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You had never believed the many tall tales your grandmother spun through your childhood. Tales from her own great grandmother that she had retold to you. They seemed believable as a child, but not so much as an adult. While it had been fun to imagine your distant grandmother had actually lived through a war between monsters and humans, that she had secretly provided aid and shelter to monsters you couldn’t even imagine, it simply couldn’t be true. You had always assumed your grandmother had made up those stories so you wouldn’t wake your parents in the middle of the night complaining about the monster under your bed. Why be scared of monsters if they were kind, right?
But then you fell into Mount Ebott. True, your mother had strictly told you not to go when you had told her your plan of hiking the humble mountain with a track record of making people disappear. And sure, your grandmother had warned you to look out for holes or unstable rocks so you wouldn’t end up with the monsters Underground. But alas, you wanted your weekend getaway and went anyway.
You didn’t originally think it was a huge mistake after you fell.
Sure, it sucked that you had fallen and were now trapped under a mountain, but this cave system was unknown of previously and yet it was filled with clearly man-made structures. Doorways and puzzles and pathways and so much more. You had even started to get a little excited to meet a monster and finally speak to one of the fascinating creatures your grandmother had told you so much about.
Then you met Toriel.
She tried to kill you.
She tried to eat you.
Your world was shattered.
Child-like innocence had turned to fear so gradually that you hadn’t even noticed you were scared until she had cornered you in her kitchen. You didn’t want to hurt her, you really didn’t, but you refused to let her just kill you. It was a bit of a tussle, but a few well-placed kicks downed her long enough for you to flee.
You made it out of her home and into…snow?
You didn’t understand how it could snow beneath a mountain, let alone be so incredibly cold . It was fall on the surface when you fell and your hiking clothes kept you warm there, a thick pair of cargo pants with a sweater and sturdy boots, but they did no good for you down here. You were at least glad your boots were tall enough to keep most of the snow off your pants. You didn’t see a monster for a while and began to convince yourself that maybe Toriel was just a one-time deal. That she had just lost it from how long she had been isolated from other monsters.
Then you met Papyrus.
He had scared the absolute shit out of you at first. Your grandmother had never mentioned that there were sentient skeleton monsters, yet here you were. He had to have been at least eight feet tall. Lanky and a bit clumsy with crooked and broken teeth. He was covered in scars, anything from a bad scrape to what looked like marred bite marks from a dog. His eye sockets were empty and wobbly, the eyelight that rested inside was nothing but a pinprick of light.
He smiled at you.
There was sadness and regret already hidden in it.
“I’M SORRY…”
— — —
You had awoken in what appeared to be an empty shed, with your wrists and ankles chained together. The window above you was broken and cold air seeped into the shed, you could even see the slightest bit of frost on the legs of the metal table in the corner. You could see your breath. Even with the myriad of blankets thrown over your form it was so cold.
It was quiet for a long time.
Then the skeleton returned.
He told you his name was Papyrus, and he asked for yours.
You hesitated, but told him.
Then you asked him the daunting question.
“Are you gonna eat me?”
He didn’t respond.
You began to cry.
“I don’t wanna die…”
He tried to smile. It looked like he was about to cry, too.
“I’M SORRY…”
He left and silence enveloped you once again.
The next time the door opened, it was a different skeleton that had entered. He was shorter, about six-ish feet tall, stockier, too. He had a gaping hole in his head, and only one, daunting red eyelight. He also had a cleaver in his hand.
He stared at you for a few minutes, the door wide open to let all the cold air into the tiny shed. It was only when you had shoved your face further into the blankets that he moved. He grabbed one of the blankets off of you and layed it over the metal table. You were confused by his actions until he grabbed you and began to drag you over to the table.
That’s when you noticed the thick leather straps and the dried blood.
You began kicking and punching as best you could with your hands and feet chained up. You even bit him— twice! He never even reacted, just dragged you over to the table and practically threw you on it. You fought more, but it was in vain. You almost thanked him for at least turning you onto your stomach so you wouldn’t have to watch him bring his cleaver down on your neck.
The straps were tight as you waited.
Your body tingled from the cold.
You felt a pressure on the back of your thigh.
You waited and waited for the cleaver, only to realize that the pressure on the back of your thighs was his cleaver.
