Snow crunches under his boots as Sans stomps away from his sentry station. Smothering a yawn, he turns a corner. At least once he gets home he can slip in a few quick z's before his next shift.

His mundane thoughts screech to a halt as he spots the commotion ahead. Two guards of the canine unit—it's hard to tell who, from this distance—snap and snarl as they try to tear pieces out of each other. Sans scuttles off the path, into the safety of the trees. He edges closer so he can get a better view of the altercation.

It's Greater Dog and Doggo, and the former seems to be at an advantage. Doggo usually has better success when attacking moving monsters, but Greater Dog is savage, not allowing Doggo a second to move in closer retaliate. White foam drips off their mouths, lips curled back into snarls that reveal glinting teeth.

Sans' soul pounds in his chest. What is going on? Infighting isn't uncommon, but both monsters are going for the kill.

Frustrated and panicking, Doggo hurls one of his knives at Greater Dog; it bounces harmlessly off his armor. Stupid, stupid. Why would Doggo ever challenge his superior, most especially with the scales tipped so heavily against him? If he wanted to usurp Greater Dog, why not wait until he was at rest, with his armor stripped away?

Greater Dog abruptly freezes. Doggo flinches, unable to see his enemy, and starts hastily backing away—but it's not enough. Greater Dog seizes his moment of confusion and disorientation and darts forward, skewering the monster through the chest.

Doggo yips, claws pawing uselessly against the weapon. Greater Dog roughly tosses him to the ground. Doggo spasms as his lifeblood and magic darken the snow.

Not placated just yet, Greater Dog stoops down and rips out Doggo's throat.

"Holy fuck." Sans shudders, averting his gaze until the squelching noises taper off.

When he summons the willpower to look back at the scene, Greater Dog is standing again, nose twitching. Then he turns to look directly at Sans, white muzzle matted with blood.

Sans screams at his body to move, summon magic, do anything, but he just stands there, paralyzed by fear and indecision, as the hulking form of Greater Dog lumbers towards him.

A wall of bones sprouts up between them, humming with a magic familiar but not his own. Papyrus steps forward, in front of Sans.

"B-Boss." A flood of gratefulness washes through him.

Greater Dog's tail tucks between his legs. Whimpering, he tries to flee. Papyrus raises his hand, and three more walls rise up, forming a fence, keeping the monster caged inside. Papyrus glances back at his brother.

"Really, Sans? You can't even defend yourself against Greater Dog? Do you expect me to do everything?"

Greater Dog whines. Papyrus glances at him, and he quiets. He returns his attention to Sans, who has started to crack his knuckles anxiously.

"Well? I'm waiting on an explanation, here."

There's nothing he can say to justify himself. He was caught off-guard, and if not for Papyrus, he'd be dead right now, plain and simple.

"I—I just didn't understand why they were fighting to kill."

Greater Dog starts whining again, and Papyrus' fist twitches.

"You don't know." Papyrus pinches the small strip of bone between his eye sockets. "Of course you don't. Why am I not surprised?"

"Just tell me what's going on already." Sans snaps, nerved frayed. At Papyrus' baleful look, he ducks his head. "Please. Boss."

"Captain Undyne posted a missive in the town square this morning. She declared that all monsters—oh, enough already."

Tired of Greater Dog's muffled cries, Papyrus flicks his hand; beneath Greater Dog's feet, more bones burst from the ground. The monster's howls of pain die swiftly, and Greater Dog dissolves into dust, his armor falling into the snow.

"As I was saying. The captain feels the guard has become complacent. She plans to restructure the organization and reissue rankings at the end of the week, based upon our performances."

Dread squeezes Sans' chest. "And someone can't be ranked higher than you if they're dead."

"Precisely. Let the weak tear each other to shreds. I don't need to waste my time; none of them will dare attack me." Sans wisely doesn't comment on Greater Dog, the scent of his dust thick in the air.

"So you think after this week, you'll be Captain Undyne's second-in-command?"

"I don't think it." Papyrus corrects him sharply. "That is simply what's going to happen."

Sans nods along in emphatic agreement.

"Of course. Y-You're so cool, Boss."

Papyrus kicks at the churned-up snow, then stares out at the horizon distastefully.

