That... the problem... [He stumbles a little on the word, the p and b and m all more difficult for his lips when bunched up like that.] It isn't the couch, brother. We can bolt down a couch. It's...
[Papyrus can already feel himself getting low on breath, and he's barely gotten worked up. Little exercise and little food, catching up to him again. He hisses annoyance between gritted teeth, slows down to try to subtly catch his breath again.]
Surgeons. You know, doctors. We need... [To not get that close to the real problems, when they're still out in the open where people can see his face. He scrabbles for a more bantering sentiment, and settles on:] We need to get some apples.
[Sans holds his expression steady as Papyrus stumbles over his words a little, but he can't help the little twist in his smile when Papyrus mentions surgeons. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, ignoring the stinging pain of his left, still kind of badly-bandaged hand at the motion, and shrugs as casually as he can.] Sure, we can get those. They've got 'em at the grocery store. Hey, apples grow on trees, right? We could put one in the yard.
[Sans has no idea at all how long it takes to grow an apple tree, except "probably a long time".]
Apple trees...? That sounds right. Maybe. [He doesn't really acknowledge the idea of going to the grocery store, because right now... no. He just wants to go home. But for trap planning...] Why stop at one, we can make a whole... apple barricade. Trees all around the yard. I bet that lasts... a lot of days.
[Papyrus gives a breathy laugh, enthusiasm building a little again as he pointedly ignores things like bandages on his brother's hand or the throbbing in his ribcage as he walks. This is more like it. Not Sans's maddeningly unhelpful couch ideas. Something just ridiculous enough to be humorous, and just close enough to maybe effective that he sincerely wants to try it. Cartoonish doctors venturing close to the yard, scalpels in hand, only to hiss at the fruits in the yard and back away.]
How 'bout a maze? [Something a little like what Papyrus used to make in the Snowdin forests, but without the switches.] That way you could put more puzzles inside. And if they get 'em wrong, you drop some of the apples on 'em. [Surely this would be anathema to any doctor.]
Well... [It does sound familiar and homey an idea, building proper mazes. Appealing. But there's an issue with the practicality of it, if they're not using any electricity to automate things.] I don't want, to wait outside, with the apples.
[Worn out by the surgeries and mild malnutrition and lack of good exercise as he is, he could still throw an apple at someone. It wouldn't take too much to just keep a few apples in his pockets - even if it would weigh more than summoning a bone. Besides, the real crux of the matter is:] Something like the lights... so they don't come inside. Whoever they were.
[Sans - and the other rescuers - haven't figured out that part of the mystery, have they...?]
[Sans hasn't been thinking too much about the actual practicality of this apple maze--of course not--but he wouldn't want Papyrus waiting outside either. And that's a little concerning, because normally their opinions on approaching potential danger don't match up like that. Sans can finally see his house--if someone did show up tonight, what could Sans even do? He's used up almost all of his magic reserves. He doesn't have a real good blue magic toss left in him, he's sure. Not without knocking himself out.]
Hey, you're great at puzzles, they won't get through the apple maze to begin with. [Ultimately worthless platitudes, but Sans can't offer anything concrete. They don't know who it was.]
Of course they won't! Not if... that old saying, has any truth to it.
[Of course, if this hypothetical puzzle - based on the repulsive powers of apples on medical professionals - has no actual weight behind it... back to the drawing board. But there's other things to squint at and focus on, like the familiar neighborhood coming into sight. Even with being a little winded, Papyrus picks up the pace. The better to get back into the shade, in a comfortable place, again.]
[Once they're actually inside--Sans picked up the pace, too, for once--Sans locks the door behind them (he's going to have to keep an eye out for Sayori coming back so she's not stuck outside).]
I haven't done much [any] cleaning, but I better get a better review than the last place you stayed. [He nudges Papyrus's arm. It's a thoughtless sort of motion, albeit gentle, but it's only after he's done it that Sans realizes that's the first physical contact he's had with Papyrus since before Papyrus got kidnapped.]
[Papyrus doesn't flinch at the nudge, and it's almost a surprise in the moment he realizes what happened. Every part of him is sore, but his arms aren't sore sore, so it didn't startle him in a painful way. He laughs a little, in a mix of relief and humor at the bad joke, and goes to wipe his eyes - before redirecting to brush his hair back, instead.]
