Chapter Text
☾☾
Papyrus wakes up feeling hungry. That’s an understatement, actually. He’s never felt hunger like this before. His stomach aches, it feels like someone has been scratching at his insides with claws. When he sits up he’s hit with dizziness, it’s reminiscent of being hit in the face with a dodgeball in gym class, an all too familiar feeling, only if the dodge ball was made out of steel. Darkness edges his vision, his head is foggy.
He sits up with his knees to his chest and places his head between them. It helps a little. He tries to remember why he feels like this, if there even is a reason. Did he drink last night?
Once the dizziness subsides, he looks to his side, half expecting his boyfriend to be sleeping peacefully beside him. No, he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. What he definitely hadn’t expected to see was a blood splatter. The dizziness comes back almos t instantaneously. He would have thrown up, had there been anything in his stomach. He takes a deep breath and moves from his spot on the bed, to inspect the area he had been laying. More blood.
“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself. He hardly ever curses, but this seems like an appropriate moment.
Despite his state, he manages to get out of bed and walk to Mettaton’s vanity. He checks himself in the mirror, trying desperately to find the source of the blood. There doesn’t seem to be one, not an obvious one at least. The only wound on his body is on his neck, which doesn’t look good by any means, but he’s pretty sure that if he lost that much blood from his neck, he’d be dead already.
He turns around and looks back at the bed. As curious as he might be, he doesn’t have the energy to investigate. He decides, instead, to clean up in the bathroom and then find something to eat.
In the harsh light he can see much more than he had before. His eyes look sunken in, like they do when he doesn’t get any sleep, his brown skin looks grayed, almost blue in some parts, like the midnight sky. He shivers, trying not to think too hard about it.
He washes the crimson blood off his neck with a washcloth, careful not to use one of the nice ones. Mettaton will probably be upset anyway. Not mad though, he never gets mad at Papyrus.
It stings, the water on his wound, and thinking about Mettaton. Why did something like this, whatever this is, have to happen while he was away? The scariest thing is that if he bleeds out and dies, he’ll be leaving him behind. The second scariest thing is dying.
Once the blood is gone, nothing but a bite mark is left. It’s not a small one at all, nothing like the two little dots one would see on vampires in movies, which is good, because it crosses the third scariest thing off his list. It looks more like a human bit him, which is actually still terrifying. He must have been… attacked? In his own bed? It doesn’t sound right, besides, why would they leave him like that? Alive, that is, and it doesn’t seem like anything important is missing from their room.
He goes back into the bedroom, just to double check. Now that he’s feeling a little less light-headed, he notices that things aren’t quite right. The jewelry that used to be on Mettaton’s nightstand is now scattered on the bed. A few other things look like they’ve been tampered with, but despite the mess, everything is still there. Even if he had gotten drunk, Papyrus wouldn’t have done this. Why would he? How would he? He would have had to go out of his way to do it, all he ever wants to do when he’s drunk is sleep. Besides, he doesn’t drink when he’s alone. Someone must have broken in, someone must have had some reason to attack him. Someone who, apparently, saw no need to take anything expensive on the way out.
He leans over on the right side of the bed, forfeiting his original plan in order to tidy up. The necklaces, however, are hot to the touch. He yelps as he pulls his hand back. He inspects it after a moment. There’s no sign of a burn on his fingertips, but he notices that blue lines are etched into the lighter skin of his palms. It’s like he’s transparent. It’s... disturbing.
He’s only seen a dead person, a real one that is, once. It’s not something he likes to be reminded of. Whenever he is, it’s always like he’s there again. Eight years old, holding his older brother’s hand. Morning light streams in from stained glass windows. It’s quiet, or maybe he had just tuned everything out. All he can hear is the sound of his sneakers on the tile floor. His brother squeezes his hand. He looks so mature. He’s only twelve, but his eyes look so much older. He must have had to grow up so fast.
Papyrus had not wanted to see his father’s face again. At least, not like this. He looks… cold. Like dark gray and blue. The sky before a thunderstorm.
Sometimes he can’t even remember what he looked like alive. Warmer, surely. He wasn’t around much, always working and studying. If only he knew.
Another pang of awful hunger snaps him out of it. He had never been so grateful for such terrible pain. He gets up and heads to the kitchen before he even has the time to think about it. Nothing seems filling, or appetizing. He can’t bring himself to eat any of it, despite the fact that he’s not in the quite the right situation to be acting picky.