You didn’t know why it didn’t hurt, but you didn’t care to dwell on that at the moment. This monster, the creature you had heard so many kind and generous and magical tales about, was butchering you alive.
You thought he would keep going until you were nothing but bones, but he stopped after a few minutes. Something was slathered over your wounds and a moment later, the door to the shed closed. It opened a while later and you could feel long, lanky fingers wrapping what felt like gauze and bandages around your thighs. The straps were undone and Papyrus gently lifted you off of the table and back to the corner.
He laid you down and re-wrapped you in the blankets. He apologized again. He looked like he wanted to cry.
You were already almost there.
“Why?”
To your surprise, he told you why. He told you everything from the beginning. How quickly food became scarce after the monsters had been locked underground. How the caverns weren’t fit to grow enough crops for everyone. How he and his brother, Sans, the other skeleton you ‘met’, had to hunt other monsters and cannibalize them to survive. He explained how the lack of magic to re-fuel their bodies messed with their mental state. He said it was worse for his brother because of the hole in his head.
He didn’t explain how that happened.
He even explained that the reason you had not felt any pain when Sans…it was because of their magic. He had told his brother to keep you alive, to be gentle with you because you seemed nice.
You kind of wish he hadn’t.
He apologized again when he had to leave.
You almost reached out to him, and laughed bitterly when he closed the door. He had kidnaped you, let his brother mutilate your body, and you wanted to seek him out for comfort…
— — —
A routine was made.
Papyrus would visit you daily and tell you stories. He was quiet, gentle with his words. He’d answer most of your questions. They mainly consisted of different versions of ‘Why?’ at first, but over time they turned to ‘What day is it?’ ‘Is it early or late?’ ‘Can I have a few more blankets?’. He would bring you a little food twice a day. It was the food from your hiking pack at first. When he brought you meat for the first time you wanted to vomit. You knew what it was. You knew who it had come from. But you were so hungry, so you ate it anyway. Gradually, you learned that Papyrus was safe.
It was Sans you had to worry about.
If it was him entering the shed, you knew what you were in for. It was the same every time. He would place a blanket over the table, Papyrus had told you he told Sans to do that to hopefully keep you a bit more comfortable. Then he’d grab you and drag you over to the table. He only came once every two weeks or so. You stopped trying to fight him after the fourth time he entered. He seemed pleased.
He’d usually take meat mostly from your thighs and some from your arms, just thin slices, but would sometimes take bits from your belly. Your arms and belly were the worst. You hated being face-up on the table. One time he put a blindfold on you, probably because you had mentioned your uncomfort with being face-up on the table to Papyrus. It helped a little. You, without thinking, thanked him.
He paused.
Made a grunt of acknowledgement.
And continued.
One evening, a few months after you had arrived, was so incredibly cold that you couldn’t stop shaking. When Papyrus heard your teeth chattering, he asked what was wrong. You explained to him how cold you were. He asked if the cold could kill you and you explained hypothermia to him. He grew worried and picked you up. He took you out of the shed, the first time you had been outside of it, and carried you into a building right beside it. A home that looked like it had seen better days.
Sans did not like that Papyrus had brought you inside, but after Papyrus told him how you could die in the cold, Sans reluctantly allowed it. He still hated the fact that you were inside, but he never said anything about it. He did glare at you and even growl sometimes, but overall he didn’t try to touch you or speak to you. When he wanted to take you back out to the shed, he just stood directly in front of you and stared. You understood what he wanted immediately. You went with him silently.
To your shock, he took you back into the house afterwards. You had fully expected him to leave you out there in the cold again, but he carried you back inside where it was warmer. He was…oddly warm himself. You almost didn’t want to let go when he set you back on the couch, but you did.
Eventually, you learned that he loved puns. It didn’t matter that Papyrus would scold him or groan in annoyance at his over use of puns, he cracked them every chance he got, whether he had eggs or not.
Claim insanity all you wanted, but you didn’t want him to hate you forever, so you started cracking your own puns. The first time you had done it Papyrus had exclaimed, “NOT YOU, TOO!”
It had made you laugh for the first time since you fell.
When you began running out of places for Sans to… harvest from, you began going on walks with Papyrus to hopefully gain some muscle. The magic healing salve they used on your wounds could regenerate a decent portion of your lost flesh, but it could never regenerate all of it. You were scared that if Sans couldn’t find a part of you with enough to take then he would take all of you, regardless of what Papyrus said.
