Secrets Are Ba(n)d

Chapter 9: Thick *Skin*

This is a pretty heavy chapter, be careful moving forward traveler. self harm & alcoholism heavy

"No.. what do you mean?" Papyrus held himself in a hug, half in an attempt to cover some of the dark bruises plaguing his light complection.

"don't play dumb with me papyrus," his voice was cold but slurred, like he was talking to a stranger at the bar.

Of course.

Papyrus sighed, "Sans, you're drunk, you should get some sleep," he took off his boots, wincing.

"papyrus, don't ignore me!" His voice raised slightly, "You're getting into fights? Attacking monsters?" Even through his drunken stupor, worry seeped into his words.

"what.. happened to you?"

The question was laced with so many different emotions, it was hard to put a name to even one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Papyrus' voice lowered to a mumble, his voice starting to quiver. This was what he was afraid of, worse even, whatever she'd been telling people was obviously different from how he'd experienced it.

"that won't work on me buddy, i've known you your whole life, and if you're anything you're a terrible liar."

"..I was with a friend" he spoke quietly, leaning against the wall as he avoided eye contact by any means possible. He felt small, small like when he was scolded as a child, wanting any excuse to get out of there.

Something seemed to snap in the shorter ones head as he groaned in annoyance, quickly catching himself from swaying.

"Oh please, you don't have-"

.
.
.

The silence after was almost worse than the words he was about to say.

" I don't what, Sans?"

The hurt made his voice shake, but the fact he wouldn't even finish the sentence? The very monster that had sworn he was the coolest in the underground, the most popular and loved, finally had something true to say, and refused?

"that's.. that's not what I meant to say," his words were more sober now, his smile in a rare downturned state.

Before some excuse or pun could rattle around in the drunken skull of his brother, Papyrus turned to the stairs and left, slamming his door behind him.

He couldn't help the bones that barricaded the door nor the magic flowing from his eye sockets as he pushed back a sob.

What else did his brother think about him? And all of those kind words and encouragements, were they really just empty compliments? Placeholders to keep him happy?

Frustration built in his soul with every internal question, a banging on the door shaking in his skull, his whole body aching as he looked around for something to distract himself from the painful tears falling from his sockets.

Until his eyes landed on his own bruised and formerly bloodied body.

What had become of his carelessness and unwillingness to fight back.

His thoughts couldn't keep up with him as he held his hand out, a small attack forming with what little power he had left. One motion without thinking, and his HP drained even further.

-1

-1

He continued, the feeling was almost familiar in a far off way, like he just needed to search a little harder for it.

-3

-5
-6

His vision was blurry now and he couldn't tell if it was tears or exhaustion. Maybe both, but he barely saw the bones in front of him as he gave into the familiar strikes, etching new grooves that would take weeks to fade.

-7
-7

-30

And the soothing darkness of sleep welcomed him,

along with the ground.

Waking up was a battle with his senses, his 'ears' ringing, and every part of him begging just to stay still on the soothing cold of the floor.

He stayed lying there for what seemed like hours, his limbs sprawled and the faint smell of dust echoing through his nostrils.

'How long has it been since I swept?' He thought, bitterly.

The events of the night before, or maybe it was the night before that depending on how long he slept, barely clung to his memory. The ache that radiated from his forearms to his shoulder still emanated as a reminder, likely undoing all the progress he'd made towards being pain-free for the next while.

Judging by the makeshift bone barricade on his door, he knew nobody had, or could have, visited him.

While everything in him ached to stay, some part of him, call it his soul, call it clinging to routine, forced him to stand.

The damage he took was almost enough to be alarming, hospitalizing if he played his cards wrong, and so he chugged the stale water on his desk and got to work cleaning and bandaging himself in just a way that could be hidden under a shirt.

He was thankful he took that medical course for the Royal Guard, now. It was another lie to keep up, but he had enough practice for that now.

After some pacing, he finally decided to check his phone. The cracks were noticeable from where it clattered on the floor, but not enough that it was unusable.

One missed call - Undyne

889 words
(Sorry for the short-ish chapter but yikes! Papyrus sure is in a pickle! Seriously though, take care of yourselves, because someone really cares about you.
Enough moping, happy reading, folks!)