Summary: Palette needs better parents.
(Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, mild swearing, child neglect, and quite possibly, adult humor.)
Red stared down at the small white/yellow-clad skeleton child sat before him.
Their colorful, different-shaped eyelights gazed at him in return while their parents were off doing who knows what- probably listening to complaints or making battle strategies.
He still didn't have the foggiest idea how he, out of all Sanses, ended up being the impromptu babysitter for the brat, especially since the Star Base's meeting room held far more suitable Sanses and Papyruses than him.
But here he was, keeping an eyelight on the hellspawn of Ink and Dream. Without a lick of extra G for in it him. Not that they offered a single measly coin in the first place. The oh-so-important duo just abruptly dumped their unfortunate spawn next to him and told 'em to stay with their "charming" uncle Red.
And he fully intended to make them regret that choice.
With an impish grin, the Underfell Sans crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "So, kid: boobs or butt?"
Palette thought over the question with as much seriousness as a six-year-old could manage; brows furrowed, jaws set, a small "hum" of consideration- the whole nine yards. The answer seemed to have eventually been found because he perked up, beaming at Red, and responded in unnecessarily loud cheer, "Penis!"
The air caught in his throat. Stunned, he choked out an incredulous, "What?"
"Yeah, Dad says Mom has the best penis!" The brat proudly stated. (As if that, let alone the knowledge of it, was something to be proud of).
If any of the other adult skeletons weren't looking at the duo in concern (or horror) before, they certainly were now.
The sharp-toothed skeleton glanced over to the other side of the meeting room where Dream was currently scolding Ink (for doing something no doubt stupid), murmuring under his breath, "That makes a surprising amount of sense." He then turned back to the starry-eyed child and said in his best trying-to-be-a-parent voice, "Still, don't say that ever again."
Palette blinked up at him, visibly confused. "But I didn't say anything wrong?"
"Kid, do your parents teach you anything, or have you just naturally inherited Ink's nonexistent intelligence? Because whether it's the former or the latter, I'm still going to be fuckin' worried."
"I don't know what 'intel-ee-gance' is."
Red gawked at the befuddled little artist, expression having long since lost any shock/mirth. "Well, shit."
Red casual threw open the door to his Snowdin home. Warmth from the crackling magic fire dwelling in the recently installed fireplace/hearth brushed across his bones, chasing away the ache caused by the outdoor's frosty chill. He quickly entered, not wanting any precious warmth to escape, and subconsciously kept tabs on the small presence following behind him; next, closing the thick wooden once deeming everything safe.
Papyrus, AKA Fell - or the constant burning thorn in his side - immediately looked up from the coffee table where he was polishing his signature Royal Guard armor. A rather unimpressed scowl rested on his face as he greeted, "Welcome home, Sans. Did you learn anything of value from the meeting?"
Red- or rather, Sans shrugged. "Well, 'pparently Dream is the top in the relationship, and Ink has no censorship around his child."
The other hummed, boot heel tapping against their wooden floor as he pondered. "Not very useful. Anything else?"
"I also stole a child." He stepped aside, revealing said small skeleton who glanced around in awe at their dreary, dangerous house before noticing the taller.
"Hello, Mr. Pointy!" Palette cheerily said. "Your home has a lot of sharp things. Can I touch them?!"
His brother recoiled and shot him a scandalized glare while hissing out a furious, "Sans!"
Red returned the glare with his own after rolling his eyelights. "What? It's not like Ink and Dream were looking after him- I'm mean, they did leave the kid with me to watch over him. But Outer was, like, two chairs away. And they still picked me! I couldn't just leave the kid with them after the meeting was over."
The red/black-clad Papyrus released an exasperated sigh, and a bony hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nasal cavity. "Fine. Frisk recently said they want a brother anyways."
"Cool. I'll call Tor-"
"But he is your responsibility- if he makes a mess, you clean it. And for heaven's sake, find the Royal Etiquette book." A sharp phalange pointed in the direction of the young artist, who seemed to have lost interest in examining his new surrounding and was now picking at his nasal cavity. "He clearly needs it."
And that's how Palette became the Prince of Underfell.