-heeled white boots.
“Ha ha.” Mettaton rolled his eye. “I should fall on you again for that.”
Papyrus wouldn’t complain if he did. He blushed and pushed down that thought, tugging Mettaton forward.
“No time for that! Our wonderful friend-making adventure awaits!”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Forgot to post this chapter here, but Winter and I updated the fake dating papyton + skelechara fic (slightly late) for @papytonweek day 6: Flames! Winter did most of the dialogue in the latter half of the chapter and it's hilarious trust me please
Chapter summary: It sinks in that Papyrus is now a Mom. He goes to ask Toriel for advice, and accidentally spills the news to a few others as well.
XXX
“Well,” Papyrus said to himself while adjusting the rear view mirror. “Today has certainly been an adventure!”
The mirror didn’t respond. He didn’t expect it to, of course. The fragmented visions of Dad couldn’t be summoned on demand.
It didn’t stop Papyrus from addressing him as if he could hear, though.
“A Mom. I’m going to be a mom. You’re—you’re a grandpa.” He forced a grin, watching tears well up in his eyesockets. It was a natural reaction, nothing to be embarrassed about. He was sure that Dad would have cried at the news, too.
…He was pretty sure, anyway. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember what his father was like at all. But Papyrus was certain that Dad had loved him. Just as he was certain he would come to love this new babybones.
“I wish I knew how you did it,” he admitted, gloved hands clutching the steering wheel. “You must have been a great father, for Sans and I to turn out so great! And you did it all on your own. At least I’ll have Mettaton with me.”
Mettaton wasn’t here at the moment, having taken the child with him to band practice. Papyrus’s cheekbones still pinkened at the memory of Mettaton’s proposal, and he had to turn away from the mirror.
Of course, Mettaton’s actions had all been for the skeletiny. It was desperation that had fueled him, not love. Not love for Papyrus, anyway—clearly his love for the child was strong enough to prompt this delicate series of japes. It was adorable. Mettaton was going to be a devoted dad, Papyrus was sure of it. Even if he was a robot, and had never had a parental example before…
“We will just have to train extra hard to make up for that! Nyeh heh!”
They could do it. And they would! In fact, Papyrus knew exactly where to start his mom training!
“Talk to you again soon, Dad. Next time I’ll be sure to tell you all about Mettaton and the skeletiny!”
He reset his rearview mirror, shifted his car into gear, and pulled out of Alphys’s driveway.
XXX
Toriel lived in a small log cabin near the monster school. She had built it with her own hands (plus a little help from Sans and Papyrus, and Alphys for the electrical wiring). Thanks to the expert craftsmanship, the house felt as much like home as Papyrus’s own. It helped that the houses were directly next to each other, and that at any given time, both cabins were equally likely to contain Sans.
Papyrus knocked on Toriel’s door. For once, he sincerely hoped that Sans was at their own home, or even at Grillby’s.
“Come in!” Toriel called from inside.
She’d told him multiple times that he didn’t need to knock, but he would never drop the polite habit. There was no telling if one day he would walk in on Toriel and Sans doing something disgusting. Like sloppily throwing those pre-packaged pizza lunches at each others’ faces.
Luckily, the home was pizza sauce-free. Unluckily, Sans was sitting between Frisk and Toriel on the living room rug. His usual hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, leaving him in a white tank top.
“Hey, bro,” Sans said. “Maybe you can convince these funnybones that their bright idea ain’t gonna work.”
Papyrus joined them on the floor, momentarily distracted by whatever japes were currently occurring. Frisk had something pressed to Sans’s humerus. Toriel was holding a damp rag.
Papyrus’s head tilted. “Are they attempting to give you a bath?”
Sans made a choking noise. Frisk’s hands covered their silent laughter, dropping whatever they’d been holding. It wasn’t a bar of soap or a sponge like Papyrus had first assumed. It looked like… a picture? A sticker, maybe?
“Frisk wants to give Sans a temporary tattoo,” Toriel said through a chuckle. “It seems as though that might require skin, but they are determined.”
“Why don’t you try it on me?” Papyrus signed while speaking, even though Frisk was wearing their hearing aid, and they were uncannily skilled at reading skeleton “lips.” “Perhaps Sans’s periosteum is just as slippery as he is!”
“Heh. I’m sure that’s it.” Sans was already on the couch, despite having been on the rug a blink before. Proving Papyrus’s point, as always.
“Fine,” Frisk rolled their eyes while signing. “You don’t get the knife one though. That one was just for Sans. Or for Mom.”
Papyrus nodded. He thought that swords or chainsaws were cooler than knives anyway, but he wouldn’t fight Frisk on that issue.
Frisk dug through their pile of temporary tattoos. In the meantime, Papyrus tried to prepare his question for Toriel. Sans was dozing on the couch, so now was as good of a time as ever.
