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One year, eleven months, twenty-nine days, ten hours and forty-six minutes. That was how long it had been since the Barrier had been broken.
This meant a lot of things which, being the ambassador and all, Papyrus knew well enough. It meant that the reallocation of 90% of monsterkind to the Surface had been successful! It meant their proposal to support those who chose to stay underground was being passed in the Humans' courts! It meant that Frisk was now almost three full inches taller than his brother!!
…Among other things, too.
Currently, it meant they were very, very late.
Papyrus finished stirring the noodles and turned off the stove. He tapped the spoon against the side of the pot and waited a few moments for the sauce to plop back into the pot. A good half a minute less than his last attempt. A new record!
He did a half-spin and bowed to his imaginary audience. Ms Toriel would be impressed, he thought, scraping the masterfully cooked—if slightly purple??—spaghetti into a tupperware box.
Ah, yes. Papyrus’ cooking was among the things that had changed since moving to the Surface, Toriel’s lessons being the main cause of this. It was an… interesting experience. Her methods were clearly unorthodox, and she seemed unfamiliar with the deadly song and dance of ingredients Undyne had taught him. No uncontrolled flames, no flying appliances, no dramatic poses. She said she was too old for that brand of fiery passion, so she did her best to put in the warmth of love instead.
(Fortunately, the Great Papyrus has a whole lot of both. Making a small substitution for the more delicate palate was a nonissue.)
He hadn't realized it until now, but it was one of the things he would miss the most—hypothetically, of course. It was nice. Domestic, even. In the way that everything about the old queen was domestic, yes, but also another kind. One that Papyrus knew, he was sure of it, but couldn't quite…
He shook himself out of his reverie. Oh well, it's no good thinking too hard on this sort of thing. The last thing he needed right now was a headache.
Speaking of headaches. And the party. And being very late.
Papyrus poked his head out of the kitchen and into the living room.
“Sans?”
From the depths of the couch cushions, a gloved hand waved at the ceiling.
He strode towards it with a sigh. As usual, Sans was lazing about. Papyrus snatched up his brother's copy of the newspaper and pretended to glare at him.
“Hey,” said Sans, “I was reading that.”
“You were snoring! Also, it was lying on your face.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where my eyes are,” Sans blinked slowly up at his brother. “Uh, aren’t. What's up?”
“You know what's up, brother! Even worse, do you know what is not up? You!! The anniversary party is starting in less than an hour and you're still snoring on the couch. What are you even doing??”
“Checking out the funny pages. They're not that good, though. I was gonna do some crosswords but it's, uh, kinda hard to write stuff in the boxes after you vandalized them.”
“What?? Vandalized them? Please, this is clearly an improvement on the original formula.”
Sans raised an eyebrow, which was impressive because he never drew them on.
“By drawing spike traps in it.”
“Yes! There's no challenge if you can just write the answer in. Where's the pizzazz?”
“Uh-huh. And, uh, you doing a kickflip over the hint list?
“Oh. I just thought it looked cool.”
Sans nodded in agreement, as he should.
“But enough about crosswords!” Papyrus tossed the newspaper aside. (Normally he would insist on placing it in the garbage can, but there wasn’t time for that.) “The party starts in thirty-seven minutes! We’re going to be late!!”
“Late? Is that what they call having thirty-six minutes to spare?” Sans grinned, digging in his pockets. Several canned sound effects played—shattering glass, a cowbell, a rim shot, complete with concerningly loud reverb—before his mittened hand re-emerged with a family-sized bag of ketchup chips.
"Let's go."
Papyrus shuffled his feet. You could always trust Sans to make this sort of things difficult.
“Well—" he tried to reason"—you haven’t even gotten ready yet!!”
Sans shook the chip bag. It made a sound like a yowling cat.
“Ready as I’m getting. What about everyone else? You going to round up Tori and the kid?”
“That circle would have to be of exceedingly wide diameter." Papyrus crossed his arms over his chest. "...considering they left almost an hour ago."
Sans looked around the living room. Instinctively—or perhaps on the off chance that half a ton of boss monster could compress itself into six square inches of space—his hand reached over to check underneath the couch cushions.
