‘The mighty hero saved his friends in time. People cheered upon his arrival; they thanked and they rejoiced.’
‘And yet.’
‘He withdrew from the celebration. Visions troubled him. Despite all the progress he had done…’
‘…The future refused to change.’
The Jury’s private chamber consisted of a long table and a row of cushioned chairs, all facing towards a large movie-like screen. Each seat had a number tacked behind them. Number 1 situated the farthest from the entrance, and 12 the nearest.
Papyrus chose to sit down at number 1. There’s a bottle of water before him, half-consumed by its original occupant.
He unscrewed the cap and guzzled it down anyway. It’s not hygienic, but he’s parched. Didn’t bother to screw it back on.
WHY ISN’T IT CHANGING?
MISTER MAGUS IS SAVED.
MISS AUNT DIDN’T DIE.
UNDYNE ACHIEVED HER FULL AWESOMENESS.
SO THEN, WHY?
The visions didn’t fade upon every step toward victory. No, they only became clearer. Listen hard enough, and he could hear the evacuation calls echo between his skull.
He remembered what Lucidia said moments ago.
“Subject: Papyrus. You had committed the gravest of all Chronographer errors. Details of defunct timelines must never be applied one-to-one to the present.”
‘Never.’
So, so, so many lives rested on his shoulder now. Was that why Asgore retreated to his garden alone?
Papyrus tried. As Asgore had tried.
Yet…
…It all seemed futile. How he wished that he could mimic his king to forget all about this madness.
The youngster buried his face into his beloved scarf. It’s an heirloom of his mother, passed down by his brother. It’s a symbol of love. Comfort. Safety.
The neighbouring chair rustled. When Papyrus lifted his skull, he’s looking at the familiar flaming bartender.
Could he really be considered a ‘friend’? Papyrus didn’t like his cooking. Too greasy. The milkshake was good though. That’s the only item he’d order from the bar.
Grillby asked: “…You alright?…”
The skeleton snapped his back straight. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS FINE! AS FINE AS ANYONE CAN BE IN A SITUATION WHERE EVERYTHING EITHER GOES HORRIBLY RIGHT OR TREMENDOUSLY WRONG.”
It took him a moment to realise that he had just double-crossed his own attempt at sugarcoating.
“…Your Eye is on fire…”
“IT INDEED BLAZES WITH THE PASSION OF HEROIC PREVENTION.”
“…It’s not stabilizing…”
“WELL THAT’S BECAUSE IT’S PROCESSING FOR THE BEST OF THE BEST.”
“…You can be honest with me, Papyrus… I used to work with Gaster… and I trained your brother…”
“BUT IF I’M HONEST, YOUR SPIRIT MAY BE CRUSHED BEYOND RECOVERY LIKE UNDYNE’S DID!”
Papyrus covered his mouth. “I-I’M SORRY. THAT WAS A TIMELINE THAT DIDN’T EXIST. FAIRY GODMOTHER WARNED AGAINST MIX-UPS FOR A FOR A GOOD REASON.”
He gripped his humeri tight. This room seemed colder than all the times he lived in Snowdin.
“…MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE TALKED TO MISTER MAGUS. HE’S VERY SMART. NO NONSENSE. HE HELPED ME SO MANY TIMES. BUT THEN, I’M AN ADULT. ADULTS SHOULD HANDLE ISSUES ON THEIR OWN.”
Papyrus expected to bump into Mezil as a grumpy man with some scratches and bruises. Not someone clinging on a brittle thread of life, threatening to snap at any moment.
Just getting the outside world back in order was a hefty task. He didn’t want to add himself to the pile of burdens.
So he kept quiet.
“I WISH UNCLE GASTER WAS HERE.” Papyrus blurted. Again, not a statement he wanted to say out loud.
Grillby then responded, “…Then… Imagine me as Doctor Gaster…”
“ARE YOU GONNA ROLEPLAY?”
