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Papyrus was an active young kid with no one to play with.
He bounced a ball against the floor, it hit the wall, and he caught it. For the millionth time.
He wasn't really allowed to bounce the ball, or kick it. Dad said so. But how else were you supposed to play with a ball? He wanted to be good at kickball. He wanted to be good at everything, like Dad.
Papyrus put the ball on the hallway floor and kicked it as hard as he could.
The ball missed the wall. It bounced off a door with a surprising bang and he clapped his hands over his mouth.
Downstairs, Dad's office door opened. Papyrus turned to flee, but --
"Papyrus! Come here! Don't think of hiding."
Begrudgingly, Papyrus traipsed down the stairs as slowly as he could. Dad was waiting at the bottom, arms folded. "What on earth was that sound? Nothing better be broken."
"Nothing's broken."
"I have told you about being careless."
"Sorry." He stared at his shoes.
"Next time, there will be consequences."
"Okay."
Dad lingered for a moment as though looking for something else to comment on, then he wordlessly went back into the office and shut the door hard. That could have gone worse... Dad must have been busy today.
Maybe if he went further away from Dad with the ball, Dad wouldn't be able to hear it?
He ran upstairs to fetch the ball and thought about where to take it. He couldn't leave the house without permission. But this place was kinda big, so if he went as far away as possible from that downstairs office, Dad wouldn't hear.
The attic! Of course. Papyrus crept up to where the pull-cord hung from the trapdoor in the ceiling. He wasn't tall enough (yet!) but if he jumped...
He missed the pull-cord by a good foot or so. Hmm... he tapped a foot on the floor while he thought about this conundrum.
He could stand on a chair! He fetched one from a room and carry-dragged it to under the cord. He clambered up and... still an inch away... hopped upwards.
Got it! He tugged it downwards and the hatch opened. The ladder descended and touched the floor. Excited, Papyrus clambered up into the attic space, his ball under his arm.
It was dead quiet up here and there was lots of space. Up here, nobody would hear him bouncing the ball off the walls.
Papyrus put it down and gave it a test kick. It went all the way across the attic and hit an empty old bookshelf and bounced off at a strange angle. He ran after it. He was going to learn how to kick a ball so hard it flew all the way across the field!
He practiced a very hard kick.
The ball hit the sloped ceiling. Then the floor.
Then it sailed towards a vase wrapped in newspaper.
Crunch.
Papyrus gasped.
The vase was broken where the ball had hit it. Inside the newspaper, its bulbous side was now punched inwards. Papyrus bit his fingertips.
He could NOT tell Dad about the vase... he'd be furious at Papyrus for being careless.
Papyrus would hide the vase. Make it a secret.
Papyrus examined the vase up close. It was definitely broken, and if he unwrapped it it would fall to pieces. So he turned the vase so the broken side faced away from the hatch. That way, Dad might never notice...?
Feeling guilty, Papyrus collected up his ball and hurried down the ladder. He shoved the ladder upwards and the hatch pulled itself closed.
He really should tell Dad that he broke something. But if he did that, there was no telling how much trouble he'd be in. His ball would be taken away for sure. He might be grounded for a million years!
Papyrus snuck back to his room to hide the ball at the bottom of his closet until he felt brave again.
He never told his Dad about the vase.
Papyrus was a feisty kid and he sometimes picked the wrong fight.
He crashed to the ground. He sat up, a little dazed, just as the other kid's makeshift sword swung through the air at him. Papyrus rocked backwards at the last moment and the sword missed his skull.
His thigh had not been so lucky.
The crack that resulted made both kids flinch. The attacker hesitated, eyes wide, and Papyrus raised his arms and summoned the best attack he could muster.
Bones flew shakily and the kid fled.
Clutching his thighbone, Papyrus burst into tears.
He struggled to get up and tried to stop crying. Dad always said crying didn't do any good. He limped away from the scene with his face set into a painful grimace.
He almost managed to stop the tears when he was totally alone on a quiet street. He thought of home, but he found he didn't want to go home and see Dad.
Papyrus sank to the ground and tenderly stretched his leg out in front of him. The wound was thankfully only a chip and a crack... Dad could heal it properly. But he'd be so disappointed in Papyrus for getting hurt again. Papyrus didn't wanna go in there with another silly injury and tear tracks on his face.
What was one little scrape, anyway? Papyrus wasn't little anymore. Dad said as much every time he got hurt. Sure, the scratch was kinda nasty. The deepest he'd ever gotten, actually... it hurt bad. But Papyrus did not want to be healed half-heartedly and called a crybaby. He didn't want to dodge questions and avoid those cold eyes. He didn't want to squirm like an eel on a fork.
He wanted to stand on his own two feet, like what he was told to do all the time.
Papyrus used his own shaky healing magic to close the cut. It took a long time, and he walked home with a painful limp. The leg was never quite the same.
Papyrus was a moody teen, and he came home from school in a foul mood.
He'd been dreading his report card for weeks, and finally it had been dropped onto his desk like a dead mouse. It needed to be signed by start of class on Monday morning. Papyrus thought about taking the report card straight to his father's office, but maybe he should enjoy the weekend and take it to Gaster first thing on Monday.
No, if he brought it to him on Monday, Gaster would know he'd been hiding it all weekend and the punishment would be worse.
The report card shook like a criminal under a spotlight in his trembling hands. He couldn't tell his father. He'd think Papyrus was stupid and lazy, would tell him it was his own fault for failing to study. Papyrus couldn't take this to his father.
Papyrus could just sign it himself, copy his father's handwriting. Yeah, that might actually work. He fumbled around for a pen.
He forged his father's signature carefully and shoved it back in his bag. Then he threw the bag under the bed, determined to enjoy this weekend without having the report card hanging over him like a dark cloud.
His father would never know. It's not like he cared enough to know when to expect report cards from his son, anyway.
Papyrus wasn't the best behaved teen.
He came home only an hour after sneaking out. He wished he hadn't gone to the party. He wished he hadn't gone outdoors for a smoke.
He limped up the stairs silently to the bathroom for a shower. Tear tracks and dirt marred his face. His neck was scratched from the bites. His thighs...
He felt truly filthy.
The shower came on. He turned it to low power and frigid cold, not wanting the sound of the heater to wake Gaster and make him yell. The water startled him when he stepped under the spray and the cold shock made him start crying again. He didn't want to cry, he wanted to be normal. He almost punched the side of the shower but he couldn't wake his father, so he settled for clenching his teeth and scrubbing himself twice as hard.
He shouldn't have gone to the party.
Papyrus got out of the shower freezing but clean enough. He scratched an old scar on his thigh and wrapped himself in a towel.
He couldn't tell Gaster about the party, no way. Gaster would sneer and tell him he should have known better. He'd think Papyrus was an idiot child.
He'd think Papyrus was dirty. Useless. Asking for it.
His fault for slipping out at night. His fault for being so naive. His fault for being careless.
His fault for being Papyrus.
Papyrus trod slowly down the hallway to his room and put a palm on Gaster's bedroom door.
There was... no one to talk to about this. No one but Gaster, and Gaster didn't want to hear Papyrus's problems. He took his hand off the door and went to his room, alone.
He'd have to just make it a secret.