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“THAT IS WONDERFUL! IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WORKED HARD ON IT! WAS YOUR PROFESSOR IMPRESSED?”
Sans’s leans into his hand. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches Papyrus pace the living room and talk excitedly into his phone. Their nightly ritual of watching crappy shows after work has been interrupted by what his brother has deemed “A VERY IMPORTANT PHONE CALL.” Papyrus has told him that he can watch without him, but his brother keeps darting in front of the TV, obstructing his view of the television every few seconds.
But that’s okay. He loves it when Papyrus gets excited, and right now his brother is bubbling with giddiness as he talks to Frisk for the first time in months. There’s a spring to his step that reminds Sans of when they were younger and had far more energy. Well, that’s a lie. Papyrus still has and probably always will have all that energy; he just knows how to contain it now. Long past were the nights when his brother would come barging into his room at three in the morning, begging him to taste his newest recipe. Nowadays he’ll wait until at least six.
Still, it’s great to see him revert to his old ways. A smile plays across Sans’s face as he takes a long draught from the bottle of lemonade in his hand.
Suddenly Papyrus pauses mid-pace and his smile falters ever-so-slightly.
“YES, YES, I AGREE! IT IS LATE HERE AS WELL AND YOU NEED TO STUDY!” He stops to let Frisk speak, and whatever they’re saying puts another bright grin on Papyrus’s face. “YES! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU WOULD CALL AFTER THE EXAM! IT WAS WONDERFUL TO TALK TO YOU TONIGHT!”
Heh. The kid still knows all the right things to say to make Papyrus happy. Sans takes another sip of his drink, relaxing into the couch.
“YES, YES! OF COURSE! NOW,” Papyrus says, suddenly stern. “TURN OFF YOUR PHONE AND GET TO WORK! IF I FIND OUT THAT YOU WASTED THE NIGHT AWAY PLAYING SUGARCUBE SLAM INSTEAD OF STUDYING, THEN I WILL… BE VERY UPSET!”
Sans wonders if Frisk even plays any puzzle games on his phone, or if it’s his brother projecting.
Whether they do or not, the kid must agree to his conditions because it’s not long before Papyrus says his goodbyes and joins Sans on the couch. His brother grabs the remote and changes it from a raunchy reality show to something much more respectable: a game show where the contestants slather themselves up in mud and run an obstacle course.
“SANS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Sans has just discarded his fourth bottle of lemonade on the coffee table and is reaching for a fifth.
“uh, watching tv with you.”
Papyrus squints his eyes. “ARE THOSE HUMAN-PRODUCED?”
“i mean, technically, yeah.”
Sans pops the lid off and throws his head back as he glugs down half the bottle in one go. The sweet tanginess is a delight to his taste buds, and he just wants to suck down the whole thing at once. It’s always hard for him to limit himself when he drinks the stuff. That’s why Papyrus always stops him from buying more than six bottles at a time.
“SANS, THERE IS NOTHING ‘TECHNICAL’ ABOUT IT! WHY ARE YOU DRINKING THAT BEFORE BED?”
“why not?”
“YOU KNOW IT WILL MAKE YOU –” He blushes as he stops midsentence, and it takes him a couple seconds to find the appropriate wording. “WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT IT WILL DO!”
Human food and drinks make for nasty business, even for skeletons. Once the products are processed through their souls, it’s toilet time. But Sans loves the stuff more than he can articulate, which is why they made sure to get a house with a bathroom.
“heh. why does that piss you off, bro?”
“UGH! THAT IS GROSS! AND RUDE! YOU ARE GOING TO KEEP ME UP ALL NIGHT!”
“heh. i’ll try to keep the peece when i go. promise.”
Papyrus sighs and looks away. He crosses his arms and legs in such a way that lets Sans know that he doesn’t approve but that he doesn’t want to fight about it. It’s actually kind of cute, but Sans knows he should probably ease up on the drinks before he finds himself sleeping on the couch tonight. He finishes the lemonade quickly and when he’s done, sneaks his way under the nook of Papyrus’s arm. His head gently drops against his brother’s chest. Papyrus decides to ditch the angry act and affectionately wraps his arm around Sans’s shoulder.
Both of them relax. It’s fun to watch the game show contestants fall off the platforms, and even better to see their bodies comically hit the cushioned floor below. But Sans’s favorite part isn’t even on the show itself. No, it’s the sound of Papyrus covering up his laughter every time one of them fails miserably. It’s the sight of Papyrus’s mouth twitching with the shadow of a smile. His brother will never admit that he’s finding amusement in someone else’s pain, but there’s no hiding his enjoyment here.