As time stretched on, you began to grow quite fond of Papyrus, and even of Sans. You enjoyed Papyrus’ stories of when the Underground was a much kinder place, so similar to your grandmother's stories. Sans’ puns always made you chuckle, and on the rare occasions he would carry you, you adored his warmth. Maybe you were a bit too fond of them… Does it still count as Stockholm Syndrome if you know it’s Stockholm Syndrome?
You didn’t mention it for a long time.
Not until you thought you were going to die.
Sans had accidentally nicked a major vein a few hours prior. You bled a lot and Papyrus was watching over you in his room, the warmest room in the house that was still a tad too cold for you. He had done everything he could to stop the bleeding before the pain-killing magic wore off, neither of them had enough magic to do it again yet. You had only remembered about cauterizing wounds to stop bleeding after the magic began to wear off.
He had held you and apologized over and over while Sans heated an old iron over the stove. He didn’t flinch when you bit his hand to stop yourself from screaming. He wasn’t even mad that it didn’t work. His magic tasted like burnt brown sugar on your tongue. Sickly sweet.
He cried and kept saying ‘I’M SORRY’ over and over as Sans sealed the wound and bandaged it. He carried you to his room after and wrapped you up in as many blankets as he could find, hoping you could feel warmth one last time before you died.
All three of you were confident you would.
You felt something akin to regret when you thought about not telling Papyrus about your feelings about him and his brother.
So you told him.
He smiled sadly and began crying again before crawling into the bed with you and pulling you into a close embrace.
Despite everything, you survived.
Nothing much changed except that Papyrus was much more cuddly with you. He informed you he had told his brother about what you said. The only change you noticed in Sans was his hesitation. He’d hesitate to bring you to the shed. Hesitate to open the door. Hesitate to strap you to the table. Hesitate to cut you.
You survived long enough to see the surface again.
A child had fallen. So much younger than you, yet so much more determined.
Their name was Frisk.
Sans wanted to kill them for food.
You and Papyrus refused.
The dawn of the next day, well over two years since you fell down into this hellscape, the barrier was broken.
Your legs were too weak for you to walk so far to leave the Underground, so Papyrus carried you.
You saw him cry happy tears for the first time as the sun gradually rose over the horizon. You saw Sans smile genuinely for the first time. You felt warmth for the first time in years.
Frisk became the ambassador for monsterkind and helped them get used to this new world. All monsters, as well as you and Frisk, were placed in a special therapy program to help everyone learn and understand how the surface world worked and recover mentally from what they had to do to survive. You had intense physical therapy to regain the lost muscle in your legs and arms. A month or so after the barrier was broken, temporary free housing was finally sorted out for the monsters so they wouldn’t have to continue living out of the tents in the campground the city had originally provided.
That was the last you heard of Sans and Papyrus.
The moment they got the slip of paper allowing them access to their new temporary apartment, they left. You were at your physical therapy session at the time, but when you returned to the campground, they were gone and Frisk brought you a letter written by Papyrus.
They didn’t want to hurt you anymore.
They loved you, too, but they couldn’t stand the thought of you staying around them after they had hurt you so much. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t even wanted to do it in the first place. It didn’t matter that you had practically agreed to it after a certain point. It didn’t matter that their therapist told them it would be worse for you if they stayed around. None of it mattered.
Sans and Papyrus were gone.
You tried to move on. Tried to convince yourself that your Stockholm Syndrome would dissipate and vanish the longer you were away from them. A month passed and it remained. Two months went by and you still thought of Sans every time you heard a pun and Papyrus every time you saw spaghetti noodles. Three months passed and you began to ache for their touch again. At four months you caught yourself wishing to feel any contact from them again, even if it was Sans holding your leg still while he took a cleaver to it. At five months you began to wish to go back in time and experience it all over again, even just to see them.
You went to Frisk at the end of month six and begged them for Sans and Papyrus’ new address.
They gave it to you with a smile and a hand-signed ‘Good luck’.
You took the bus to the closest stop by their new home. It was a two-story house quite similar to the one they had Underground. They must have bought it with all the gold they had traded in for money. You had knocked on the door and held your breath. You could hear Papyrus’ call from inside, “COMING!”