"I've grown weary of this backwater town. It reeks of wet dog. I'm getting that promotion, and we're moving to Hotland." He taps Sans' sternum, hard enough to make him stumble back half a step. "And I can't have you holding me back. That means I'm going to start training you, starting right now."

Sans nods obediently. It's easier.

Papyrus turns and starts walking without a further word. Sans scrambles to catch up to him. Papyrus prefers him to match his stride, even though his steps are sizably larger. If he lags behind, he's berated for laziness; if he ever accidentally walks ahead, he's accused of trying to rob Papyrus of his rightful attention.

Once they're far enough away from the dead monsters that their dust doesn't smell up the air, Papyrus stops. He gestures towards Sans.

"Summon your Gaster Blasters."

As usual, Papyrus doesn't waste any time with niceties or small talk. Sans calls forth his four blasters, directing them to rest in the snow in front of him in a neat line. Papyrus scrutinizes each of them for imperfections like a jeweler inspects a gemstone. Sans resists the urge to crack his knuckles—he knows how Papyrus hates the noise.

After a handful of agonizing minutes, Papyrus steps to the side.

"They'll do. Fire them."

Taking a deep breath, Sans raises the blasters in the air, in a vague square pattern. Their jaws hinge open, magical energy gushing forth. The trees in their line of attack are snapped back, some even obliterated entirely. The layer of snow evaporates entirely, revealing the brown grass and choppy mud hidden beneath.

At last the beam tapers off. Sans can hear trees cracking and collapsing in the distance. Papyrus folds his arms, looking impassive.

"Again."

The blasters fire off again, on cue. It's starting to tug on his internal magic now, but he can keep going. The blasters aren't meant for consecutive attacks like this, but it's okay. He can keep going in bursts, even with all four of them.

"Now. Let's try something a little different. Fire them all, and don't let the blasts end until I give the word." When Sans gapes at him, not responding immediately, anger flashes over his face. "Understood?"

"They're not meant for—"

"Is. That. Understood?"

"…Yes, Boss."

Gritting his teeth, Sans fires the blasters again, but only pours in half the usual magical energy. This way, he'll be able to increase the duration without the exercise taxing him so swiftly—

"Sans. Full power."

Of course, Papyrus catches on almost instantaneously. He can never get anything past him Sans pushes the correct amount of power into the attacks. Sweat beads on his skull. 10 seconds. 20 seconds. Papyrus' face betrays nothing as he stares up at the blasters. 30 seconds. Sans starts to gasp for breath.

"Boss—" He pleads.

"Keep going."

40 seconds. One of the beams dips in power. Panicking, Sans throws more than enough energy back into it to boost its output back up. His eyes dart over to look at his brother, but either Papyrus didn't notice the slip or is deciding to allow it.

50 seconds. Black spots dance into his vision—he doesn't think he's breathing, anymore—but he keeps the attack going. His soul screams inside his chest, but he keeps the attack going.

60 seconds.

"Stop."

The Gaster Blasters shatter to bits before they hit the ground. Sans collapses in the snow, shaking. He rubs at his chest, mentally begs for his soul to keep itself together and not shatter, too.

Papyrus looms over him.

"One minute. That's how long you can hold an attack for? One measly minute?"

Sans turns his head slightly to the side and vomits. Papyrus pulls a face.

"I see even something this simple exhausts you. I'll have to start even simpler."

"S-Sorry."

Papyrus turns away. Sans doesn't blame him; he's in a sweaty heap in the snow, his puke trickling down the snow and touching his cheek.

"I'll accept your apology if you reach your sentry station on time. And if I find you asleep on the job…" He lets the rest of his threat hang between them as he marches away to attend to his other duties.

Laboriously, Sans heaves himself into a sitting position. He cleans his face with with the sleeve of his hoodie, before removing his phone from his pocket with fumbling fingers to check the time. He has half an hour until his next shift. Papyrus had volunteered them both for extra shifts a few months ago in the hopes of impressing the captain; so far, it's only served to make Sans more exhausted.

Sans slowly stands up, using a nearby tree for balance. After he takes a moment to gather himself, he pushes off the tree, takes a step forward, but he immediately buckles, falling face-down into the snow.

He groans. His soul throbs. He just wants to sleep.