As the evening drags on, Sans finds himself sagging against Papyrus. Working all day has taken its toll on him, and although he’s tired, he’s way too lazy to actually get up and go to bed. It doesn’t take long before he’s roused from his half-stupor as his brother carries him to their bedroom. When Papyrus sets him down and hands him his pajamas, Sans drowsily puts them on and crawls into bed. A familiar warmth touches his soul as Papyrus sidles next to him and embraces him as he falls asleep.
---
Sans wakes up abruptly. There’s an uncomfortably tight pressure around his midriff that he knows is coming from the bladder he’s summoned in his sleep. Papyrus is still wrapped up around him, and there’s that familiar sensation of déjà vu that Sans hates so much.
Sighing softly, Sans pushes himself out of Papyrus’s arms, trying his best not to stir him. His brother sleeps better now that he’s older, but that doesn’t mean he’s not the lightest sleeper that monsterkind has to offer. Even from Sans’s light nudging, Papyrus loudly groans and irritatedly tosses over to the other side of the bed.
Usually when San has gotta go and it’s an inopportune moment, he ignores the sensation for a while. He’s a patient guy, after all. But boy, he really needs to pee. He’s regretting that last bottle right about now as he slides off the bed with his legs pressed together as tightly as he can. Even that small motion makes it feel like the dam is about to burst, so to speak.
As soon as his feet hit the ground, he hurriedly teleports to the bathroom. It’s pitch black and he can’t really see, but he’s not too worried about it. If he misses the bowl, all he’s gotta worry about is Papyrus finding it before he can clean it up. Which is bound to happen, but still. It’s better than waking up all the way.
He conjures up his length, lowers his pants, and immediately releases a stream of hot liquid into the toilet. It burns as it leaves his urethra, and although it feels good to relieve himself, he’s held it for way too long. The painful pressure lingers unsatisfactorily in his groin, even as the torrent ends. He tries to push more out, but there’s nothing left. When he tries to dismiss his bladder, his soul won’t let him. Guess there’s still more bathroom breaks on the schedule for tonight.
He should’ve stuck to four bottles.
As soon as he materializes in the bedroom, he climbs into bed, stifling a yawn. Although he’s loathe to do it, he grabs the spare pillows and creates a makeshift wall between him and his brother. Somehow the two of them always find themselves hugging each other in the middle of the night, and man, he knows Papyrus will be more than a little miffed if Sans wakes him up again. Hopefully the pillows will stop that so he doesn’t have to untangle himself again.
He’s too tired to do more than that, though, and promptly falls asleep.
When he gets up next, it feels like he hasn’t gotten a wink of shuteye. His skull is all fuzzy around the edges, like he might be coming down with something.
More importantly, that pressure from before has resumed full force. He can’t believe how much he needs to go; his dick has already formed, and there’s already liquid threatening to spill from the head. He swiftly snakes a hand down his pants and clenches down hard. His movements jostle Papyrus awake.
“SANS,” he whines.
“sorry, sorry, go back to bed.”
While he tries to soothe Papyrus, Sans rushes out of the bed, still maintaining a tight grasp on his groin. When he teleports to the bathroom, he doesn’t hesitate in throwing his pants to the floor. As soon as they’re off, he loosens his grip and groans with relief as the pee gushes out in not so much a stream but a river. Once again, the feeling is indescribable, but it leaves behind an uncomfortable tightness that makes it unenjoyable. When he’s done, he groggily pulls up his pants and returns to the room. He smashes face-first into the bed and promptly begins to snore.
He awakens a third time and curses the lemonade under his breath. How the hell does he still need to pee? He hadn’t even had the full pack.
Before Sans even begins to move, his cursing causes Papyrus to stir. Once more his brother unwraps his arms from Sans and moves to the other side of the bed. Sans is even more worn-out than last time, and it takes every bit of effort to get out of bed without pissing himself. When he gets to the bathroom, he can hear the liquid splashing noisily against the toilet bowl rim. He can hardly keep his sockets open, so he ignores the mess and goes back to bed.
When he wakes up a fourth time in Papyrus’s arms, his soul seems to stop in his chest. Even though he’s even more exhausted and his thinking is muddled, he knows something is wrong. There’s no way he should have to go so badly this many times in a night. Either he’s sick or…
Papyrus grunts a little in his sleep and presses into him, his hands clenching around Sans’s sternum. Suddenly Sans is all too aware that this is the same position he’s found himself the last three times he’s woken up.