"...Huh. Guess they did. Didn't realize I slept through that."
Which, of course, was entirely intentional.
He shrugged, "Welp. Looks like we're all set, then."
"W-Wait!"
Sans stopped. He looked back at him with an unreadable expression and stuffed the bag of chips back in his pockets. No sound effects this time.
"What's the holdup?"
"Well... Um, maybe you left? The sprinklers on??"
"Nope."
Papyrus dug around his skull for another excuse, "Or! We could um... take those petunias outside! I'm sure king Asgore would love to see them?"
"They're, uh... plastic."
"I—Wait, they are?"
"Yep," said Sans, his grin slow and knowing, "Besides, even if we need anything... I can always just pop back and grab it later. Weren't you all in a rush just a moment ago?"
Papyrus gave up.
"FINE!!!" he threw his arms in the air, "Will you please make up an excuse so we can go into the garden and I can show you the very cool surprise you obviously know all about already?!"
"Woah. You got a surprise for me?"
"I can't work in this environment."
Papyrus heard his brother laugh as he turned his back on him and stormed off. A second later, he felt his presence at his side again, faster than he logically could've walked without breaking into an outright jog.
"Hey, take it easy. I'm just messing with ya."
"Could you be any more difficult about this sort of thing? Honestly! You can't even imagine how much worse planning for your birthdays is. They should be considered an olympic sport."
"Heh, just ‘cause I figured you were hiding something doesn’t mean I know what it is." Sans had the gall to wink at him. "didn't really feel like putting in the legwork to find out.”
"You are unbelievable, as always!" said Papyrus, but… oh, there was no heart in it. After all, it was nothing but his brother's backhanded way to say that he respected his privacy. You just had to read between the lines with Sans, otherwise you'd die of frustration.
In a much better use of his time, Papyrus strode to the front door of their house and opened it with a flourish.
"Behold!"
Greater men would have gaped in wordless wonder. Mouths would hang, eyebrows would shoot towards the sky and they would gasp! Swoon!! Awe shining in their eyes at the incredible craftsmanship on display! Who could this belong to, they would cry, only an extremely handsome skeleton could have such refined taste in machinery!
As this was Sans, his expression remained pretty much unchanged, save for a slight widening of his eye-sockets. Which was actually quite expressive for his brother, so Papyrus was pleased, all things considered.
He gave a short breathless laugh, "Woah there. You sleeping outside tonight?"
"Ohohoh, you would think that, wouldn't you? But there is no snoozing to be had on this cruise! This—" said Papyrus, leaning against the side of the car, "is what they call 'the real deal'! The genuine article!! The..."
"Real McQueen?
Papyrus narrowed his eyes, "Ugh!! Whatever!"
Sans stepped out the door and began to circle the vehicle. Papyrus was biased of course, but it was, objectively, a ridiculously cool car. Fire red, as would befit any specimen worthy of the name; convertible for maximum wind capacity to blow magnificently in your hair. Miss Toriel might have remarked on its lesser versatility compared to her ever-classic minivan, but it was, overall, a wonderful contraption. The flashy kind, like in Mettaton's movies: it was a car that screamed "Happy ending" and "Roll the credits", "Please fasten seatbelt on the driver's seat", or "Don't you look gorgeous today?"
That sort of thing.
"When did you even buy this?" his brother continued.
"A few days ago. It was paid in full and belongs all to myself. It's still sparkling new!!"
"That's, uh, gotta have cost you some money," Sans shifted on his feet, almost uncomfortably. "I didn't hear a peep about this… Or, heh, a pap. You really got everything covered?"
"Fear not, brother. The government pays handsomely for a very handsome ambassador."
Which was indeed true. It also demanded as much, although Papyrus ignored the thought as soon as it formed.
Sans hummed appreciatively and rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car.
“Manual or automatic?”
“Pfftbbt. Please, automatic is for babybones.”
“You're dodging the question.”
“What? No I’m not!!!” Papyrus stomped his foot on the ground for good measure. He crossed his arms over his chest, "Of course it's manual!! Besides, you know I can never resist the allure of a good, crankable lever."
"Hey, can't argue with that."