But Sans picks himself back up again, and starts staggering back towards the road. He's safe from attack if he can just make it to the sentry station. Backstabbing is perfectly acceptable as long as it's done on your own time. Some measure of stability has to be preserved, and sentry duty is highly esteemed, despite its rather mundane nature. Every monster wants to be the one to catch the final human, to wrench out their soul and subject monsterkind to their will.

Sans slumps with relief as he reaches his sentry station and sags into his seat. A few scattered mustard packets litter the table. The skeleton tears them open greedily, licking up their meager, near-frozen contents. They give his magic the slightest of boosts, but it's better than nothing. He'll have to wait until the end of his shift to replenish his magical reserves.

Sans pillows his head in his hands, then jerks up into a proper upright posture again. He mustn't fall asleep. Even if Papyrus' threat is empty, there's always the slight chance that it's not.

Every monster wants the final human's soul for themselves. Sans is one of the few exceptions. All that power at his disposability would be too much responsibility for him. He doesn't want to rule over anyone. Not to mention, Papyrus would be shattered…

It seems Papyrus' goal has shifted slightly, however. Once they left New Home, Papyrus pulled all kinds of strings—and killed all kinds of monsters—to get them a home in Snowdin. After all, if a human survived the Ruins, the small settlement in the woods would be their next stop. So why does Papyrus covet the position of second-in-command, of a station in Hotland, all of a sudden? Could he be planning to cozy up to Captain Undyne through his newfound status, then kill her? Or, perhaps, something more sinister—Hotland is home to Alphys, after all. Cruel jokes have trickled down through the ranks about the Royal Scientist's relationship with the captain. Maybe Papyrus is planning to use her as leverage against Captain Undyne?

"What are you up to, bro?" He wonders softly to himself. They used to be more of a team, back when they were younger. What the hell happened between them?

A sudden noise startles him. Magic sparks on his fingertips for a second, then sputters out again. He'll stand less of a chance in a fight than ever. He looks around wildly—then slumps with relief when he spots the source of the sound. A clump of snow had fallen off a branch, nothing more.

Sans' sentry shift passes as an exercise in endurance; he grapples both with the tedium of his work and the exhaustion in his bones, determined not to doze off.

When his shift ends, to his surprise, Papyrus comes to retrieve him. His shock must show on his face, because Papyrus raises an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem?"

"No p-problem here."

He walks with Papyrus back into town, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. If anyone wants to take him out, they'll have to get through Papyrus, first.

To his puzzlement, rather than heading straight home, Papyrus turns prematurely, to enter Grillby's. Sans hesitates. Papyrus loathes the bar. That's why Sans always has to sneak out to it—though he suspects the scent of beer and cheap food clings, and Papyrus can always smell the truth on him when he stumbles home in the early morning.

"Keep up," Says Papyrus. "I don't want to be in this disgusting place any longer than is necessary."

Papyrus enters the bar, Sans following close behind. All eyes turn to look at them, most of them unfriendly. The regulars, who always harangue Sans when he comes in alone, are silent, but their eyes glitter with malice. What remains of the canine unit sits at another table. They growl lowly under their breaths. They probably think Papyrus killed Doggo and Greater Dog, just because he felt like it; the tall skeleton doesn't bother to correct their assumptions. The tune on the jukebox ends, and no one gets up to restart it again, sitting in tense silence.

Papyrus stalks right up to the bar counter. Grillby sets aside the glass he was polishing, and nods at the order Papyrus rattles off. He disappears immediately into the kitchen to prepare the food; unlike Sans, his brother is impatient. Grillby is one of the few monsters Sans has never seen in action. The fire monster has the rare talent to stay neutral in all of Snowdin's disputes, without seeming like he's too good for them and pissing everyone off.

Papyrus idly taps his fingers against the bar counter, in a position as relaxed as someone like him can be. Even after all this time, it still baffles him. If all these monsters attacked at once, there's a chance they could take Papyrus down. At the very least, they could wound him; and down here, wounds are as good as a death sentence. You don't get the time needed to recover; someone always manages to kill you before then.

So how is Papyrus always so god-damn calm? So confident? They've been in here a total of five minutes, at best, and Sans' knees feel weak. He wants to run. He cracks his knuckles as quietly as he can.

