The hand that holds the chain(swapfell)part 2

chapter 1

 would have been absolutely foolish if Sans thought for one moment that things would be easy for the future of himself and Papyrus.

And so it was a good thing that Sans was done being a fool.

If it came to Papyrus, it was being taken seriously, and 95% of Sans's life revolved around creating this new life of his. Only the hours he worked in the physics labs and his one-on-one training with Alphys were the other 5% that Papyrus had little to do with.

Even then, he loathed it.

Sans loathed every moment he was away from his little brother, and even the—many—monitors he had in the engineering lab to keep an eye on things and Papyrus on standby in the sidelines of training were hardly enough to assuage his paranoia. Only when Papryus was physically beside him or within spitting distance was Sans calm and at ease.

Every moment Sans was too far away to feel Papyrus's aura, every second Papyrus was not within sight, Sans would be bombarded with the visions of what he had seen being done to his brother, would hear Papyrus screaming for it to end, for his Lord, for SANS.

And Sans LOATHED. IT.

It made him work himself to the marrow to pick himself up when he was on the brink of collapsing during training, made his mind work faster thinking of new attacks, new strategies, and ways to keep himself—and Papyrus—safe and untouchable.

It was funny, he thought to himself as he laid back in bed recovering after a session that nearly had him falling down, that Papyrus had been in this very same predicament some years ago. Pushed to the absolute limit due to some convoluted thought process that he had to be the best, the GREATEST...

...and having his sibling at his bedside worried sick.

Unlike himself, who had fretted over Papyrus with indignation and anger, Papyrus knelt by the bedside like a dog, his hand resting over Sans's, his golden-orange eyelights glimmering wetly with nothing but concern and fear. But also unlike Sans, he said nothing.

Sans woke up to that kicked-puppy look, knowing that Papyrus wouldn't speak until told to. A part of him didn't want to hear it; his own words being thrown back at him of being too reckless, pushing himself too far, worrying his brother too much; but he owed Papyrus that much after his own verbal assault years ago.

He lifted his hand from Papyrus's, resting it on his brother's skull. “...tell me what you're thinking,” he said, phrasing it as a demand rather than a request, knowing that Papyrus would not deny him either but not wanting his brother to censor himself.

Papyrus's eyelights flickered as he bowed his head, as he often did when he spoke. “...I am feeling like I will be alone again,” he replied frankly. “Because....m'Lord will not let me protect him.”

Sans's jaw tightened, his free hand clenching into his duvet. “...you should not be protecting me,” he replied, the terseness in his voice not for his brother, but for himself. “I am your older brother. I am your Lord. It is I who should be protecting YOU.”

“You DO protect me!” Papyrus sniffled. “But why can't I protect you TOO?” He let out a soft sob. “I don't want to lose m'Lord! I can't.....I CAN'T...!”

“Shhhh...” Sans murmured, petting Papyrus's skull lightly. “Don't upset yourself, pet. Your Lord will not fall down that easily.” He gave Papyrus a soft smile before wincing as he forced his body to scoot back to the other end of the bed. “Come here.” He extended his arm, waiting for Papyrus to crawl up on the bed, and curled it around Papyrus's shaking shoulders, pulling his brother closer. “No more talk of that. You haven't been resting, and we're going to fix that. You are no good to me or yourself exhausted, understood?”