Papyrus cleared his throat, but then Frisk beamed and shoved a temporary tattoo towards him. His skull blanched when he saw that the image was.
“M-mettaton?” he stammered.
It was a tiny picture of Mettaton’s face. His tongue was sticking out, and for some reason, his bangs were parted on the wrong side.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, composing his voice. He’d kept his cool when Mettaton had proposed. He wouldn’t let his tiny friend rattle his bones now.
“Mettaton gave the children goody bags on their field trip to his news station,” Toriel answered in both voice and sign. “They had a wonderful time. I had to tell him he couldn’t send them home with flamethrowers, however.”
“Why not? Children love flames!”
“They do.” Toriel laughed. “Parents are slightly less fond of them, I believe.”
“No one is too old or parental to love flames!” he insisted. “I still have as much enthusiasm for pyrotechnics as I did before meeting my child!”
The wet PFFFTTT of a spit-take sounded behind him. A few disgusting drops landed on his skull, even though Sans was practically on the other side of the room.
“Hey, c’mon,” Sans said. “You gotta save those jokes for when I don’t have a mouthful of root beer.”
“You did that on purpose.” Papyrus dried his skull with the hem of his red crop top. At times like this, he missed his Battle Body, with its highly root beer-absorbent cape.
“Maybe.” Sans winked. His grin was strained, though, in a way that only his brother could notice. “You, uh, sounded like you said that by accident, though.”
Papyrus’s cheekbones warmed. He hadn’t planned to bring up the skeletiny like this. Preferably, Sans would have been asleep while he asked Toriel for advice privately… but that wouldn’t be a permanent solution. Just like Undyne, Sans would have to know the truth eventually. Or at least, what was passing as the truth for the foreseeable future.
Before he could decide how to answer, Frisk tugged on his arm.
“I have a cousin???” they signed, a hopeful grin on their face. Toriel’s expression beside them was… indescribable.
“Um.” Papyrus cleared his throat. “Yes? I mean, if you consider me to be your uncle, despite the fact that my brother and your mom have yet to officially announce—”
“Bro.” Sans appeared directly in front of him, kneeling in the pile of temporary tattoos. His hands gripped Papyrus’s upper arms.
“I don’t think that Frisk can apply that tattoo with your hands in the way, Sans,” he said.
His brother’s eyesocket twitched.
“Huh. Is this how you feel every time I dodge your questions with puns and stuff?”
Papyrus couldn’t help cracking a grin.
“I was answering Frisk’s question. You are the only one dodging! Everyone knows that you are Toriel are—”
“Dude just tell me if you're joking about the kid.”
Papyrus blinked. He’d never heard Sans speak so loudly before. His breath smelled like root beer.
If anyone would see through Papyrus’s lies, it would be his brother. Papyrus would have to word this carefully.
“It would be rather rude to play with Frisk’s feelings like that.”
Frisk fist-pumped, and then their hands flew through signs almost faster than Papyrus could read. “You have to tell me all about them! What do they look like? Are they a skeleton like you? What’s their name? Where do skeleton babies come from?”
Toriel reached around Sans to put a hand on their shoulder. “Frisk, that’s—”
“It’s alright, Toriel!” Papyrus said. He was actually rather relieved that Frisk asked. It was much easier to talk to them about this than to address Sans directly. “They have every right to be excited! This is exciting, and not at all terrifying!”
Toriel’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“I’m not terrified, or anything,” Sans said quickly, his eyelights brightening a bit. “You’re gonna be a great parent. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Sans!!! That is like, the most overbaked pun ever!! I thought you would put in a little more effort to celebrate my newfound Momhood!!!”
“Hey, cut me some slack here.” Sans rubbed the back of his neck. “I never thought you would adopt a kid without telling me.”
He looked so small and dejected, like a kicked puppy. Or maybe a curled-up snail.
“Oh, I see why you're upset now.” Papyrus started to sweat. “I would never do that!”
“Huh? But then—”
“If I made the choice to adopt a child, and went through the legal system to do so, I would obviously let you know as soon as the decision was made! You would deserve to know that I would be taking a child into our house and raising them on my own!”
“Oh okay whew.” Sans grinned in relief. Frisk flicked him on the humerus, reminding him to sign too. “So, uh. Did you just now decide to adopt a child? Because, uh, that’s great! Just kinda unexpected ‘cause I didn't know you wanted a kid yet, but… uh, good for you, I guess?”
Oh. Hmm. Was this worse? This was worse, probably. Papyrus grimaced, steeling himself to explain.
“Have you heard of—do you—” He frowned, hmming again. “Okay. I’m not sure if you know this, but sometimes… babies come from places… that are…. Not adoption…”
He wasn’t technically lying! The skeletiny wasn’t adopted, legally. Though lying would be the least of his worries if he had to give his brother a dissertation on skeleton reproduction.