As much as he’d like to sit here and dwell on it, he can’t; already he can feel the liquid squirting out below, dotting his pajama bottoms with wetness. Without thinking, he removes himself from Papyrus in a rush. While his brother grumbles loudly to himself, Sans grabs his phone off the end table and immediately teleports to the bathroom. As he takes off his pants and begins to piss, he groggily dials up Frisk’s number.
They don’t pick up. He tries again and again, but there’s still no answer.
It’s gotta be them though. The kid doesn’t use their time travel abilities too often anymore – it’s way too risky now that the barrier is broken and the whole world is affected – but they do use them on occasion. Usually they friggin’ let him know first!
They must’ve assumed he wouldn’t be affected by their loads so late at night. God only knows they’re wrong. Every time there’s some sort of time anomaly in the middle of the night, something happens to him. Whether that be waking up from horrific, scream-inducing nightmares or his magic reserves draining to nil.
Or repeatedly waking up just as his bladder is about to explode.
The real question is: why the heck are they loading in the first place?
As he stands there on the cold bathroom tile, it comes to him slowly. His brother was talking to them just this evening. About what? He yawns, swaying on his feet. That’s right, school. School and grades and professors. And, yeah, the kid’s taking an exam tomorrow.
Oh. An exam. The kid was loading for more time. That made sense, and he could hardly blame them for doing it. He would’ve done anything to buy an extended deadline when he was back in grad school. Still, they could’ve asked before going off the deep end like this. Or at least they could’ve ignored Papyrus’s demand to keep their phone off. Ugh.
As he ponders his dilemma, he leans on the wall, too drained to stand up unsupported. The time travel is wearing him all the way down to his core. His sockets can barely stay open and there’s a small tremor in his legs. He really has to push himself to think past the fog in his skull. Soon he’s not going to be able to keep himself standing upright, and if he doesn’t get moving, he’ll pass out on the floor.
With a whoosh of air, he goes back to the bed. He’ll just have to keep getting up. There’s nothing more that can be done for it. He’s gotta sleep as much as he can before he wastes all his energy just standing there.
He really shouldn’t have had that last drink.
There’s a load. And then another. And another.
Every time he’s awoken, it becomes harder and harder to drag himself from the bed. It weighs down on his soul and body like an anchor. His bones are rattling a bit more with every load, and every bit of him is begging for rest to recuperate the lost energy.
But he can’t sleep like he wants to. Not when every awakening greets him with this horrible tightness that threatens to propel a torrent of pee all over his brother. He’s gotta keep getting up to go to the bathroom. It takes every bit of energy to not just wet himself. By the tenth load, there’s tears in his eyes as fatigue steals through him and pierces his soul. He has to stop himself from whining as he gets moving.
It’s not long before he’s too weak to use his magic to teleport. He runs to the door, ignoring his brother’s protests for the umpteenth time, and barely makes it to the toilet. His sockets are sagging with exhaustion now, and he can’t keep them open. As he pushes out the liquid, he presses his face into the wall and closes his eyes. That ugly mixture of satisfaction and taut pressure isn’t enough to keep him from nodding off.
His mind barely recognizes that he’s stopped going partway through. With a low moan, he forces the liquid out so that he can return to his room before he collapses on the floor. It’s finally starting to feel good. There’s none of that lingering pain this time, and he can feel every last heated drop being expelled from his dick. A little shiver runs up his spine.
Too slowly, he realizes that he isn’t hearing the sound of the pee hitting the water or even the toilet seat. There’s a wet warmth spreading through his pants, soaking his bones. He must’ve forgotten to drop his bottoms, because he can feel it running down his legs. His face warms at the realization, and he can feel the prickle of tears in the corners of his sockets. It’s fine, all he needs to do is wait it out on the floor for the next load, and –
“SANS!”
His eyes shoot open. He’s staring directly into Papyrus’s repulsed face. Through his exhausted haze, it takes forever for it to dawn on him that he’s still wet. In bed. While he’s hugging his brother.
Or rather, while he had been hugging his brother because already Papyrus is scrambling out of the blankets and out of his reach. Sans has a hard time keeping his eyelights on Papyrus as he scuttles about, but there’s no mistaking the way his voice pitches with hysteric revulsion.
“SANS, THIS IS – THIS IS SO GROSS!” He stomps his feet on the ground. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO DRINK THOSE DISGUSTING DRINKS! I’M ALL WET! UGH!”
Sans sinks into the mattress. Humiliation fills his cheekbones, and he can feel himself shaking all over. His brother’s anger strikes at him in a way nothing else could. Combined with his fatigue, it’s enough to push him over the edge. As Papyrus continues to yell about how disgusting he is, he releases his pent-up emotions.
