Flipping the script(swapfell)part 1

chapter 1

Sans looked up from stirring the pot of soup he was heating on the stove when he heard the front door open, suppressing a sigh when he heard the familiar sound of a frustrated and tired groan and a metal helmet being thrown to the floor, knowing that even meatball soup wouldn't be able to fix today's events.

He turned down the heat to let it simmer; Papyrus's appetite was very delicate when he was stressed, and now he worried that the spices in the soup would be too much. He didn't voice his concerns to his brother though; what kind of Royal Guardsman got ill over rich food, SOUP even? Sometimes he thought Papyrus was much too prideful for his own health.

Sans checked the cabinets to make sure there was some medicinal tea that helped with Papyrus's stress still stocked, and was relieved when he found that there was, and hurriedly began making it while keeping an eye on the soup on the stove and the bread in the oven. After a week of being in the Capitol with that spartan food, he wanted his little brother to have something DECENT.

He glanced upward and heard the pipes run the water, and figured he had about fifteen minutes to have everything ready by the time Papyrus was out of the shower, and did another check on everything before sitting back to take a breather.

A part of him was giving a timid reminder that HE deserved some rest too, but he smothered it down as he looked at his brother's dented helmet on the floor that hadn't bothered to be picked up. What right did HE have to complain about in the labs, when his little brother was responsible for the entire Royal Guard and had to go on days-long patrols and jobs. At least Sans got to go home at the end of his work day.

Sans quietly picked up the helmet and set it on the table by the door before returning to the kitchen to take the bread out of the oven and ladle the soup into bowls, hearing the water turn off as he did so. He had the food set out and the tea poured by the time Papyrus was walking downstairs.

It was always pretty jarring when Papyrus was out of uniform. Whenever he was out of the house, it was either the armor or the formal attire, no exceptions; but when he came home and the armor came off, he preferred the sort of casual clothing Sans could remember him enjoying as a child. Well-worn jeans, comfortable shoes, and a tank top that exposed his broad frame, it was like seeing a completely new Monster.

Sans rather liked it when Papyrus was dressed down; as imposing and impressive as his brother was in uniform, he just preferred seeing Papyrus's shoulders drop and spine curve when he was home, like he could FINALLY relax and didn't have to constantly put on a face of superiority and authority. All that authority weighed his little brother down in the worst way possible, and Sans could just hate it sometimes.

Although he hadn't seen his brother when he first walked in, Sans knew that Papyrus looked much better than when he first came in after the shower. His bones, though scarred and chipped in some places, were gleaming and his orange eyelights were a little more lively. A decent meal would certainly spruce that up, that was for sure.

Papyrus sat down at the table and silently dipped a slice of the bread into the soup as a starter. Sans quietly spooned his soup and waited for Papyrus to speak first, knowing better than to initiate anything until Papyrus was sufficiently unwound, but his spoon paused halfway up to his mouth when he took a closer look at his brother.

"Oh my god, Papyrus!" he cried, almost dropping his spoon. "What happened to your tooth!?"

Papyrus's left canine was missing, one of the larger teeth that Papyrus had filed years ago; the absence was very noticeable, and a thousand horrible scenarios ran through Sans's mind as to how it happened.

The taller Skeleton let out a controlled sigh, putting the uneaten piece of bread down on the table. "It's nothing to worry yourself over, Sans," he replied, though the terseness in his voice told Sans that it WAS something unpleasant. "It doesn't even hurt anymore." He picked his bread back up and finished eating it, delving back into silence.

Sans's hands clenched in his lap, his jaw tight as he fought back the first impulse to start fretting and raving and instead seethed in wretched silence.

It would do no good to fret with concern about it. Papyrus had been in the Royal Guard for years now, and Sans learned by now that worrying over scars and bone chips wouldn't heal them or erase the marks. Worrying only stressed Papyrus out worse, and more than once that stress accumulated to blows with Sans screaming about Papyrus destroying himself with taking on the dangerous jobs and Papyrus shooting back that Sans's constant infantilizing was worse than getting the actual scars.

Sans HATED those fights, and swore off of them as best as he could. The LAST fight they had...

His hand deftly trailed up to his skull, his phalanges brushing over the small crack over his left eye socket, almost flinching at the memory of that day. Sans had brought Papyrus home for rest after the younger getting several ribs snapped and then reattached, and in a fit of worry, DEMANDED that Papyrus quit and return to sentry work. What a mistake THAT had been. Already irritable about having to take a sick leave, Papyrus snapped back with the whole 'I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions' argument, and it all erupted into one heated moment when Papyrus punched Sans in the face.

The blow was askew since Papyrus was still under the soporific effects of the pain medication, but his training-fueled punch made contact with the upper of Sans's left eye socket with enough force to crack it. It damn near drained that one HP he had.

It took nearly three days of sitting in numb silence before either felt ready to pick the pieces back up and resume their lives. Sans lived with the skull crack as a reality; it was nothing new for Monsters to have scars for some reason or the other, and in hindsight, he felt it was justified to have. He had no right to demand anything of Papyrus, as hard as his little brother had trained just to get into the Guard and all the respect he had managed to wrench from those superiors of his.

As justified as he felt to have it, he would see Papyrus looking at it with such guilt that Sans could hardly stand it. He made a point to never complain, never wanting to see that look of horror Papyrus had after hitting him ever again.

Sans lowered his gaze to his soup, not feeling very hungry anymore, but picked the spoon back up and resumed eating, wishing not for the first time that he could protect his brother from being harmed.