Flipping the script(swapfell)part 1

chapter 4

Sans rarely spent any extended amount of time in the town other than for shopping purposes, but every once and awhile he would stop by Muffet's for a treat (sitting in the back booth to avoid unwanted conversation, naturally).

Even rarer still did he stop by Muffet's to get absolutely shitfaced drunk.

Sans preferred to do his drinking at home...not that he had a problem, no. He had an occasional overindulgence....yeah, that sounded more accurate. It wasn't like he hid bottles around the house and drank behind Papyrus's back, but even if he DID, what the fuck did it matter? It wasn't like he owed Papyrus any explanation for his coping vices. Sometimes, he just wanted to be numb and forget everything, including the fact that he was a laughingstock punching bag in the labs and that he had the thankless task of making sure Papyrus had a halfway-decent home to return to.

Today, he didn't bother hiding back in the booths; he planted himself right up front in the bar, slapped down his gold, and told Muffet to leave the bottle. That was three bottles ago, and right now, he was feeling preeeeeetty good. He called for an order of fries—by this time, Muffet knew it was more like a bowl of mustard with a few fries sprinkled on top—and pushed forward more gold when it came.

“Lotta thanks, Muffet,” he slurred, fishing out a fry. Muffet rolled her eyes, snatching up the gold.

“I'm cutting you off, Sans,” she said, pocketing the gold and putting half her hands on her hip. “You've already taken three of my best liquors, and I'm not getting another shipment for six days. Finish your mustard and go home.”

Sans growled, but sloppily drained the bowl and wiped his face with his sleeve, slipping off of the bar stool. “Yer booze tastes like shit anyway, spider bitch,” he muttered, stumbling out of the restaurant and to the direction of his house. No matter how drunk he got, he always knew where his house was—five buildings away from Muffet's, with the front light being a bluish color.

Gods, he hoped he left the door unlocked.

Sans stumbled up the porch and rattled the doorknob before managing to turn it, walking in and all but slamming the door behind him. He wrestled his coat off and tossed it in the general direction of the coat rack, heading to the kitchen and wrenching open a few cabinets until he found the one that held his own one bottle of cheap, weak alcohol, grabbing it and guzzling it back.

“Sans?”

Sans looked over, some of the liquid spilling over his jaw when he glanced up to see Papyrus standing in the kitchen doorway. He wiped his mouth, scowling. “The fuck do you want?” he grumbled.

Papyrus's hand clenched in the door frame, an almost unnoticeable flinch flashing on his features. “...where were you?” he asked. “You were gone, and I...didn't know where you were.”

Sans snorted, tipping back the bottle again before answering. “I was out,” he replied testily. “I DO that sometimes. I don't just....stay here in th' house waiting to serve your ass, y'know.” He paused to drain the rest of the bottle. “Maybe if ya actually got off yer lazy ass an' DID somethin' every once an' awhile, you'd know that.”

“Hey!” Papyrus said, scowling. “I was just WORRIED about you, you ass! No need to get nasty!”

Sans let out a bark of laughter. “WORRIED!?” he drawled loudly, swaying on his feet a little. “Ohhh, wow, the GREAT PAPYRUS was WORRIED about lil' ol' Sansy th' Pansy!” He scoffed, giving Papyrus an unfocused glower. “What th' FUCK do you CARE, anyway?”

Papyrus reared back as though he'd been slapped. “....w...what do I care?” he said, his voice soft but rock hard. “WHAT do I CARE!? I CARE ABOUT YOU, YOU ASSHOLE! I didn't know WHAT I did to upset you, but I came down here to APOLOGIZE, and YOU WEREN'T HERE! You're ALWAYS here, and I was WORRIED!”