Evidently judging his inspection to be complete, Sans slid his hands into his pockets once more.
He looked back at Papyrus over the hood.
"It's a good car," he said plainly, with the same slow grin on his skull.
"It is," said Papyrus, suspiciously.
"Can I—"
"Absolutely not."
Sans blinked, "Welp, that was fast."
He shrugged, nonchalant, then—"I'll handle the dishes for a week."
"No."
"Two weeks."
"Still no."
"I'll vacuum the entire house—" he raised a finger, "my room included."
Papyrus shifted awkwardly on his feet. "You drive a hard bargain."
"To drive a cool car." Sans winked. "Snowdin poker champion, remember? I still have that five year win streak. How about this: a no socks on the floor agreement, until Gyftmas. It's my last offer."
It was enough.
With a dramatic twirl, Papyrus turned away from his brother and stared into the horizon. A convenient gust of wind blew past, making his scarf billow majestically behind him.
"As I was saying, you drive a hard bargain, brother. But!! I have no choice but to refuse! The current conditions... make it simply impossible!"
Hook…
Sans grinned up at him with that complacent grin that meant he was willing to play along: "Really? What conditions, bro?"
Line…
"Your condition! After all," Papyrus turned his head back, a smug victorious grin plastered on his skull, "you don't have a driving license."
His brother blinked. In the pinprick-lit darkness of his eye sockets, the barest spark of annoyance flickered and died.
…and sinker.
"Cool. But, uh, I think you might be forgetting something. Since, you know… I HAVE a license. So—"
"Ohoh, of course you do," Papyrus interrupted him, enjoying himself immensely. "Let me rephrase that then, you don't have a license... that would be worth anything in case we get pulled over!! Besides, it's been so long it's basically scrap paper. Excuse me, Mr. Officer sir-or-madam, I—"
"Look—"
"—happen to be driving this car completely legally. Here, why don't you take a looksie at my very, very legitimate documents that I—"
"They ARE real, you know—"
"—acquired here among you on the surface a decade before the Barrier was ever broken. In Tennessee, which is a real place that exists."
"I'm sure they have a Tennessee over here," Sans protested.
"Well? Have you checked??"
Sans looked as if he were about to talk, only to finally click his jaw shut. In the end he merely chuckled and gave a defeated shrug.
"Alright alright. You got me. But, uh, I'm calling shotgun in advance. Bro privileges, you know."
"Of course! As long as you don't make yourself completely useless as a navigator."
"Hey, I can't promise anything. But uh, I do know a couple of shortcuts," Sans gave him a wink. "Speaking of, I think it's time we got going, wouldn't you say?"
With a muffled jangle, Sans extricated a hand from his hoodie and offered it between them, palm side up.
"I completely agree!!!" said Papyrus, ignoring it. "Get in."
For the third time in the span of a few minutes, much to Papyrus' chagrin, his brother merely blinked up at him.
"...What?"
"Get in the car! Didn't you call shotgun?"
"Dude. There's—” Sans fished his cellphone out of the great Pacific garbage patch of his pockets, “—twenty minutes max before the party starts. It's, uh, on the other side of the state. We're never gonna make it.”
Papyrus simply smiled, “Aren't you forgetting something?"
Sans gave him a Look.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” said Papyrus, giving him a Look of his own. He leaned down to his brother's height, a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
“It's a very good car.”
“Huh. So you're just gonna… what. Break every traffic law in existence?”
“That's right!" Papyrus waved his concerns away. "And physics. If, of course, you're willing to pull your own weight."
“...wait a second.”
Sans tilted his head at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously calling double shortcut?”
“Nyeh…eh? You seem confused.”
“You hate shortcuts.”
“Pfttt, no I don't!!" Papyrus scoffed, "They're just lazy. Also you're weirdly obsessed with them.”
His brother didn't respond. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and looked down at the car. The silence dragged on between them for five, six seconds, then longer; long enough that Papyrus started to fidget with his hands and glancing around, worried for what he knew was coming, then—
"You got in, didn't you?" Sans said, plainly.
Papyrus didn't respond, still wringing at his gloves. In the end, he only had to look his brother in the eye.
