☤
☤: my muse visits your muse at the hospital
@yougotownednerd
Sans lay so very still. How small he looked, in that narrow bed and his huge fluffy jacket replaced by a thin gown that gave no girth to his tiny frame. Small, vulnerable, fragile.
Papyrus wasn’t breathing. The room spun, centered around his brother laying unconscious in the bed. All the while his mind chanted his fault, his fault, his fault. It was his fault that Sans was like this now; it was his fault that his brother might not wake again.
The faintest bit of orange sparked in the back of his eye socket as he ran a Check. Even without the multiple machines monitoring his brother’s magic, he could see what his HP was at.
One.
Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. Normally a monster’s HP reaching 1 was terrifying, yet one could recover even from that. One was alright. One was something that could be built back up.
Sans was at full HP. 1/1. He couldn’t get any higher.
When did that happen? How long had he been like this? How long had Papyrus failed to notice the danger that he brother was in, how easily he could be snatched away?
Papyrus strained forward, sitting on the very edge of his seat as he reached out to take the limp hand in his. He didn’t know how Sans was still holding himself together now, and knowing how easily his brother could be dead at this moment tore at his soul.
And it’d be his fault.
“I’M SORRY SANS.”
He didn’t know if his younger brother could even hear him but he spoke anyway, if only to relieve his own guilt.
“I’M A TERRIBLE BROTHER, I COULD’VE KILLED YOU. I’M SORRY. I SWEAR I’LL BE MORE CAREFUL FROM NOW ON, SO PLEASE WAKE UP. I WON’T LET YOU GET HURT ANYMORE.”
“I PROMISE.”
