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He's been searching for a lot of different reasons for a while now.
Cooking. Cleaning. Talking. Laughing. Puzzle constructing. Puzzle solving.
...
But.
At what point had all of these things gotten tiring?
It isn't very fair! They shouldn't be! He loves all of these things!
It isn't fair.
He's even brought this up to Sans a few times, to try to gauge what is wrong with him. At first, his brother had just said, “maybe you just need to sleep more? stars know you never get any proper rest, bro.”
Oh!
That must be it!
“YOU'RE PROBABLY RIGHT!!” Papyrus beams. “THANK YOU, BROTHER!!! I WILL TRY TO START NAPPING AT NIGHT FOR MORE THAN THREE HOURS THIS TIME!!!!”
So he tries.
And! He does nightly nap!
He gets up the next morning to make himself a cup of tea, and he feels as fresh as ever! There is not an ounce of drowsiness in his bones! He grabs a pencil to try his hand at the Junior Jumble in the morning paper!
. . .
It's too hard.
He tries again the next morning! He doesn't think he can do it.
And, again! He switches to doing what he knows best instead and fills out the daily crossword! It takes him too long, he thinks.
And again! This one takes shorter but is less fun.
And again. It's a repeat one from last week.
And again.
...
When Sans wakes up, he makes him breakfast and stares at the floor longer than he should.
“SANS...” he says.
"hm?"
“DO YOU EVER... I-I MEAN. CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?”
"'course, Paps."
“DOES NAPPING EVER NOT WORK FOR YOU EVEN IF YOU NAP MORE THAN YOU USUALLY DO AND FEEL RESTED OTHERWISE???”
Sans looks up from his ketchup-doused eggs. His expression has not changed, and Papyrus nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe this is normal? "uh," he says. "what... exactly are ya referring to?"
“WELL,” Papyrus jabs his pointer fingers together in thought, “YOU... ALWAYS SAY YOU'RE TIRED EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE ALWAYS TAKING NAPS.”
"that's not— no, i mean, like. why are you asking?" For a beat, his usual grin shifts into something that looks more like a frown. "you still not resting good?"
“NO! NO, NO, IT'S, REST IS FINE!! I REST!!!” Papyrus struggles to smile for himself. For some reason. “...IT'S JUST... I'VE BEEN, LOOKING THROUGH THE DAILY PAPER! AS USUAL...”
"mhmm."
“AND I! HAVE DONE THE JUNIOR JUMBLE AND CROSSWORD, AS USUAL...”
"yeah," Sans nods along.
“...BUT,”
Papyrus huffs,
“I FEEL SO TIRED WHEN I DO THEM!!!”
He throws his hands up in the air, scoffing,
“AND YES CROSSWORD CAN BE BORING ANYWAY BECAUSE IT'S FAR TOO EASY FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND JUNIOR JUMBLE CAN BE EXASPERATING BECAUSE IT MAKES NO SENSE FOR MY SUPERIOR INTELLECT!!!! BUT! I JUST FEEL, VERY VERY, LIKE, IT'S TIRING BECAUSE IT'S NOT FUN! SURELY IT'S NOT JUST ME? ...OR, MAYBE IT IS?? I DON'T WANT TO SAY THEY'RE BAD!! I'M SURE THE NICE LADY AT THE LIBRARY DOES HER VERY BEST AND SHE'S TOLD ME SHE DOES HER VERY BEST AND SHE PROBABLY DID HER VERY BEST!!!!!! SO I DON'T WANT TO SAY THEY'RE BAD!!! IT MUST BE ME???”
He's not sure why, but, for a moment, Sans looks... Very, very concerned.
But, it must have been his own imagination, because! In the next instant!! Sans uses the table as a footrest and lays back in his chair. Very gross and slobby-like. "hm, maybe you just got too smart for 'em or somethin."
...Huh.
Yes, that! Could be it!
“YOU'RE PROBABLY RIGHT!!!! THANK YOU, BROTHER!!!” He stomps over to him and shoves his feet off the table in the next moment, sending Sans scrambling not to fall out of his chair. “NOW STOP DIRTYING UP THE TABLE, I JUST POLISHED THE WOOD YESTERDAY!!!!”
*
Papyrus sets to work on making his own crossword the next evening after cooking with Undyne! He decides Sans should become a guinea pig (Is that how you say it???) and demonstrates it to him after he wakes up from a couch nap!
Sans is perplexed by his very smart genius ways and cannot finish the crossword by the time the timer runs out (He gives Sans a generous 5 minutes!) so he declares it a success!
Sort of!
“...SANS?”
His brother uses his shirt to wipe the sweat off his skull. Very gross and slobby-like. "yeah?" he puffs, like he'd just run an entire marathon. Silly bones!
“FIRST OF ALL, STOP BEING SO DRAMATIC!! SECOND OF ALL!” He did the pointer-finger-thing again. “...WAS IT A VERY SMART PUZZLE?? OR SHOULD I TRY TO MAKE ANOTHER ONE? OR SHOULD I DO IT MYSELF?”