Sans began to laugh.
"I knew it," he said, still laughing. "I told you! I knew you could do it."
He stopped and looked up at him again.
"So, uh, howdja place?"
Papyrus relented, his whole body sagging out of his prouder stance, and leaned against the car, "Nyeh... top of the class. Or, well, class-to-be."
"Who am I kidding, of course you did. That's," Sans passed a hand over his face. "Good. That's... that's really good."
"Yes, I... King Asgore says it will be a great diplomatic opportunity. A meeting of young minds of the highest caliber! Human and monster alike."
"That sounds great. 'Gratz, bud. You must be, uh, pretty excited about this."
"W-Well...! It's just—"
Papyrus turned away.
A second passed. Behind him, he heard his brother shuffle over. A moment later, he was hoisting himself up to sit on the hood of the car.
"...on the other side of the world?"
"...Yes. It is."
Sans hummed, "I see... Welp, that makes sense. Being worried, I mean. But hey, look on the bright side—"he nudged Papyrus with an elbow—"They'll know your name the world over, huh?"
"Oh-oh, of course, brother. As would befit anyone as great as I, but..."
"You won't know anyone, either," Sans finished for him.
He nodded.
Which was, in fact, the issue. Making his name known all over the world was swell and all, but it also required people not knowing it first. People who would have to learn it, who would fall over one another to have a friend as cool as him, but who also, maybe, would not.
Which was! Okay!! You couldn't fault people for having bad taste, but, well... at the end of the day, he'd always been able to go back home to someone whose taste was perfectly fine by him, thank you very much (for all his looks and smells might leave something to be desired). At least, he did until now.
And, well. There was something else, too.
"Y'know," said Sans, after a few seconds of contemplation, "I could always just, uh. Come with. If you want?"
"Oh, come on. Be serious."
"Hey, who says I'm not? Besides, you know me. I'm happy where you're happy."
Papyrus shook his head. He looked at his brother, "That's not really true, though, is it."
He didn't pose it like a question. Sans actually avoided his gaze.
And there it was again, that static crackling softly in the back of his skull, yes. But Papyrus didn't need to look to Before for proof. The present was more than enough: anyone could see that his brother and Ms Toriel got along like a house on fire—or at least, like a bungalow on medium-to-low simmer. Sure, Sans wouldn't do badly moving alongside him, but he wouldn't really have anything to do, either. Besides, he really did enjoy her company. They did each other good; it would be selfish of him to tear them apart, or even worse, ask him to choose.
"Just like I thought," Papyrus said, stretching himself back to his full, admirable height. He'd made up his mind. "Well, thank you for your offer all the same, brother. But I think I'm ready to set off on my own. After all, anyone deserves the privilege of meeting the great Papyrus, and I can't fulfil their dreams unless I'm actually there to introduce them!! And who am I to deny the people."
Sans snorted to himself, "Heh. Well said. So... You sure about this, then?"
"Abso-dabso-lutely!!"
"Alright. Gee, that's gonna be a big change." He hopped off of the hood of the car and shrugged his shoulders, "I mean, just imagine how much cleaner things will be without me around. What if you get nostalgic?"
Papyrus rolled his eyes, "I presume I'll drop a sock on the floor in your honor."
Sans clutched a hand over his ribs where a fleshy heart would normally be, and mimed a single tear rolling down his cheek with a finger. Papyrus all but told him to shove it.
"So," said Sans.
"So!!!" echoed Papyrus.
"I'm gonna go off on a limb and guess that this," his brother waved his hand vaguely, "has something to do with that" he pointed at the car.
Papyrus rubbed his hands together, nervous once again.
"You could say that, yes."
"Your... what. I Passed My Exams little treat? Making some noise before uni books eat you alive?"
“W-Well, yes! You see!!" Papyrus brightened, "I thought it might be fun, since I know we both…”
He hesitated. They both...
...Made it. That was the something else, at the heart of it all.
They'd made it. Together, on the surface, all in one piece (more or less), under the same sky and stars, the real stars. Because Snowdin and the Underground had been nice, and training for the Royal Guard had been fun, but finally, finally, he felt like he'd found his place. I mean, of course he did!! He never doubted it, in any way whatsoever, even when he kinda did. And he loved being the ambassador, but it HAD made him so very busy, with his new duties and his new colleagues, and now... this.