To his relief, Grillby reappears soon enough, holding out a brown paper bag, already mottled with grease from its contents. The fire monster knows better than to ask for payment.

"It's yours."

It takes a moment for Sans to realize Papyrus is talking to him. He snatches up the bag before his brother changes his mind about this whole thing.

Once the door to Grillby's shuts behind them again, Sans can't help but sigh in relief. Papyrus rolls his eyes.

They reach home, and Papyrus opens the door. He doesn't bother with a lock; no one will dare vandalize his property.

Sans summons some scraps of courage from the familiar, safe surroundings.

"Um…why did you get me food from Grillby's?"

Papyrus turns back to look at him.

"Not that I'm not grateful. I am. I was just…wondering." He tries not to fidget under Papyrus' stare.

"You don't really deserve it after that pitiful display this afternoon." Papyrus confirms. "But you're no good to me if you're too weak to do anything."

"T-Thank you."

"Save it." Papyrus stomps up to his room, closing his door definitively behind him. He expects to be left alone for the rest of the night.

With his brother gone, so is any of Sans' decorum. He tears into the meal; two burgers, with a hearty side of fries. He smiles slightly as he bites into the first burger; it's slathered in mustard. Papyrus won't touch the stuff, but it's Sans' favorite. He'll have to thank Grillby the next time he sees him.

Sans polishes the meal off in record time, his soul thrumming happily as his magic starts to elevate to safer levels. He then fastidiously cleans off the living room table; if Papyrus finds so much as a speck of salt left behind, he'll have his head.

Sans climbs the steps upstairs slowly, looking forward to spending some quality time with his mattress. He hesitates in front of Papyrus' closed door. Days like today make him hope that somehow, buried under his layers of pride and anger, Papyrus cares for him. He quashes down the hope. Monsters do not love.

A pair of hands latches onto his ankles. His magic instinctively flares to life, but he stuffs it back down as he realizes who it is. Papyrus finishes dragging him out of bed until he hits the floor, skull smacking painfully against the hardwood.

"Boss, what the hell—"

"You can no longer afford to take such long naps. I only have six days left to whip you into shape. We're training, now."

Sans rolls so he can see the window; it's still pitch black out, the magically generated sun still absent. Far too early for any sane monster to be up and about.

"Boss, I promise I'll be ten times more efficient if you let me sleep just one more hour—"

"Nonsense." Papyrus grabs him by the front of his shirt, tugging him up into a standing position. "I've only had three hours of rest and look at me."

Well, he tried. He certainly didn't expect Papyrus to acquiesce to his request. The best he can hope for now is his brother's newfound training mania only lasts until Captain Undyne re-ranks the Royal Guard, and doesn't extend any further.

He shrugs on his black jacket, crams his feet into his boots, and is ready to go.

As Papyrus leads him out of town, uncertainty and anxiety begin to swirl within him. What kind of training will his brother put him through today? Will he make him use his Gaster Blasters again? What if he can't keep them going for a minute again? Oh God, what if he can't even manage 30 seconds? His forehead grows clammy with nervous sweat. His nervousness builds and builds. By the time they reach the forest, he has to clench his hands into fists to hide their trembling.

Papyrus folds his arms. "We're going to try something different today."

His statement somehow both quells Sans' anxiety and reignites it again. He's glad he won't have to suffer through the Gaster Blaster exercise again, but what will it be instead?

"It's clear from yesterday that I don't have a firm grasp on the limit and range of your powers." Papyrus spreads his arms wide in invitation. "So I want you to attack me so I can see how you fight."

No no no. "Boss, I don't—"

"What? Don't want to hurt me?" Papyrus snorts. "I doubt you'll land a single blow."

Still, Sans hesitates to call upon his magic. He knows he's not as strong as his brother, that he'd never be able to hurt him, not really. But still. But still.

"Don't keep me waiting. Attack."

Sans' eye flickers a smoking red. He raises a wall of bones, slow and easily overcome.

Papyrus dodges. With a snap of his fingers, one of his Gaster Blasters pops into existence.

"Every time you fail to come at me seriously—"

Sans is forced to teleport several feet back, lest the unleashed beam blast him to dust. The ground smokes slightly.

"—I will be forced to come at you seriously. And how long do you think you'll last? After all, it'll only take one hit, Mr. 1 HP."