The bartender scratched the back of his head. “…Not quite… but I’ll listen…”
Papyrus took a deep breath and began his explanation. “MY SPECIAL MAGIC COMES WITH TWO SIDES. ONE IS TO CONNECT THE DOTS OF THE PAST LIKE A PUZZLE. ANOTHER IS TO SENSE THE POSSIBLE FUTURE. THE MORE REAL MY VISIONS ARE, THE MORE LIKELY THAT THEY WILL HAPPEN.”
He told the bartender what he had seen. Where it’s headed, and how they’re still on the road to certain doom.
By the time he’s done, Papyrus wanted to break down and cry.
It’s so frustrating. Helpless.
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM MISSING,” he confessed.
“…Have you tried spying on your brother?… Check his actions…”
Papyrus hesitated. He sensed that attempting such would be a bad idea, as if he’s going to stick a finger into a boiling pot of water.
Nonetheless, he gave it a try. The feedback returned a mess of ripped images and glitched white squares. Sound was distorted into scratchy incomprehensibility.
The sheer unpleasantry forced the Seer out of his attempts. He looked at Grillby and shook his head.
“IT’S ALL JANKY AND SCREECHY.” He said, doing his best to mimic the horrible sounds.
“…I see… We can’t look at his cards then…” Grillby picked up the empty bottle. He held the object at the base and started rotating it within his fingers. It's as though he’s cleaning an empty glass. Must be a force of habit.
“…Your power depends on clues… Correct?…”
“YES.” Papyrus nodded.
“…Your brother doesn’t think of everything at once either… It’s layer by layer… Very logical.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“BUT THAT’S HIS THING.”
“…No… it’s a universal skill… He just does it faster… and more efficient… Perhaps it’s better if I ask… Will fighting Sans one-on-one work?…”
Papyrus closed his eyes to focus.
He saw nothing. Shook his head.
“…What about a team effort?…”
Nothing again. “NO.”
“…Anything related to Frisk?…”
Frisk. That’s right.
The human is the ultimate trump card. Anything should be possible with their help.
Papyrus tried to focus on Frisk. He’s getting something, but… it’s so faded. Hazy.
He instead responded: “FRISK MIGHT HELP. BUT THE PATH IS STILL NOT CLEAR.”
“…Can they talk to Sans?…”
That path… doesn’t exist?
Frisk should be able to talk to anyone and everyone. After all, they’re the ultimate ambassador.
Right?
Try as he might, he saw nothing. “I THINK SANS SHUT HIMSELF OUT FROM FRISK TOO.”
“…What about you?…”
That question struck him through the ‘soul’ in more ways than one. Papyrus found himself looking down at his own chest.
He saw the right sleeve of a familiar blue jacket, although torn at the lower half. It exposed a strange device with a blade attached to it.
In one well-placed strike… his beloved elder brother drove that implement into the very essence of Papyrus’ being. Turned to dust right after.
“I WILL DIE.”
Flames flickered wild and that flimsy plastic bottle got crushed in the bartender’s grip. The sudden crunch made Papyrus jolt a bit.
“…Sorry… It’s rather grim news… But I sort of expected it…”
“SORT OF?” Papyrus asked.
“…Doctor Gaster once gave Sans some cruel questions… They both lead to dead ends… To teach him that he cannot weasel out of everything… Once trapped in a certain situation… there may be no second chances…”
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY MUST SANS LEARN THIS.”
“…So that your brother… will make wise and prudent decisions… so he won’t get caught at any cost…”
“WHAT HAPPEN IF HE DOES?”
“…He pays the price…”
There’s a fire deep inside Papyrus that refused to give up. “BUT THERE HAS TO BE AN OPPORTUNITY! I MEAN, SANS IS THE MASTER OF OPPORTUNISTIC SHENANIGANS. IT’S UNTHINKABLE THAT HE’D LET ANYTHING SLIP BY!”