Because this was the happiest Papyrus could remember seeing his brother without his memories going fuzzy with static. And if they were going to spend so much time apart going forward, well, shouldn't they try to enjoy themselves to the fullest, here and now? And if...
Papyrus froze. He hadn't said anything yet, but as he looked down, he found that Sans was looking right back, his carefully calculated poker face slipping slightly in a way that told him he didn't need to. He wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved or cornered.
He let his arms fall to his sides. His words hung awkwardly in the air, incomplete, so after another moment of hesitation, he finished a bit weakly:
“We both... like…? Cars???”
“I see.”
Sans passed a hand over his face. Again. There was something unguarded about his expression.
"Hey, uh," he said eventually, "can I say something cheesy?"
"Of course."
"Cheddar."
Papyrus threw his arms to the sky, "Oh my god, I can't believe you!"
"Nah," said his brother, "you can. Hey, can I say something cheesier?"
"Ugh. Let me guess, Gruyere?"
"Heheh. Nice one. But, uh," Sans gave him a wobbly smile. "I'm kinda really stupid proud of you, you know right?"
It would be nice to say that Papyrus didn't stare at him afterwards, not even a little. That he promptly raised his fist to his chest and laughed with good humor, and that his voice didn't crack at all when he responded with something witty and cool.
This is because it was exactly what happened.
"Nyehehe! Of course! Who wouldn't be proud to have such an incredible brother."
"Yeah. You're pretty gouda. Wait... Hang on. Are you seriously—?"
"No!!" said Papyrus, "These are beads of... sweat. In my eyes. Anxious sweat! Because! In case you hadn't noticed, we are still late!"
"Whoops. We better get going then. Although," Sans reasoned, moving towards the car, "If you're really going to break the law, wouldn't it be better to, uh, not risk your shiny new license—"
"Oh my god, you're not driving my car!"
"Ah, damn it. Worth a shot."
As they climbed into their seats and Papyrus turned on the engine, Sans suddenly gripped his arm.
Papyrus looked over at his brother, "What is it now?"
"We have a car," Sans said, simply.
Papyrus groaned, "No, we don't have a car, I have a car. You are merely inside the–"
"What—Dude, who cares. I said we," Sans stressed again, "have a car. You know what we have to do now, right?"
"What are you talking about?"
Rummaging a hand through his pockets one last time, Sans took out a single, pristine pair of sunglasses. He shook them gently for emphasis.
Something from the depths of Papyrus' mind went click.
"Oh," he said. "No."
"Yep."
"You can't be serious. This is ridiculous. I refuse."
"We have to do it, it's the law," Sans continued, undeterred. No facial expression his brother was physically capable of producing could have ever been described as manic—his features just didn't have the necessary elasticity—but the one he was sporting right now was doing a very good job getting as close to it as it could, "Come on, dude. We can't not do the scene now that we have an actual car."
Papyrus heaved a sigh. He fixed his rear view mirror, rummaged through the car's glovebox compartment—past, as the name indicated, the several pair of spare gloves he'd put there the moment he bought it, just in case—and took out a matching set of sunglasses.
"Fine!!" he relented, "Just because it makes you happy, for some ridiculous reason."
His brother laughed, clicking his seatbelt in place. It wasn't gonna do much of anything, not with the tricks they were going to pull in a few seconds, but it was the thought that counted.
The sunglasses clanked as they settled over their skulls.
"Ready when you are," Sans grinned, eyelights so bright that Papyrus could see them glow behind the darkened lenses.
He drummed his fingers over the steering wheel. What he thought, with a smile, was Oh, what the heck.
What he said, instead, was this.
"It's a hundred and six miles to Chicago," he threw a glance at the passenger seat. "We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark... and we're wearing sunglasses."
As the car's engine thrummed under their seats, the fabric of time and space thrummed with it. The laws of a universe that they had made theirs bending to their breaking point, like a slingshot ready to fire.
Sans held onto his seat. The world went ding.
"Hit it!"