“Papyrus.” Toriel’s eyes were wide. “Did you kidnap a child?”
“Well, uh, we technically kidnapped Frisk,” Sans reminded her. Frisk flashed them both a thumbs-up.
“Right, yes.” Toriel grimaced.
“It turned out fine,” Frisk signed, shrugging. “No big deal.”
“Regardless… we can help with this child’s situation, but you should bring them here immediately.”
“Yeah, if their parents suck—I mean, you wouldn’t have stolen them if their parents didn’t suck, right?”
“Or if they ran away,” Toriel added. “We need to make sure that they are safe.”
“Er, actually—” Papyrus tried to interrupt, but Sans and Toriel kept going.
“Toriel still has all the paperwork from adopting Frisk—I can just pop over to the office—”
“And I can prepare a room and guard the house.” Toriel’s palms sparked with flames. “No ill-intentioned biological parents will pass me.”
“You don’t need to fight the biological parents!!” Papyrus finally shouted. “The biological parents are trying their best!!!”
Still not technically a lie! Maybe! Hopefully!!
Toriel squeezed his shoulder. “I am sure that the child does not want you to worry, but if they have run away from home, there must be something wrong. Parents can make terrible mistakes—”
He pushed her hand away, trying his best not to scream.
“You two aren’t listening! It’s me!” He threw his arms in the air. “I am the biological parent!!!”
His shout echoed between the living room walls. Frisk adjusted their hearing aid.
“You’re.” Sans blinked. “What.”
Papyrus was still dripping sweat onto Toriel’s rug. Was that why she was staring at him with such a dumbfounded expression?
“I—er, I did not mean… I have no intention of fighting you, Papyrus.” She extinguished the flames in her hands. “I am sure that you are trying your best…”
“Skeletons can’t have kids,” Sans suddenly said, in such a confident deadpan that Papyrus was momentarily caught off guard.
“Sans. Brother.” Papyrus tried not to sigh. He knew that Sans didn’t remember Dad quite as well as he did, but that was no excuse not to have checked out a library book, or something. “Where do you think we came from?”
“No. Nope.” Sans shut his eyes. “Not having this conversation. Not doing it.”
Toriel giggled a little behind her paw, despite looking just as awkward.
“I didn’t ask to have this conversation!” Papyrus huffed. “Just know that skeletons can have children, and they will!”
Frisk tapped Papyrus’s patella. “I want to have this conversation.”
“No you don’t,” Sans and Toriel responded in sync.
“Maybe later,” Papyrus tried to sign discreetly, but Frisk wasn’t deterred.
“Don’t you need a mom and a dad to have a kid?” they asked. “You’re the mom. So who’s the dad? Do I have another uncle??”
“Well you see, actually—” Papyrus started, despite Sans’s obvious discomfort. It was just biology. If Sans wasn’t going to read a book, then unfortunately, Papyrus was probably the only one equipped to pass on this information. “There are multiple ways that skeletons can reproduce. By burying a rib in the earth, a single parent can grow a new biological child. There is also the process of reanimating, er… human skeletons. But only ones that aren’t being used!”
Frisk nodded, not seeming offended by the new knowledge. Whew.
“Well that’s a relief,” Sans said under his breath. “Thought I was gonna have to deal with a brother-in-law on top of a baby nibling.”
Papyrus grinned tightly.
“Of course there is also the two-monster process of creating a child. Which is. Erm. So Mettaton and I—”
Sans’s skull hit the hardwood with a loud thunk.
“Oh my g—stop being so dramatic!!!” Papyrus said. “This is hard enough without you pretending to faint like some—like some goat from those meme videos you’re always watching!!”
Frisk fell over too, but in their case, it seemed to be from cackling silently. They held their stomach as if the laughter threatened to make them throw up.
Papyrus didn’t know what kind of reaction he’d expected. He’d hoped there would be less pretend fainting involved, but honestly, he was just lucky that Sans hadn’t pulled out a book of baby puns.
…Actually, no. He’d never admit it, but a few puns would be rather nice about now.
“Of course I would have told you as soon as I knew we were expecting but, they were kind of a surprise?” he rambled as the panic set in. “And Mettaton didn't want to make a big announcement because he's always in the spotlight, and he didn't want his kid to be a giant media scandal because we’re not even engaged yet! And I would have told you but I’ve just been so busy taking care of the skeletiny while Mettaton is working and you know they have to be my biggest priority as a mom and—”
“Papyrus,” Sans interrupted, still lying on the floor. “You’re doing great at, uh, mom-ing or whatever. This is, uh, this is a me thing, okay? I just. I’m gonna need the next few… hours? Years? Uh, just gimme some time.”
“Of course,” Papyrus said quickly, relief flooding over him.