Papyrus is goading him to attack. Fine, then. If that's what he wants.

Sans strikes with a flurry of bone attacks, none of the patterns similar, forcing his brother to almost dance about, moving constantly to avoid being impaled.

"Yes!" Papyrus screams, as an attack nearly severs his arm off. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Sans can feel his brother's soul, strong and beating in his chest. He makes a cradling motion with his left hand, and he can see Papyrus' soul shine blue, even beneath the confines of his armor.

He brings his hand down, slamming Papyrus into the ground. A flicker of pride runs through him. Papyrus is never able to turn his enemies blue without using blue attacks first, to subtly alter the composition of their souls, so they're more susceptible to blue. Sans has no such handicap.

They continue for several minutes in this fashion, Sans tossing his brother's body around like a ragdoll, occasionally throwing bone attacks into the mix, forcing Papyrus to both dodge and combat the effects of altered gravity simultaneously. All his sparring sessions with Captain Undyne are definitely paying off; true to his boast, Papyrus has not been hit a single time.

To catch his breath for a moment, and out of curiosity, he checks his brother's stats.

PAPYRUS LV 15 HP 6800 AT 50 DF 50

"Holy shit," He breathes. He knew Papyrus was strong, but this, but this—he might actually defeat them all one day. The king is the only monster to ever reach 20, the LV cap. He's unsure of Captain Undyne's LV, but it can't be higher than 17.

His magic fizzles to nothing. Papyrus strides towards him, frowning.

"What is the problem? You were performing…adequately."

"Why do you even bother with me?" Papyrus is surprised, a look seldom seen. "I mean, you're, you're so—" He gestures to Papyrus, not knowing how to describe it himself, but sure Papyrus understands. "—and I'm just—just—Mr. 1 HP." He finishes lamely.

Papyrus stares at him a moment, then smacks him with an open palm across the skull.

"Ow!" He rubs at the spot. That smarts. "What was that for?"

"You're being stupid. Am I the sentimental type?"

"…No."

"Then you know I wouldn't keep you around simply because we are brothers." Papyrus doesn't look Sans in the eye. "You have some value to me."

Sans soaks up the rare praise, soul pulsing with a faint joy.

"Now stop slacking off and fight!"

Three days left until Captain Undyne's reevaluation. Like the past three mornings, Sans trudges beside Papyrus until they're past the borders of Snowdin, where they can spar free of potential distractions. As Papyrus pulls him into battle, Sans struggles to remain upright, head swimming. Papyrus' words did well to motivate him, at first, and he attacked with vigor and finesse.

But his energy fizzled down to nothing soon enough. It's basic mathematics, addition and subtraction. Every day he subtracted more and more of his magical energy, as Papyrus demanded increasingly complex maneuvers of him. And every day, he added less and less to his reserves, as even his favorite foods left him feeling queasy. Sans was just able to choke down his meal last night; honestly, he's not sure if he can manage anything today.

"Let's just get right to the point." He mutters.

He summons two of his Gaster Blasters, and they hound Papyrus. Sans can't have them constantly emitting blasts. The pain would be unimaginable. So instead, he uses the threat of what they can do against Papyrus, shoving their muzzles threateningly in Papyrus' face. Not knowing whether they'll fire or not, Papyrus is forced to dodge either way.

"Papyrus, sir!" Whimsalot flutters towards them.

Sans dispels his magic instantly. He could almost kiss the monster for the distraction. He leans back against a nearby tree, catching his breath.

Whimsalot salutes, hovering in the air before Papyrus.

"What is it?" The tall skeleton is disgruntled at being interrupted.

"The Captain requests your presence for a training session immediately."

Papyrus lets out a satisfied hiss.

"Let her know I'll be along shortly."

"Yes, sir!" Saluting one final time, Whimsalot darts away.

Papyrus looks like a cat who just devoured a canary.

"This is perfect. I'll use this sparring sessions to demonstrate that I'm the only one worthy of the second-in-command position."

"G-Good job, Boss."

Papyrus frowns. "You should be more enthusiastic. This means you get a break for today."

Sans tries to smile, but can only manage a grimace.

They walk home. Papyrus lingers just long enough to give himself a once-over in the mirror and then he's gone, unwilling to keep the captain waiting for him for long.

