When Lightning Strikes

Chapter 8

 You were clutching at Papyrus's arm, like it was a lifeline, like it was an anchor. Nasty, horrible words that you wish you never looked at were spray painted onto the side of the apartment building, with equally nasty, horrible, disturbing images filling the space the words didn't. Nausea twisted in your stomach, bile built up in the back of your throat. Your face pinched up in anger, disgust, and anxiety.

Papyrus let out a deep growl, reminding you of the nickname his alternates gave him, reminding you of the horrible nickname that he didn't deserve, the one he just went with because he didn't want to start an argument about changing, or bother coming up with a different one. Sans scowled at the building, their building that someone had taken an ugly artistic liking to just because the inhabitants weren't human.

You took a deep breath. The three of you were going to be just fine.

The landlord, who had been looking at the damage, came up to them, looking worn out and far more ancient than he should've. Not enough tenants were willing to stay, he informed them. Didn't have enough money to keep it, so he sold the building, he continued.

"They're planning on demolishing it." he said, his shoulders sagged and his eyelashes were damp with tears. "They don't plan on letting anyone stay here. They gave us three weeks to move out. I'm so sorry."

You leaned into Papyrus, clutching at him like he was a lifeline, an anchor. You patted away your own tears and scowled at the unfairness of it all. Your landlord was a good man, a kind man, a fair man.

The three of you made your way upstairs, to the apartment that would no longer be yours. You crashed onto the couch, pulling your computer out so you could search for moving companies that would take on monsters as costumers, a company that could do something with this short notice that you were giving them. Sans moved about the apartment, pulling out boxes to pack things up, starting with the bedrooms and leaving the kitchen for last as Papyrus began making... something in the kitchen. You weren't sure what it was he was making but you did hope that he was using a recipe for it.