Out of desperation, he opens the meat drawer of the fridge. None of the food in there is his. He’s a vegetarian, it’s hardly a moral thing, although he loves animals. It’s more so that he finds the texture of meat unbearable. The next thing he knows, half of the drawer is empty. He barely remembers eating it all, but he feels so much better than before.
To his dismay, the warmth has not returned to his skin, although his eyes look closer to what they normally do. Maybe his diet gave him some kind of iron deficiency. Mettaton’s best friend is a doctor. She said that was common with people who don’t eat meat. A lot of them have to take supplements.
It doesn’t explain the blood, though. Or anything else actually. He almost thinks to call her, but he doesn’t want to freak her out. Besides, this is clearly more than a health issue.
His head feels much clearer without all the pain and dizziness. He’s still not sure what the right thing to do is. There’s no way he’s going to call the police. That might be what you’re “supposed” to do, but what could they even do? They’d assume he was on drugs or something, he sure looks like it. It would just complicate things. He could call one of his friends, but there’s that thought in the back of his mind, he doesn’t want to scare anyone. He’s fine, even though it definitely seems like he shouldn’t be.
He sits down on the floor and puts his head between his knees again. He’s not dizzy, but his head is spinning. Mettaton will be here tomorrow. He can’t hide this, whatever it is, for long.
☽☽
Mettaton checks his phone as soon as he gets in his car. Papyrus still hasn’t responded to his text. He sighs. He’s probably just busy, but Mettaton wanted him to get all excited. It’s only a day early, but he would be, if he knew.
His suspicion is confirmed when he pulls into the garage. Papyrus isn’t even home, of course he’s just busy. It’s alright, it makes for a better surprise.
Mettaton carries his heavy bags up the stairs and heads toward their bedroom. He stops short at the door, though, dropping his bags.
“What the…?” he mutters.
The room is absolutely trashed. Okay, it’s not that bad, but Papyrus would never let it get this bad, even if he very dearly missed his boyfriend. He cautiously enters the room, only to stop short a second time. This time his heart drops. Instinctively he pulls the blood-stained bed covers back, there’s nothing, at least nothing to explain where the red stain came from. Most of the blood is on the top of the bed. Papyrus’s pillow is definitely ruined.
He sits on the bed and holds his head in his hands. God… How could he even think about the stupid pillow? Where the fuck is Papyrus? What happened to him?
After some more searching, he finds a few more pieces of evidence. A blood-stained washcloth, silver jewelry scattered on the bed, a half-empty meat drawer, ripped fabric on the floor of the bedroom and near the front door. The more he finds, the less he understands. It’s almost a relief. Surely if someone broke in and murdered his boyfriend, they’d be doing it to steal something, something expensive, not a couple expired steaks. There’s no sign of break-in either. Besides, Papyrus’ truck isn’t in the garage, so he probably wasn’t kidnapped. Unless it was stolen, but (with love, of course) he has things in his closet that are probably worth twice the amount that old thing is.
Mettaton picks up a piece of fabric, feeling strangely calm. Maybe this is what denial feels like. It’s silky, red. Some pieces have black lace attached. It must have come from some expensive article of clothing, though it’s nothing he recognizes.
A nauseous feeling fills his body just as a terrible thought crosses his mind. It doesn’t add up , he tells himself, nothing does . But neither pass. One thing he knows is true, nobody broke in, it’s not possible. Whatever happened here, whoever did this, someone must have let them in. Someone. He almost laughs. It’s unfair of him to assume Papyrus can do no wrong. He can’t quite wrap his head around the idea though.
He looks back down at the fabric in his hand. He feels a wave of anger pass over him. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. Surely there’s an explanation to all of this.
Before he has a chance to rationalize everything, he hears a truck pull into the driveway.
☾☾
Papyrus had not expected Mettaton’s car to be in the garage when he got home, but it might as well happen. It’s not like anything else that’s happened today has made sense.
He carries his bags inside. Thinking of how he’s going to explain his sudden need for red meat and iron pills, let alone everything else.
Mettaton is kneeling by the front door. Papyrus just barely misses hitting him with it. Mettaton stares up at him, silently, and they lock eyes. For the first time in a long time, there is nothing romantic about this exchange. It’s cold, empty. He feels like he must have done something wrong.
Mettaton looks uneasy, like he might even be scared. He stands up.
“What… Happened?” he manages after another moment of silence.
Papyrus notices something in his hand. Bright red fabric. It looks familiar, though it’s not his.
“What is that?”