As his footsteps approached, you began to second-guess yourself. Was it too late to book it down the sidewalk and around the corner so he’d never even know you were there? Probably not. You had to use forearm crutches and you were still in the process of weaning off your wheelchair, you’d probably never make it that far before Papyrus made it to the door.
When it opened, the first thing you noticed was how much fuller Papyrus’ looked. He was still skinny, but his skull wasn’t as gaunt and his bones appeared a bit thicker. He was also wearing metal braces on his legs and spine. You froze up and stared at him while he stared at you in utter shock.
You tried to break the ice, raising one of your legs up and showing off the complicated metal brace that supported most of your weight, “Look, heh, we match…”
Tears brimmed in his eyes.
Tears brimmed in yours.
As if you had telepathically communicated with one another, you both fell into each other at once. You squeezed him tightly and he reciprocated oh-so-gently. Tears fell fast and hard. Sans teleported behind him, cutting off his question about who was at the door when he saw you
You, as much as you hated it, pulled yourself away from Papyrus and tried to run to Sans. You abandoned your crutches at the door and your metal braces weren’t enough to support your attempted run. But you never hit the ground. Instead, you hit Sans’ arms.
He was fat.
In just six months he had managed to grow a big magical belly that finally filled out his shirt and jacket. You sobbed and shoved your arms under his jacket to feel his magic body through his shirt. Knowing he had enough to eat to the point he got fat, it made you fill with joy. Never again would they have to worry about not having enough food. Never again would they have to go hungry for more than a few hours.
And you would make sure of that.
You told them everything about how you felt over the past six months. How much you missed them and wished you could see them again, even if it meant being hurt by them. They hated hearing it, but they listened. After your long rambling story, they exchanged a single look. Papyrus asked if you wanted to live with them.
You still claim you didn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough.
You didn’t have much to move there, just what you managed to fit in two backpacks and a duffel bag, so the move was easy. You immediately noticed how much better Sans and Papyrus’ mental states were. They definitely weren't perfect, but it was a big improvement from the Underground. Sans was more vocal, more relaxed and joke-y instead of tense and glare-y. Papyrus genuinely smiled more and somehow became even more talkative.
He started taking you to his weekly cooking lessons. You couldn’t always participate because the counters were too high for you to use while in your wheelchair and sometimes it was too cramped for you to use your crutches without them getting in the way. Still, you were more than happy to watch and taste-test for Papyrus. However, after two years of cannibalizing yourself, any food that wasn’t cooked meat in hot water tasted amazing. It was on the way home from one of these lessons where you and Papyrus shared your first kiss. He stopped at a red light and you just couldn’t help but think he looked so pretty in the winter evening light. You asked him if you could kiss him without thinking. He blushed furiously, but said yes. His face was still glowing orange by the time you made it home. Papyrus also took you to your physical therapy appointments. He had his own appointments at a different doctor, but scheduled them around yours so he could be at yours for you. You had to go three or four times a week and they were usually pretty intense.
Sans knew this, so he would always prepare a dumb comedy movie and some of your favorite snacks for when you got home. He’d pretty much trap you on the couch to watch the movie, and would often pretend to steal a chip or grape from your snack bowl only to feed it to you instead of eating it himself. He would also interrupt the movie several times to insert a pun the writers didn’t add, which was pretty much every sentence. You had to turn on captions at one point so you wouldn’t miss too much while he made you giggle relentlessly. During one of the movies, the two leads kissed and Sans simply turned to you and asked if you wanted to do that and you asked what he was talking about. When he simply said ‘kiss’ your face burst into a bright flush, but you said yes. Then one of his sharp teeth nicked your lip the wrong way and made you bleed. He tried insisting on putting a bandaid on it. You had to explain several times that bandaids didn’t really work on the lips.
They adored your baking. You didn’t used to bake often, but one day while they were away at work, about a year after everyone surfaced, you wanted cookies. Unfortunately, you didn’t have any cookie dough or cookie dough mix, but you did have all the ingredients to make them from scratch, so you did. Knowing how much your boys liked to eat, you made two batches of large chocolate chip cookies. The entire house smelled amazing by the time they got home. They hadn’t really tried any sugary food while on the surface, not sure if it would trigger memories from the underground like steak or raspberries did. However, with a lot of reassurance from you, they tried the cookies and absolutely loved them. They both kept stealing extra cookies and kisses from you for the rest of the evening. You’re sure you guys didn’t even have a real dinner that night. Since then, you began baking a new batch of sweets every week, even developing your own recipes that they were more than happy to taste-test for you.