Heheh... Miles above! Incredible, you've won by doing nothing. [With regards to the cleaning, that is - Sans has definitely done several other important things today. Papyrus'll have more gratitude to share on it... later.] And, if you have a bathroom to spare, I'll upgrade your review... to a whole three stars.
[Papyrus really is here. That's a stupid thought, because Papyrus has been there--they've been walking and talking for a while. But now they're back in Sans's house, and even if it's not home and it's not really safe, it's safer, and Papyrus isn't going to be tortured even more at least right now.] I knew if I just did nothing long enough I'd get somethin' for it. Bathroom's all yours, bro.
[Maybe Sans will even make Papyrus something to eat in the meantime. Maybe. Get that up to three and a quarter stars.]
Okay... good. [Papyrus pauses to bump his wrist against Sans's shoulder, a follow-up affirmation that this is real, tangible, and expression of wordless gratitude.
But while it's not torture per se, waiting in the bathroom... it's not likely to be great, either. Seeing the mess of his chest, where he can still feel threads catching on his pajama shirt, and there's clearly bloodstains along the sides of it, and flaking loose along his hairline. Seeing his reflection, for the first time since all this... He takes a deep breath, and steps away.] I'll be, uh... a bit.
Take your time. You know I would. [Sans winks, and his face is locked in place this time, even though he's wondering exactly how bad things are, and if he should actually maybe stay near the bathroom just in case. He hedges his bets and stays upstairs, for the most part. Sans is exhausted, but for once he's restless, too, and that's enough to propel him toward changing out his bedsheets for clean ones. He's not about to make Papyrus take the couch after all that. He dumps his old ones on the couch--Sans can use those himself.]
[It's easiest to start the water and muffle the world outside as the room starts filling with steam. Distantly Papyrus can hear the ongoing motion as Sans shuffles about, but there's no haste or alarm in the sounds, so strange as his brother's mystery labors are, he has other things to focus on.
His pajama top isn't stuck to his sides, an almost pleasant surprise as he removes it - but it's pretty quickly clear, that's only thanks to running around dodging mannequins. There's too much caked blood in common places, between his sides and shirt, and fresh blood in the places most sharply throbbing - torn loose in all the movement, probably.
And in the further inspection... There's the strange soft indentations up and down his ribcage, the places where there simply... aren't ribs, anymore. The long lines of stitches, plainly holding skin together as much as any shirt needs the thread to stay intact. The... other stitches, along the edges of his face, where even a breeze hurts. The impression of white in the mirror at the side of his eyesight as he passes it, and stops to stare into it.
...He'd thought Sans's injury from the zombies had been bad.
...No wonder Kiara seemed confident he could survive losing some ribs, if he's holding it together like this.
...He'd just gotten used to his face.
Within a minute, he abandons the mirror for the hot water, which stings worse than just about anything he's known, but at least he can pretend the pain's not from crying. It's harder to muffle his sobs when he can't get a hand over his mouth itself, can't bite on the nearest towel or anything, but he does his best.]
[One thing about human bodies Sans has noticed is that they react to a lot of the same things his monster body reacted to, but differently. That seems reasonable enough--no magic, lots of weird watery fluids. Different mechanisms, but human bodies still react to shock, to happiness, to sadness. Humans and monsters can both cry.
Papyrus has always been freer with his emotions than Sans. Of course, that's not difficult. Papyrus will cry over movies and over particularly inspiring moments. When he was younger, Sans remembers tears about not making friends. What Papyrus doesn't cry over, not really, is his own injuries, and he's gotten more than Sans ever has. Minor electrocution incidents, training with Undyne... But nothing like this. He's never been hurt like this.
Sans doesn't know what to do. He freezes in the hallway when he recognizes the sound, muffled as it is. It's like a void has opened in his stomach and made all his insides drop at once, sucked up all the heat.
