Disassemble

Chapter One

693 RESETS LATER.

Papyrus woke up in his usual racecar bed, slowly blinking his eyes open. A new day!

He carefully sat up, making sure to keep himself steady, and walked outside to his brother's door. After giving it about three good taps, he headed downstairs to prepare the morning's meal.

Which, as always, was spaghetti.

Once Sans had gotten downstairs, Papyrus turned from his boiling pot and greeted him, clad in an apron and oven mitts.

"͔̱G̮͈̯̪̦O̷̗̪͓͓̭̠̯O͈̖̹̮̝̘Ḑ̖̲̙͉̺̜ ͇̣M̼̼͇O̧̙̜͕͈͎͚Ṟ̠̘̜̲̠̜N͍͝I̧̗͎͍N̼͔̠͇̱̥͞G͕,̖̘ ̶̮͚b̗͇̥̩̜̮ ͡B̹̜͕͚R͙̟͚̥̬Ǫ̼ ̪̰͎̜̘͓͘T̡̼̺͍H̦͚̯̯͙E͇̳̟̰̼͠ͅ ͔R̦̜̞̠̩̺̙!̶̦"͏͕͕̙̦͖̣̙

Sans took the plate that'd already been prepared for him and leaned up against the kitchen counter, taking a bite. It tasted exactly like every other plate of spaghetti that'd been prepared for him every other 692 times, maybe a bit blander. It looked the same, smelled the same. Everything was the same.

Except for Papyrus' condition, which had been steadily declining as the resets increased.

"morning, bro. the spaghetti's great."

Papyrus took his plate, walking next to the shorter of the two and enjoying it with him. Sans snuck a glance at his brother, noting that he'd worsened. Poor Pap.

There was more orange energy flowing from his eye than before, looking more like a semi-translucent lava lamp mix than flame. The red streak dividing his head and body seemed a bit more displeased today, twitching every few seconds, and the blips of black nothingness that sometimes appeared around him seemed more frequent.

But, at least by keeping him home, Papyrus hadn't died in a month.

However, the taller skeleton sat down his plate and asked the question.

The question that had been building up over the entire time he'd been kept inside.

"͓̙͉̱͖͇͕.̫͓̲̮.̖̩̲͚͔.͙̪͙̰̹̳͞ ̳͖̠̘̖̬͞S̠̬̙̹̘̣̪͘A͙̩̗̖N͕͇̬̻̼̘̜S̭͙?͔̲͜"͖̰̮

Sans snapped out of his small daze, blinking, as he finished off his meal.

"yeah, pap?"

There was a short pause.

"̴͍͖̟̻W͕̮H̜͈̭̪̞͉̺E̸̜͖͚͙N҉͖ ̟͠C̛̥͇̼̖͈̭̲À̬̰͖̝̙̠N ̨̯͕̪̳͉̘Ì̪ ̺͓̭g̺̤͍͖̼̳͟ģ̬͕̱̲̖͉̥ ̧Ģ̲̟̜̬͎O̙̞̩̰͈͟ ҉̩̤O͇N̗̹̩ ̙̘̥͔́S̬̘̹E̗̳̪̪̗͇N͇̜͉t͖͉ ̣̤͈͢R̰͉̣Y҉ ̬̪̰̻̬͘D̨̘̫̗̥͖̻͈Ú̹̺͚̹̣̭͉TY̯̦ ͖̦̼͝A̘̜͚̼̤ ͔̱͍̻̭G̣͎ ͙̲̼̩͉̯́AIṉ̳̠̱̖̭̺͞?̳̰

An uncomfortable silence settled over the two brothers, suffocating them. Sans knew this question would come up eventually, but never this soon.

"bro, we've talked about this. we just don't know yet."

"B̸ƯT ̡I ̷K̡NO͠W͏!! ̢I'̷VE ͞BE͡ ͏eN G̡ETT͜ING ͡S̡T͏R ̕ONG͏ eR͏ ͝R ͠EV͟E̵RY͞ ̕D̛A ̡y҉Y̡! EV͝EN͟ ͟U͝ND҉Y͡ ̡N ̢E ̵SA͞Y̡S S̷O͝ ̨W̷HEN̕ ss͞H͜E̵ ̶V́ISiT̡S̕, ̛I͞'͞M̢ ͟R͠ ̸ÉAD́ ͠Y͡!̵"͏

Sans sighed, looking Papyrus in the eyes. He needed to be firm.

"papyrus, no. we don't know. even if you're feeling better, we can't tell yet, okay?"

The lack of speech from his brother was long and cold.

  "ẂH̀E̛N, ̀SAN͢S͡.͡ W͟HE͡N͢ WIL͡L̢ W͘E ͞KN̨O̢W̶,͝ THEN?͢" 

"we.. i don't know, okay? maybe a week, maybe a month. calm down. your eye's getting jittery again."

Papyrus looked down at himself. The stress from the conversation was causing his scarf and eye to fluctuate at random, more so than usual. He clenched his hands together.

"I̴ ̵K̕NÓW̵ ͜yYO͢U'̧RE TR̶YING T͠O ̵DO̵ W͜H AT'S ̢BEsT̢ ͠F͞O̷R ME,̕ ̷S͞A͡ a͡NŞ,҉ BU̧T WHAT ÀB͞O̧U̷T̴ W͏HA͘T ̨I̶ TH͢I̢N͞K ÌS ̸B͠ĘS͠T͝ FOR̨ M̷Y͠S̛ E̵LF?"

"papyrus. i said no. go sit down before you exhaust yourself."

"͏Y͏O͡U͠ TH̨INK͘ ̸STA̡ND̕IŅG̸ I҉S G̛OI̕N̶G͜ TO͘ ͞E̷X͠H͝A͝US͟T͞ M̵E̡,̢ S̨ANS?̨?̀"͜

He felt patronized. Did Sans really think he was that weak? To the point where standing was going to make him collapse?

"that's not what i- .. look. go sit down. please."

Papyrus took a long, thoughtful look at his brother.

"͞N҉̀͘O̢.͜ ̡Ì̶'M̧ ̷G̡͞OI̧̨Ń͡Ģ̷͝ ͘͜͠O̧N̡͠ ̴̛͢S̢͜E̷NT̨͢͢R̴̕Y̷͘͞ ͏̀D́U͠T̸͠͞Y̴̶.̵̢̕ ̨Í͟͝ ͢W͏͞IL͘L ͢BE̸͠ ̡̕H͞͏͘Ơ͘M̛E̕͟ B͝Ý̕ F́͝͏I̸̧͜V̛̕E҉̧."͏̷

He walked to the door and put a shaky, gloved hand on the knob.

"papyrus, wait--"

He'd already bolted outside.

The only trace of where he could've gone off to were footprints in the heavy layer of powder on the ground.