Sans curls up miserably on the couch. He should use this blessing of extra time to his advantage. He should go to Grillby's, and gorge himself to replenish his magical energy as much as possible before Papyrus returns. But he can't eat. He feels nauseous just considering the prospect of food.

He hugs himself, bones shaking with weariness and fear. He can't keep doing this. It's killing him. Tears bud in the corners of his eye sockets, and he can't help but erupt into a fit of crazed giggles and snorts. He thought all his tears were beaten out of him, long ago. Guess that's one more thing he's wrong about.

Sans contemplates just leaving. Just warping right out of Snowdin, to wherever the fuck he wants. Papyrus would come home, ready to berate and chastise him, to find only an empty house waiting. He chuckles, imagining the stunned, frazzled look on his brother's face if he simply vanished. What would Papyrus even do after that? God knows he couldn't go a day without nagging someone about something. Maybe he'd take in one of the dogs—seeing as the canine unit is crumbling to pieces—and dress it in one of Sans' spare hoodies. Sans laughs and laughs, until his laughter finally dies.

Sans could leave right now.

But…he can't. Where would he go? The rest of the underground is small and cramped; at least in Snowdin, he can breathe in the scent of the pine trees. New Home always stank of blood and dust and piss.

And even if he found a place to settle down, he'd never be safe. Anywhere he went, someone would check his stats, and they'd know he's just free EXP waiting to be claimed. He can't do it. He can't leave. Safety is with Papyrus.

But. It hurts. It's only been a few days, but the few snatches of sleep and bites of food he's managed aren't enough to sustain the energy he's being forced to expel.

"Just three days left." He whispers, but the words feel like a false promise even to him. "Just three days left."

"Sans! Get up!" He awakens some time later to Papyrus barking in his ear.

Sans scrambles to sit upright on the couch, wiping his drool away on the corner of his sleeve. Papyrus looks dirtier than usual, as if he's fallen in the mud a few times, but otherwise no worse for wear.

"How was the captain?"

Papyrus scowls. Oh no. It must not have gone well. What was he thinking, he shouldn't have asked—

"Since you missed out on your training this morning, we're making up for lost time now."

He grabs Sans' wrist in a grip that would bruise if he had skin. He hauls Sans after him through the town. Sans stumbles to keep pace, his head muzzy. The rest had done him a little good, but not much.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting the town in golds and reds.

Papyrus hauls him to the same clearing they were in that morning, then releases his grip. Sans pitches forward on his hands and knees, unable to stand on his own.

"Summon your blasters."

Sans pants with fatigue, but obeys. He calls up all four. He can't handle it; one of them dissolves instantly after forming.

"Boss, please. I'm so tired." His voice cracks.

"You can rest later. Right now, I'm telling you to attack. Now do it!"

One of the blasters half-heartedly lunges at him, massive jaws snapping at his armor. Sans can't summon the energy to actually fire with it.

"Now what did I say?"

Papyrus spears the Gaster Blaster with a bone attack, cracking the skull. Sans cries out, feeling its pain through the tether. He hastily recalls the blaster. Two remain, hanging over his head.

"Attack for real, or I'll retaliate."

"N-No." He tries to spare Papyrus. His brother doesn't permit it.

"No? Did you just say no to me?"

Papyrus steps closer, approaching. Another Gaster Blaster falls apart, Sans unable to sustain it. The final blaster starts dripping apart, losing its consistency. Sans feels as if something has knocked loose in his chest, and everything he's been bottling up rushes forth.

"I can't do this any longer. I can't. I'm trying, I'm trying so hard for you, but I can't, I can't do it anymore."

Papyrus steps closer. A whine builds in the back of Sans' throat, and he's echoed by the Gaster Blaster above.

"Sans—"

"I want to stop."

Papyrus is right in front of him. His soul lurches with primal fear.

"Just stop it, stop, stop!"

Papyrus reaches out a hand—to harm, to heal, Sans does not know—but his movement is seen as threatening and the Gaster Blaster opens its maw wide, and Sans' world whites out for a moment.

When his vision clears, Papyrus is sprawled out on his back, eye sockets vacant, the breastplate of his armor obliterated, his ribs cracking into dust.

"Papyrus!"