What does he do? He could knock on the door, but Sans wouldn't want someone to see him in that kind of state. Of course, Sans's opinions on emotional closeness aren't really the ones he should follow when it comes to Papyrus. But Papyrus--Sans doesn't think Papyrus would like it anyway. Because-- Because it messes everything up, right? This isn't--how it's supposed to be. Papyrus is very cool and very tough and very brave and he takes care of Sans. And all of those things are true, as far as Sans is concerned, but appearances matter way more to Papyrus.
In the end, Sans just leans heavily against the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom as his mind simmers. Even if it would knock Sans out, if he saw the person who did that to Papyrus right now, he would make his last bit of magic count.]
[Even in the privacy of the bathroom, the door closed with no sign that others are aware of what he's doing or wanting to come in, Papyrus can only cry so much. A few minutes sobbing wears him out, the exhaustion of everything catching up to him. There's only so many tears in him, even if there's plenty more feeling to inspire their flowing, and his eyes stop watering eventually.
Part of it's reflexive, a practiced tendency to try to hide the unhappinesses he hasn't decided to share. To put on a cooler, confident face, so... so the things that only he knows, aren't as real as the things everyone knows.
But part of it... part of it is, he doesn't feel safe yet. Of course he doesn't, with no explanation what happened and no assurance it can't happen again. Once he's down to the point of hiccuping instead of sobbing, eyes and nose stinging with salty residue, he begins to notices how quiet the world outside seems. No more mystery sounds of moving things around. Probably Sans has fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he was doing... probably. He's fine, right? Nothing's happened in the few minutes of Papyrus being here, no second group of unknown kidnappers swooping in to take Sans as soon as they split up. Right...?
He clears his throat, coughs a few times to be sure he can keep his voice steady, then calls out:] S-Sans? Are you out there?
[Sans sure is here--he hasn't moved from that spot in the hall. He'd planned on pretending at having decided to take a nap standing up if Papyrus came out of the bathroom before Sans decided to move. He straightens up and makes sure his voice sounds casual and his response doesn't come too quickly.]
[And, more critically, not kidnapped. Not whisked away to some other location, some even more secret one that no helpful ghosts can point the way to. Not put in... cages... and... Papyrus tightens his hands on his knees and takes another deep breath, shuddering but putting the thought aside. Nope. No need for thinking that stuff, it's fine. But while he's talking, maybe there's something (else) Sans can help with, soon.]
And... I might, uh. Need some bandages. When I finish in here. Do you have any around...?
[Bandages. Is Papyrus going to try to do something to his face, or is there more? He doesn't respond for maybe a second longer than he should, but he tries to make up for it with the first thing that pops into his head:] Hey, nothin' wrong with a good hallway nap.
[Now, as for bandages...] I've got some in Sayori's backpack. [Specifically he'd dumped a bunch of first aid stuff he'd found down in that lab into there. Look at him, having some foresight for once.]
he should ask 'wait, where's Sayori?' but it's not clicking w/ the rest, so he's too tired to yet
Okay, good. [There's a faint scoffing sound, which Papyrus follows with a tired, almost rote scolding instruction:] Don't fall asleep in the hallway.
[Honestly, Sans. At least crash on the couch. Tangled up with holiday lights, or whatever it was they talked about.
...Maybe Papyrus just wants to fall asleep so easily. The water still stings in his wounds, making this an unlikely place for him to fall asleep. Drying off after's unlikely to help, to say nothing of anything they need to do to improve the dressings. And then, finding a place to sleep...?]
I mean, I won't do it again. [Not that he was actually sleeping in the hallway this time. Not that he'll actually refrain from sleeping in the hallway in the future. It's a double lie, but it's not like Papyrus would actually expect him to uphold that one anyway.] You gonna need help with the bandages?
[Sans's experience in self-wrapping has revealed that process to be kind of difficult.]
and he doesn't want to think about much of any of it
Uhh... I need, to finish up, first. [Sobbing while hiding in the hot water, while a little bit cathartic, hasn't done much for losing the grime, and caked blood, and stray rice grains these last days (how many?) have left him with.
But all the cleaning instructions recommend hot water and soap, and soap's the thing still missing from this equation. He scrabbles for the soap bar, lathers up his hand and presses it gently to his side, wincing at the suds sting in the wounds there.]
...G-give me a few more minutes. And I could, uh, use another pair of hands. And eyes. [Yes, in short.