Sans blinks. "yeah? to the first one," he says quickly, "i mean, geez, you're, like. the smartest guy i know. you're so cool, y'know? why, if my brain was half as big as yours..."
“WE DON'T HAVE BRAINS.”
"...i wouldn't even be able to tie my own shoes."
“YOU DON'T DO THAT ANYWAYS.”
"you're... just." Sans grins up at him with nothing short of admiration. "you're amazing, Papyrus."
. . .
Papyrus grins back.
“OF COURSE I AM!!! THERE WAS NEVER ANY DOUBT!!!!”
...
Why... Does it feel like only his brother believes he's amazing?
Why is it tiring to believe, suddenly?
Why is it tiring?
"...Pap?"
Sans's soft voice breaks through, but, everything still feels wrong.
"you okay?"
“WHAT?? O-OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE I AM!” Papyrus smiles wider, until it just might break his face. “I'M JUST!! TIRED!!!”
It must have been the most wrong thing to say ever to his brother right then.
Sans's own smile falls.
It doesn't falter at the seams. Or even shift, like it had done before.
It falls.
"you're ‘just tired?’" he repeats. It comes out in nearly a whisper. A harsh one. Papyrus had said the most wrong, wrong thing.
Papyrus takes a step back.
“I—”
"no, no no," Sans stands up from the couch, reaching out, "Papy—"
“I'M FINE!!!! I'M FINE!!!! I'M GOING TO BED!!!!!!”
"Papyrus."
“I'M JUST—”
"you're just tired." His voice cracks. And Papyrus feels like his own Soul might crack, too. "you're just tired? like me? like i'm always tired?"
“Um,” Papyrus utters. Small. “Um... I... I-I don't know, I, maybe?”
. . .
There's a long, long stretch of silence.
Then, Sans breathes out, slowly.
"what do you mean? when you say you're tired?" he asks, quiet. "do you really mean just... sleepy? like you haven't been resting? or..."
“Um. N-no, I. I have been resting. I thought, um, that was... The issue. To begin with.” Papyrus wrings his hands.
"okay. then, what do you mean by tired?"
. . .
“Just... Um.” Papyrus swallows thickly. “I... D-do we have to...?”
Sans gently stops his wringing hands, that were only getting more frantic by the second. Gently, Sans holds Papyrus's hands in his own, thumbs rubbing over the back of his gloves.
"hey," his brother says, soft, "i'm not gonna make you talk about anything you don't want to, Papy. but..." He squeezes his hand. Reassuring. Grounding. "...do you think we could?"
...
"i wanna help you."
“You already have,” Papyrus tries, and Sans lightly huffs.
"yeah but i wanna help you more. just because i do it once, or three times, or a million times over doesn't mean i don't wanna keep doing it. i'll always wanna help you."
. . .
"i love you. y'know that?"
He isn't sure why that is what gets to him.
But it does.
And, Papyrus breaks down, in an instant.
He always has been emotional. Sometimes, annoyingly so, he’s sure.
He’s just not sure why he’s crying now.
Why does a sudden sob tear out of him, when he hears those words?
Why do tears pour out of his eyesockets at the idea Sans should love him?
Why does it feel like his world is crumbling around him?
He has no idea about any of these things.
And, yet…
Distantly, he realizes he’s being led to sit down on the couch. He doesn’t protest, but it feels silly to him that Sans should comfort him.
It feels so, so silly.
He’s being silly.
As though in a futile attempt to hide it, even now, somehow, Papyrus buries his skull in his hands.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” he chokes out, hiccuping, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m— I-I don’t know wh-why…”
“shhh…” He feels his brother press a kiss to his forehead. He’s not sure why, for he had let go of Sans’s hands. He’s not sure why Sans should… “it’s okay, Papy.”
“No it isn’t! Th-this isn’t— I’m not, n-not— This, this isn’t fair to you, I shouldn’t be…”
He doesn’t know why he’s tired.
He doesn’t know why.
And it’s killing him.
Why him?
“I don’t want to be tired,” he sobs. “I don’t want to do this to you. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to— Who will take care of you? Who’s going to make sure you’re okay? I don’t want to feel like this, I want to be happy I want to get out of bed I want to— But…”
“hon. look at me.”
Papyrus does look at his brother. Even if it hurts to. Even if there are tears in Sans’s eyesockets too, and he looks so, so very distressed and upset and desperately worried for him.
Even still.
Even in the pain, the look his brother gives him is soft. Loving. Like it always, always is.
“you are strong,” Sans murmurs, reaching up to wipe away Papyrus's own tears. “nothing’s going to change that.”
Papyrus hiccups again.
“But— But what if I… What if I’m not? What if…”
“then i’ll help you be strong.”
“But…”
Sans takes Papyrus’s hands in his, linking his phalanges through his little brother’s own.
“you’re not gonna do any of it alone. okay?”
“I-I don’t even know— I don’t know what it is,” he coughs, weakly. But he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t know what’s… I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know why I’m tired, or, or if I’m tired, if that’s what it is, I…”
Sans nods. “you’re tired but… not really?” he asks, giving Papyrus’s hands a squeeze.