“– AND IT IS NOT APPROPRIATE TO DRINK FIVE OF THEM IN ONE SITTING, SO DON’T –” He falters as he sees Sans’s face. “DON’T – DON’T CRY, SANS.”
Sans buries his face in his pillow and lets out a weary sob. Moments later, Papyrus’s voice is much closer, whispering his name. The words vibrate in his skull. His brother has a comforting hand on his shoulder and lightly presses him into the bed. The soft gesture is enough for Sans to turn his head so one eye is peeking out from the comfort of his hiding spot.
“SANS, I –”
“sorry, paps, it was an accident.” Sans’s words are slurred. “i was tired and stupid and –”
Papyrus holds up a hand. “STOP. YOU DO NOT NEED TO APOLOGIZE. IT IS I THAT SHOULD SAY SORRY TO YOU!”
Steady hands turn Sans over the rest of the way so that he lies flat on his back. A burning flush runs through his face as his wet pajamas stick to the insides of his femurs. He wants to bury himself in the pillow again, but Papyrus has too firm a grip on him, and he’s just too beat to fight back.
“I WAS GROUCHY AND TACTLESS, AND YOU DID NOT DESERVE ANY OF THAT. I HOPE THAT YOU CAN FORGIVE ME!”
A weak smile crosses Sans’s face. The same Papyrus as always.
“’course, bro,” he says quietly. “my fault anyway.”
“NO! IT IS NO ONE’S FAULT!”
“well, ‘s not entirely true,” he mumbles, his sockets drifting closed. “’s my fault and the kid’s.”
“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?”
But Sans is already fading into a half-doze and can’t muster the will to respond. He’ll explain in the morning, or more likely, in the afternoon when he’ll wake up. After all this nonsense, it’s too much effort to respond to his brother’s insistent questioning at this hour.
But that doesn’t mean Papyrus lets him go back to bed either. No, his brother decides that he’s going to take care of him now, and that means the whole shebang. It’s impossible for Sans to do more than snooze as Papyrus sets him down on the mattress and carefully removes his pajamas. Sans watches with heavy-lidded eyes as his brother tries his best not to touch the urine-soaked areas. His face burns again as Papyrus accidentally brushes against the wetness and lets out an exclamation of disgust. Then again, it’s hard not to laugh when he flails and throws the pants across the room, and the pajamas hit the wall with a loud splat.
Papyrus spots the smile on Sans’s face. “IT ISN’T FUNNY! THAT MIGHT STAIN AND THEN WE’LL HAVE TO REPAINT!”
Still, there’s a tinge of humor to his brother’s voice. The warmth from Sans’s face slowly recedes, and he relaxes even more.
Papyrus sighs and picks him up, bringing him to the bathroom. For a moment, Sans is scared his brother is going to insist that he pee out the rest. After all, his bladder is still summoned, so that must mean more is on the way. He doesn’t think he has it in him to do it again. At least not without help. The thought petrifies Sans.
Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like the plan. Instead he is placed on the closed toilet lid as Papyrus draws a bath. Steam soon fills the room, and after a couple of minutes, Sans is gently lowered into the balmy water. A comfortable heat sinks into his bones that does little to deter him from falling asleep.
“I’LL BE BACK,” Papyrus promises before he leaves the room.
Sans’s head slides into the bath as he basks in the comfort it offers. His brother might expect him to scrub himself while he’s gone, but there’s no way Sans has got the energy for it. He closes his eyes and allows himself to drift off.
When he wakes next, it’s because Papyrus is pulling him out. Water drips everywhere, and he can tell that his brother is frustrated with the mess he’s making. He can’t help that his bones are drenched, but he tries to loosen his posture as best he can so that Papyrus can rub him dry. When his brother is done, he wraps Sans up into a tight little bundle and ferries him to the bedroom.
There are fresh sheets and blankets on the bed, and after Papyrus tucks him he breathes in the floral fabric softener that clings to them. It reminds him of laundry day when his brother roots out every last dirty sock and throws them in the machine. Back when they were in the Underground, Sans used to sleep the day away. Now when laundry day comes around they do it together and share a meal afterwards. He may still nap in the laundry basket now and again, but they’re still a team.
So when Papyrus climbs into bed next to him, it’s another reminder that they’re together. He wants to move so that he can hug his brother, but his bones won’t respond to his commands. It doesn’t matter anyway. His brother wraps him up again, like nothing ever happened, and Sans sighs happily.
“GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER.”
Sans’s voice hums with delight. He half-wishes the kid won’t load again.