One of the fortunate things is that all the worst injuries are up in his ribcage and head, so he can wrap up in one of those towels and figure out if it's worth washing the pajamas now, or later, or... just getting a different set. But first he needs to finish trying to get clean.]
Good thing I don't have to walk anywhere to get those. [They come conveniently attached. But considering what's happened, maybe he should feel lucky about that. Maybe he shouldn't think about that.] Bet I'll earn another quarter of a star. [Not even working hard enough for a half star, that's Sans.]
Yeah, you could! [Papyrus laughs, quiet and bitter under trying too hard to sound normal - and lets the conversation fade. Talking while actively cleaning himself is awkward, on top of the way dividing his attention leads to even hissed pains from clumsy motions. Better to let Sans loiter in the hall somewhere, hopefully napping rather than listening, and get this over with.
It's more than a couple minutes, between cleaning, rinsing, and letting the water drain as he dries off. But eventually he opens the door a crack, mask still on his face and a towel now firmly wrapped around his waist.]
Hey. I should tell you... my ribcage. Most of it's there, but... That's, uh. the worst. [There's no twitches in the masks's eyebrows or mouth to give away that that's not quite true, but his eyes dart away in obvious avoidance of the matter - and they've both seen his face, anyway.]
[If most of Papyrus's ribcage is there, then some of it's gone. They took some of Papyrus's ribcage. There's nothing that was done to Papyrus that isn't awful, but there's a very specific sort of cruelty in doing something to Papyrus's bones. How long had they been gone? By now Sans is aware that not everyone here was human to begin with, but he hasn't found anyone else in their very specific situation. Even if Papyrus had tried to explain, would anyone have gotten it? Sans's jaw tightens, but if he doesn't comment on how Papyrus looks away then he doesn't think Papyrus will comment on that.]
We'd better not tie anything too tight then, huh? [Sans talks like it's no big deal, like maybe Papyrus overexerted himself during one of Undyne's training sessions. How do you even approach this kind of topic? He swings the backpack, which he hadn't actually taken off yet, around and pops it open to reveal its treasure trove of random first aid items. There's a lot of bandages.]
Right. [Papyrus pulls the door open, backing into the room to let Sans follow. The bloodied pajamas are discarded on the floor, uncharacteristically unfolded, a few feet from the sink. There's a damp, somewhat stained towel beside them, and another wrapped thoroughly around his waist. And the injuries...
The mask covering his lack of face is likely still the worst, ringed in the stitches affixing it to his face, with some unseen underneath even attaching some muscles to it. But his sides have their share of stitches, long incisions around his sides - one on one side, two on the other - where skin and muscles sag and sink inward in a way that betrays the missing ribs. It's with unhappy, tense body language that he gestures vaguely at one, still not quite looking at Sans's face.]
Only... only as tight as needed, thank you. Maybe, if they have room, to grow back...? [That's his hope for his face, after all. Skin... grows back, if with scars, right? It's harder for ribs, and surely harder still without magic to ease it along... but maybe. The key right now is just making sure he doesn't die of leaking blood.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Papyrus can already feel himself getting low on breath, and he's barely gotten worked up. Little exercise and little food, catching up to him again. He hisses annoyance between gritted teeth, slows down to try to subtly catch his breath again.]
Surgeons. You know, doctors. We need... [To not get that close to the real problems, when they're still out in the open where people can see his face. He scrabbles for a more bantering sentiment, and settles on:] We need to get some apples.
no subject
[Sans has no idea at all how long it takes to grow an apple tree, except "probably a long time".]
no subject
[Papyrus gives a breathy laugh, enthusiasm building a little again as he pointedly ignores things like bandages on his brother's hand or the throbbing in his ribcage as he walks. This is more like it. Not Sans's maddeningly unhelpful couch ideas. Something just ridiculous enough to be humorous, and just close enough to maybe effective that he sincerely wants to try it. Cartoonish doctors venturing close to the yard, scalpels in hand, only to hiss at the fruits in the yard and back away.]
no subject
no subject
[Worn out by the surgeries and mild malnutrition and lack of good exercise as he is, he could still throw an apple at someone. It wouldn't take too much to just keep a few apples in his pockets - even if it would weigh more than summoning a bone. Besides, the real crux of the matter is:] Something like the lights... so they don't come inside. Whoever they were.