He wasn’t a bad mom. He wasn’t a bad sibling. He—he hadn’t even actually created a child! It was a little uncanny how easy it was to forget that once he started talking. He’d even realized several important worries that he’d been suppressing, such as—
“Oh no!!” He gripped the sides of his skull. “What if the media thinks they’re a mistake?? Mettaton and I aren’t even public yet and the presses are brutal and I don’t want our child to google themself in the future only for all of the results to be tabloids calling them a bastard—oh my goodness I’m so sorry Frisk I didn’t mean to say that word in front of you—”
Toriel buried her face in her paws. “Papyrus, please—”
“How am I supposed to even raise a child when I am already failing to censor myself?? Toriel!!” He knelt at her feet, hands clasped in a show of both repentance and desperation. “Your child is very well-adjusted and has a healthy appreciation for deadly spikes! Please, teach me how to become a mom worthy of my skeletiny!!!”
“You think I’m well-adjusted?” Frisk grinned.
“Of course! How could you not be, with such a wonderful group of parents??”
“That is sweet of you, Papyrus,” Toriel said, lifting Papyrus back up with one paw. “However… I have made my own share of mistakes, you know.”
Papyrus blinked up at her, eyesockets damp.
“Did the tabloids call you an irresponsible slut? Not—not that that’s happened yet! Or that promiscuity is a bad thing, I am not slutshaming anyone, I just know that others might and I don’t want this to be a shadow over my child’s future—”
“Bro.” Sans tugged on Papyrus’s arm from where he still lay on the floor. “Mettaton owns the news, doesn’t he?”
“Well, he runs the monster news network, but—”
“No one’s gonna call you a—a slut.” Sans’s skull turned blue as he cringed.
Frisk let out a pfhfhfhfhf of a laugh. “Slut.”
“My child, where did you even learn that sign?”
“Maddy.” They grinned.
“Of course.” Toriel sighed and shook her head. “I suppose that is not technically a swear…”
“It’s not??” Frisk looked disappointed.
“Regardless!” She clapped. “I will do my best to help you, Papyrus. So, ah, is your child an infant, or…? I’m afraid I am not entirely familiar with the skeleton life cycle, myself.”
“Er. Hmm. Well.” Papyrus scratched the back of his skull. He wasn’t actually sure how old the skeletiny was, himself. “It’s somewhat complicated? Let’s assume they’re Frisk’s age. Just for convenience!”
Toriel’s eyes widened. “They are…? Papyrus, how long have you had this child?”
Papyrus started to sweat again.
“Can I phone a friend?”
“Oh man. It’s that bad, huh.” Sans let out a mirthless laugh.
“Sans! I thought we agreed not to slutshame me!!”
“I didn’t.” Frisk grinned. “Slut.”
“Frisk!!!” Papyrus dropped his skull into his palms. Frisk tugged on his hands until he looked up again.
“Uncle Papyrus.” Frisk’s face was more serious now. “I’m just messing with you. You’re the best uncle ever, and you’re gonna be a great mom.”
“Y-you really think so?” he asked.
“Yeah!” They smiled again. “You’re gonna raise me the coolest cousin ever. I can’t wait to meet them!”
“One step at a time, kiddo.” Sans was suddenly standing, his hand on Frisk’s shoulder. “Why don’t we give your uncle and mom some time to talk, huh? Let’s go… I dunno, get some ice cream or something.”
“Why don’t we go tell Maddy?” Frisk hopped up and down.
“Please don’t.” Papyrus cringed. If Maddy and Asgore found out before he could tell Mettaton, he wasn’t sure what would happen. Probably more slutshaming of one form or another.
“Let’s not.” Sans took their hand. “C’mon. I know a shortcut.”
“Wait!” Frisk tugged free, then pressed the Mettaton-shaped temporary tattoo into Papyrus’s hand. “Keep it.”
Papyrus wasn’t sure if he could even wear the tattoo—or the proper method for applying it—but he held it close to his chest and smiled anyway.
Then Frisk and Sans walked back towards the bedrooms. Sans must have been desperate to escape, because he left his hoodie on the couch. Papyrus stood and brushed his hand over it.
He’ll adjust, Papyrus told himself. His brother loved Frisk. His sense of humor was childish enough to get along with any kid. It must only be the suddenness of it all that had him so… like this.
But that was what Papyrus had signed up for. He didn’t regret it. His reputation, however carefully crafted, was meaningless compared to the wellbeing of a new skeleton.
“I am sorry,” Toriel said after a moment of silence. “I hope we did not worry you with our reactions. My child is right. You have the heart to be a wonderful mother, no matter how your child came to be.”
The praise warmed Papyrus down from his skull to his metatarsals.
“That means a lot, coming from you.” He smiled.
He could do this. He could and he would do this. He had his friends and his family by his side, and they believed in him. Despite him giving them every reason not to.
“I am still not sure exactly what advice to give, but how about we discuss it over tea?”