“I-I don’t know. I don’t…”
“it’s okay. you don’t have to know.” A glimpse of relief floods Papyrus. Not for long, but… “we’ll figure it out. together. i promise.”
. . .
Is…
Is this what… His brother has had to deal with for so long? Not knowing what’s wrong, but… Just knowing something is. Being tired without a known cause.
But, it’s not just being tired, either.
He just says he is, because…
…
It’s the only simple way of saying how he truly feels.
“…Does it… Feel like a cloud for you, too?” Papyrus manages, small. He’s scared to know. But he has to. “A-and it’s always there but— But, some days it’s bigger? Or Smaller?”
Sans huffs out a slight chuckle. “yeah. guess you could say that.”
…
“What else does it feel like to you?”
His brother smiles. And, although it’s not the first time, and Papyrus has known awhile what plagues him, the contrast of it with his next words cut all the same.
“feels like a dull knife. like… not too sharp. but enough to slowly hurt.” He laughs, eyelights flickering out. “…like someone’s takin it and twistin it into my spine everyday.”
Papyrus stifles a sob.
“I’d rather you just have the cloud,” he whimpers, sadly, “if you had to have anything at all.”
“what, so you can take the knife instead?” Sans chuckles. “not really a fair trade, if you ask me.”
Papyrus shakes his head, biting back a derisive laugh of his own. Even still, his words come out surprisingly bitter. “As if any of this is fair.”
Sans blinks. Then glances away.
“…yeah.”
Despite himself,
Papyrus’s eyesockets well up again.
“I wish you didn’t have to deal with it,” he gasps—not quite a sob, but, threatening that way.
His brother’s smile softens. Something much sadder, much more morose, takes its place.
“yeah,” he says quietly. “you too.”
. . .
“i didn’t… want it to be that. you know?”
His thumb rubs over Papyrus’s hand, so, so gently.
“when you were… talking about the puzzles. how they weren’t fun anymore. it just…” His eyelights waver. Shaking. “it sounded… familiar, to me, y’know, and i just— i didn’t want it to be, that because,” Sans lets go of a hand, reaching up to wipe at his sockets, “it wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t ‘cause…”
His breath wavers, too.
“not… you,” he whispers. “not my baby brother. not my Papyrus. not my sunshine. not you.”
Papyrus… Thinks that’s funny.
Not actually. Not really. But, in the irony kind of way.
“Nyeh,” he laughs, “w-why it’d have to be you? That’s all I could think about when— You… Why did you deserve it? Y-you never did anything wrong! You only ever loved me! You only ever cared for me! You were always the strong one! Why did it have to be YOU?! Wh-hy did it have to be…”
As his sockets trailed up to meet Sans’s frail, but shining eyelights, his words fell with a broken sob.
“…My sunshine?”
His entire body trembles. But, so is Sans, it turns out, as Papyrus gives in and pulls his brother into his arms.
Why did it have to be us?
He sobs, and sobs.
It really is not fair.
…
. . .
…But….
“’s okay,” Sans murmurs, over and over. Nuzzling the side of Papyrus’s skull, over and over. “’s okay, hon. we’ll be okay.”
we’ll be okay.
…
For as much turmoil as the world could put them both through,
they were in it together.
Weren’t they?
. . .
Papyrus holds Sans ever closer, nuzzling him back. Never to let go.
He will never let go.
They’ll be okay.
They will face the world, together.
No matter how tired they may be.
.
.
.
Speaking of.
Papyrus is…
Very tired.
As in. Tired, tired.
…
“Sans.”
“yeah?”
“Are you ever just… Tired, tired? From things?”
Sans snorts, right next to his ear-hole.
“yeah, bro, that’s called… needing to rest.”
“Oh.”
. . .
“Brother?”
“yeah?” His brother sounds fondly amused, now.
“Can I… I mean— That is, would it… Be okay, if… I sleep with you tonight?”
…
“Brother?”
A snore meets him in response.
Oh for the love of…
There’s no way Sans would have fallen asleep in that short amount of time since answering him!!!
…
. . .
Sigh.
Well.
There is his answer, anyhow.
.
.
.
He supposes, then, that…
Maybe, it’s okay to turn in early for the night too.
Sans certainly won’t mind, knowing him.
…And,
neither does Papyrus.
Clutching Sans close still to his Soul, he climbs the stairs and makes his way to his own bedroom (he wishes not to touch Sans’s bed with a ten-foot-pole). He sets his brother down first, very gently, before scooting into his racecar bed himself, and tucks himself and Sans in.
“Goodnight, brother,” he murmurs, though he assumes by now is brother is truly asleep. Regardless, he nuzzles his teeth to the top of Sans’s skull, before resting his chin on the same spot.
Unbeknownst to him, the grin on Sans’s face softens just a bit.
Papyrus is drifting off before he intends to, unaware if he dreams a voice saying,
“goodnight, Papy.”
It truly, truly isn’t fair…
…To whoever decided this for them.
Because they have each other.
They will help each other get up each day.
They will help each other look forward to each day.
They will help each other live, each and every single day.
They are each other's reasons.
Days are tiring.
Nights are tiring.
The whole world, and everything in it, is tiring.
…
They will be tired in it together.