[Sans - and the other rescuers - haven't figured out that part of the mystery, have they...?]
no subject
Hey, you're great at puzzles, they won't get through the apple maze to begin with. [Ultimately worthless platitudes, but Sans can't offer anything concrete. They don't know who it was.]
no subject
[Of course, if this hypothetical puzzle - based on the repulsive powers of apples on medical professionals - has no actual weight behind it... back to the drawing board. But there's other things to squint at and focus on, like the familiar neighborhood coming into sight. Even with being a little winded, Papyrus picks up the pace. The better to get back into the shade, in a comfortable place, again.]
no subject
I haven't done much [any] cleaning, but I better get a better review than the last place you stayed. [He nudges Papyrus's arm. It's a thoughtless sort of motion, albeit gentle, but it's only after he's done it that Sans realizes that's the first physical contact he's had with Papyrus since before Papyrus got kidnapped.]
no subject
Heheh... Miles above! Incredible, you've won by doing nothing. [With regards to the cleaning, that is - Sans has definitely done several other important things today. Papyrus'll have more gratitude to share on it... later.] And, if you have a bathroom to spare, I'll upgrade your review... to a whole three stars.
no subject
[Maybe Sans will even make Papyrus something to eat in the meantime. Maybe. Get that up to three and a quarter stars.]
no subject
But while it's not torture per se, waiting in the bathroom... it's not likely to be great, either. Seeing the mess of his chest, where he can still feel threads catching on his pajama shirt, and there's clearly bloodstains along the sides of it, and flaking loose along his hairline. Seeing his reflection, for the first time since all this... He takes a deep breath, and steps away.] I'll be, uh... a bit.
no subject
cw: post-surgery fun
His pajama top isn't stuck to his sides, an almost pleasant surprise as he removes it - but it's pretty quickly clear, that's only thanks to running around dodging mannequins. There's too much caked blood in common places, between his sides and shirt, and fresh blood in the places most sharply throbbing - torn loose in all the movement, probably.
And in the further inspection... There's the strange soft indentations up and down his ribcage, the places where there simply... aren't ribs, anymore. The long lines of stitches, plainly holding skin together as much as any shirt needs the thread to stay intact. The... other stitches, along the edges of his face, where even a breeze hurts. The impression of white in the mirror at the side of his eyesight as he passes it, and stops to stare into it.
...He'd thought Sans's injury from the zombies had been bad.
...No wonder Kiara seemed confident he could survive losing some ribs, if he's holding it together like this.
...He'd just gotten used to his face.
Within a minute, he abandons the mirror for the hot water, which stings worse than just about anything he's known, but at least he can pretend the pain's not from crying. It's harder to muffle his sobs when he can't get a hand over his mouth itself, can't bite on the nearest towel or anything, but he does his best.]
no subject
Papyrus has always been freer with his emotions than Sans. Of course, that's not difficult. Papyrus will cry over movies and over particularly inspiring moments. When he was younger, Sans remembers tears about not making friends. What Papyrus doesn't cry over, not really, is his own injuries, and he's gotten more than Sans ever has. Minor electrocution incidents, training with Undyne... But nothing like this. He's never been hurt like this.
Sans doesn't know what to do. He freezes in the hallway when he recognizes the sound, muffled as it is. It's like a void has opened in his stomach and made all his insides drop at once, sucked up all the heat.
What does he do? He could knock on the door, but Sans wouldn't want someone to see him in that kind of state. Of course, Sans's opinions on emotional closeness aren't really the ones he should follow when it comes to Papyrus. But Papyrus--Sans doesn't think Papyrus would like it anyway. Because-- Because it messes everything up, right? This isn't--how it's supposed to be. Papyrus is very cool and very tough and very brave and he takes care of Sans. And all of those things are true, as far as Sans is concerned, but appearances matter way more to Papyrus.
In the end, Sans just leans heavily against the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom as his mind simmers. Even if it would knock Sans out, if he saw the person who did that to Papyrus right now, he would make his last bit of magic count.]
no subject
Part of it's reflexive, a practiced tendency to try to hide the unhappinesses he hasn't decided to share. To put on a cooler, confident face, so... so the things that only he knows, aren't as real as the things everyone knows.