Another thing they had in common was their infatuation with your scars.
You would often catch Papyrus staring at them with a sad, regretful look in his eyelights. When he’d realize he was caught, he’d quietly apologize. You would gently kiss him and quietly offer forgiveness. He never said it, but his lack of response was enough for you to know he didn’t think he deserved it. Even though you had your own room, you’d often end up in his at night. He would hold you close and kiss each and every scar he could find and reasonably reach, mumbling apologies with each kiss.
Sans was much more subtle with his infatuation. After your first kiss, he got a lot more cuddly. He would drag you into naps with him by caging you to his chest with his arms or nearly squishing you by laying on top of you. However, no matter the position, he would always find a way to trace over the rough surface of your scars with his hands. Sometimes he would get a distant look in his eyelight and you’d have to either press a kiss to his nose bride or run your pinkie along it to snap him out of it. His favorite position to cuddle you in was with you laying on your back, him on his stomach with his head resting on your belly and your legs over his shoulders. He had once briefly mentioned it was because of how soft and squishy your thighs were, he liked knowing you were fed, but you knew the real reason.
You had the most scars there.
He never truly wanted to harm you, he felt he had to, especially in his altered mental state from the lack of magic he had fueling him. He took the most from your thighs and now he wanted to make up for it, he just didn’t know how. He never apologized, and you never asked him to.
That was, until today.
Your physical therapy appointment had been particularly rough that day so Sans insisted on a comedy movie marathon. So here you were, laying on the couch with his head on your belly and his dulled claws carefully tracing the scars on your thighs while Night at the Museum played in the dark living room. After a while, he began gently kissing your thigh, just a peck or two at first, then more with a bit more pressure. You didn’t think much of it, sometimes he would press a single kiss to a scar or two, maybe he was just feeling extra affectionate tonight. After a moment, you felt him starting to shake a bit and mumble something. Again, you didn’t think anything of it other than the fact that he was quietly laughing at the chaos happening on the TV or filling in yet another pun the writers missed.
Then you felt something wet on your thigh that tingled with the familiar feeling of magic. You finally tore your eyes away from the TV to the skeleton between your legs and immediately reached for the remote to pause the movie.
Sans was crying.
When you asked him what was wrong, he didn’t respond, just kept mumbling. Once the movie was finally paused, you could clearly make out what he was saying.
“‘m sorry. ‘m so so so sorry. ‘m sorry sorry sorry. ‘m sorry. ‘m sorr-”
He was just apologizing. Over and over and over, crying while he muttered apologies between kisses to your thighs. Your heart broke at the scene. You sat up and gently said his name. When his actions didn’t change, you rested a hand on his shoulder and said it again, even softer.
He broke into quiet sobs, not even capable of speaking or kissing you anymore.
You nearly cried yourself. You cupped his face in your hands and gently guided him up to be eye-level with you. He still cried as you gently said, “It’s okay, Sans. It’s okay.”
“no-” he muttered through a broken sob.
You gently shushed him and began to kiss away his tears. His magic tasted like cinnamon and capsaicin on your tongue. He cried for a long time. He was still crying when he managed to speak again, “i-i hu-hurt you. how do y-you not…h-hate me? …h-how can you l-lo…l-love-”
He broke into more sobs before he could finish his sentence. You continued to kiss away his tears while he tried to explain how he didn’t understand why you still love him after everything he had done.
“You did what you had to to keep you and your brother alive.”
“i-i al-almost….k-killed you th-though.”
“I know,“ you smiled something sickly sweet.
More red tears rolled down his cheekbones, “i-i’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“you shouldn’t.”
“I already did.”
More sobs wracked his body while you continued to kiss away his tears. You whispered reassurances and words of comfort between kisses, trying in vain to get him to accept your forgiveness.
“wh-why are you…f-forg-giving me? …i don’t….i don’t deserve-”
You gently shushed him.
“I’m forgiving you because I want you to understand.”
“understand wh-what?”
You pressed a kiss to his teeth.
“As long as I’m around, You’ll Never Go Hungry Again.”
His grip on your thighs tightened as he kissed you in thanks.