Mettaton looks sort of offended. “What do you mean? You don’t know? Where have you been?”
Papyrus is a little taken aback, but drops his bags on the floor and takes the fabric from Mettaton’s hand. It doesn’t spark any memories.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Mettaton repeats, not sounding convinced.
“I mean, I was just at the grocery store. I don’t know what happened, though. I-I don’t know what this is.”
Mettaton takes a deep breath. His eyes are so intense. Like wildfires.
“I don’t get it. The room is a mess, there’s blood everywhere, and you’re telling me-” he stops himself, his eyes widening as his hand moves to Papyrus’ neck. Serious as the situation is, he’s immediately breathless when he feels Mettaton’s fingers trace the bite mark. The skin on his neck is tingling, he wills it to stop. Mettaton’s hand lingers there for a moment before he looks back up at Papyrus. He has a strange look on his face, like he’s trying to solve an impossible puzzle. “You don’t… You don’t know what happened.”
Papyrus opens his mouth to speak, but the words don’t come to him. What can he even say? Surely Mettaton doesn’t want to hear him say he ‘doesn’t know’ again, but it’s the truth. It doesn’t sound convincing. He knows that. Something clearly happened here, you would think one would remember that.
Mettaton pulls his hand away, so abruptly that it makes Papyrus jump. He looks away.
“You know what,” he says, his voice suddenly much softer, “I- This is a lot.” He looks Papyrus in the eye again. “I think I’m going to stay with my family for a couple of days.”
Papyrus feels tears start to burn at his eyes, but he won’t cry, not yet. Maybe this is for the best. He nods, not able to meet Mettaton’s eyes.
“Okay.”
He leaves for a moment to get his bags, then passes Papyrus on his way to the door.
“You can come talk to me,” he says, halfway out the door, “When you’re ready.”
Papyrus doesn’t say anything.
A minute later, Mettaton’s car drives silently away. Just like that, he’s gone. Needless to say, it was not the reunion Papyrus would have hoped for.
☾☾
The next few days pass like a dream. After a weekend of cycling between eating, crying, and feeling guilty for something he’s not really sure he did, he finally cleans up the bedroom. The sheets go in the trash, it’s a relief.
One of the last things he does is sweep up the torn fabric. He had been putting it off on purpose, thinking about the other day. What had made Mettaton so upset? He certainly didn’t seem concerned for Papyrus’ wellbeing. Does he only look dead to himself? Then again, he definitely got a few looks at the grocery store.
Papyrus holds a piece of fabric up in the light, as if something might reveal itself. It doesn’t look like anything he’d wear, and Mettaton doesn’t wear red. He says it’s not flattering. It’s funny. He could pull off just about anything.
A pang of sadness hits him, wiping the smile off his face. He tries to ignore it and goes back to investigating. So, it would seem like someone else was here, and somehow ripped their clothes during their visit. Surely this supports Papyrus’ theory, that someone must have broken in and attacked him. He tries to think of it from Mettaton’s perspective. What else could this possibly point to?
He imagines it. Coming home from a trip, unlocking the door, seeing a mess of fabric on the floor at your feet. The door. Papyrus looks up. It’s perfectly intact, so are all of the windows. The door was locked when he left the house in the morning as well. No one could have broken in, or whoever did politely locked the door behind them, even though they appear to have been in some kind of rush.
Okay, Mettaton thinks he let someone in. And he’s mad because he thinks… He slept with someone? Papyrus’ first reaction is to laugh. He saw the blood didn’t he? What kind of things does he think Papyrus is into? Talk about jumping to conclusions. Then again, he didn’t do a great job of denying it earlier.
He stands up. Maybe he’s ready to talk now. Surely he can make a case for himself. He doesn’t remember any of it, but he was attacked. It might not make that much sense, but it makes more sense than the other story.
He goes back into the bedroom to get dressed. The only thing that hasn’t been picked up are Mettaton’s silver necklaces. He left them on the floor after picking the sheets up, afraid to touch them again. They’re probably not hot anymore, they probably weren’t in the first place. He was in a weird headspace that morning.
To his surprise, they still burn to the touch. He looks at his hand again. It looks just the same as before. Cold, dead, but no burn. Now frustrated, he finishes getting dressed and starts to head out.
He contemplates taking something to eat with him, just in case, but he definitely doesn’t want Mettaton to see him eating a piece of raw steak. Yeah, that was not his proudest moment. So he heads out the door empty handed, except for his keys.
☽☽