But part of it... part of it is, he doesn't feel safe yet. Of course he doesn't, with no explanation what happened and no assurance it can't happen again. Once he's down to the point of hiccuping instead of sobbing, eyes and nose stinging with salty residue, he begins to notices how quiet the world outside seems. No more mystery sounds of moving things around. Probably Sans has fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he was doing... probably. He's fine, right? Nothing's happened in the few minutes of Papyrus being here, no second group of unknown kidnappers swooping in to take Sans as soon as they split up. Right...?
He clears his throat, coughs a few times to be sure he can keep his voice steady, then calls out:] S-Sans? Are you out there?
no subject
Yeah, what's up?
no subject
[And, more critically, not kidnapped. Not whisked away to some other location, some even more secret one that no helpful ghosts can point the way to. Not put in... cages... and... Papyrus tightens his hands on his knees and takes another deep breath, shuddering but putting the thought aside. Nope. No need for thinking that stuff, it's fine. But while he's talking, maybe there's something (else) Sans can help with, soon.]
And... I might, uh. Need some bandages. When I finish in here. Do you have any around...?
no subject
[Now, as for bandages...] I've got some in Sayori's backpack. [Specifically he'd dumped a bunch of first aid stuff he'd found down in that lab into there. Look at him, having some foresight for once.]
he should ask 'wait, where's Sayori?' but it's not clicking w/ the rest, so he's too tired to yet
[Honestly, Sans. At least crash on the couch. Tangled up with holiday lights, or whatever it was they talked about.
...Maybe Papyrus just wants to fall asleep so easily. The water still stings in his wounds, making this an unlikely place for him to fall asleep. Drying off after's unlikely to help, to say nothing of anything they need to do to improve the dressings. And then, finding a place to sleep...?]
there's a lot to think about
[Sans's experience in self-wrapping has revealed that process to be kind of difficult.]
and he doesn't want to think about much of any of it
But all the cleaning instructions recommend hot water and soap, and soap's the thing still missing from this equation. He scrabbles for the soap bar, lathers up his hand and presses it gently to his side, wincing at the suds sting in the wounds there.]
...G-give me a few more minutes. And I could, uh, use another pair of hands. And eyes. [Yes, in short.
One of the fortunate things is that all the worst injuries are up in his ribcage and head, so he can wrap up in one of those towels and figure out if it's worth washing the pajamas now, or later, or... just getting a different set. But first he needs to finish trying to get clean.]
no subject
no subject
It's more than a couple minutes, between cleaning, rinsing, and letting the water drain as he dries off. But eventually he opens the door a crack, mask still on his face and a towel now firmly wrapped around his waist.]
Hey. I should tell you... my ribcage. Most of it's there, but... That's, uh. the worst. [There's no twitches in the masks's eyebrows or mouth to give away that that's not quite true, but his eyes dart away in obvious avoidance of the matter - and they've both seen his face, anyway.]
no subject
We'd better not tie anything too tight then, huh? [Sans talks like it's no big deal, like maybe Papyrus overexerted himself during one of Undyne's training sessions. How do you even approach this kind of topic? He swings the backpack, which he hadn't actually taken off yet, around and pops it open to reveal its treasure trove of random first aid items. There's a lot of bandages.]
This skeleton has a bad bones to thread ratio these days
The mask covering his lack of face is likely still the worst, ringed in the stitches affixing it to his face, with some unseen underneath even attaching some muscles to it. But his sides have their share of stitches, long incisions around his sides - one on one side, two on the other - where skin and muscles sag and sink inward in a way that betrays the missing ribs. It's with unhappy, tense body language that he gestures vaguely at one, still not quite looking at Sans's face.]
Only... only as tight as needed, thank you. Maybe, if they have room, to grow back...? [That's his hope for his face, after all. Skin... grows back, if with scars, right? It's harder for ribs, and surely harder still without magic to ease it along... but maybe. The key right now is just making sure he doesn't die of leaking blood.]
getting ratio'd in the worst possible way
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)