“…And that is exactly why we’re here…” Grillby answered, “…This is his window… he’s not letting it go… for you… and himself…”
“DO I HAVE TO SHIP MYSELF TO FOREVER VACATION LAND TO MAKE SANS HAPPY? I’M MORE THAN WILLING TO DO THAT. I’M SURE THAT I’LL HAVE A NICE TIME--”
Papyrus had never seen Grillby spout out so many ‘No’s in a single breath.
Once he settled down, the elder monster replied: “…Being rash will only prove Sans right…”
“OH.” More disappointing news.
Papyrus lowered his head, squeezing his hands together in an attempt to find some sense of security.
“IT FEELS A LITTLE SILLY NOW. SUPERFLUOUS. DEFINITELY PUERILE.”
“…What is?…” Grillby asked.
“MY OUTDATED QUEST FOR POPULARITY AND STATUS,” Papyrus admitted.
“EVERYONE KNEW SANS. HE’S FAMOUS. POPULAR. YOU SAW HOW HE MADE FRIENDS WITH EVERYONE AT YOUR BAR, GRILLBY. HE’S A NATURAL.”
“SO I THOUGHT THAT IF I HAVE A HIGH FRIENDCOUNT LIKE HE DID, I WOULD KNOW WHO TO SEEK HELP FROM DURING TROUBLING TIMES. I COULD GET A GOOD JOB. MANAGE THE HOUSE. PAY THE BILLS.”
Papyrus remembered his time in the capitol. Their idyllic world peeled and cracked after The Core Incident. Life was never the same again.
He kept knocking on his brother’s locked door. Begged Sans for a response.
Pun.
Cry.
Laugh.
Anything…
Papyrus remembered staring at the numbers directory, wondering who he should call. There’s Undyne, yes. But she’s always busy with her Royal Guard business. He didn’t want to bother her.
The young boy then realised that he didn’t know who else to call. Nowadays he knows he needed help from a ‘locksmith’, but back then… he didn’t.
Papyrus knew nobody.
And nobody knew him.
“I TOLD EVERYONE THAT I WANTED TO SET A GOOD EXAMPLE FOR SANS. MAYBE THAT’S JUST AN EXCUSE. I THINK… I JUST WANTED TO CATCH UP TO HIM. TO PROVE THAT I’M NO LONGER A BABYBONE.”
“THAT WAY… SANS CAN STOP THIS GUARDIAN ANGEL ROUTINE. LIVE HIS OWN LIFE. GET BETTER AND PICK UP THE PIECES.”
“BUT HONESTLY, GRILLBY… I WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITHOUT HIM. AND HE DOESN’T SEEM TO HAVE ANY LIFE OUTSIDE OF MINE.”
Grillby shook his head. “…I think… that’s what you brothers need… independence…”
“THE END OF OUR FRATERNAL BONDS?”
“…No…” The man of fire furrowed his brows as he tried to think of a metaphor. “…It’s like rowing a boat… with two oars… If one breaks… the other can still row the boat alone…”
“…Teamwork is like that… It’s important to be independent… in case the other falls… Otherwise, your boat goes adrift…”
Papyrus blinked. He can’t recall if he ever used a rowboat before. He had seen pictures of it and recordings on the human internet…
Then again, he didn’t remember what the back of his hand looked like after wearing gloves for a few weeks straight. Certain bits of his long-term memory were a little suspect.
“BUT DOESN’T THAT MEAN TWO OARS ARE REDUNDANT?”
“…Not at all… they give better control… it’s also faster…”
A thought made Grillby pause. “…But in the event someone steers you wrong… like Gaster… you can use your oar to give them a thwacking… then return to correct course…”
The youngster giggled at the imagery. “YOU HAVE A STREAK OF VIOLENCE TOO.”
“…It’s a slap on the wrist…”
Grillby had tied the strip of crushed, softened plastic into a ribbon. He glanced left and right in uncertain guilt.
“…Have you ever wished… to go back to the past… and relive the good old days…?”
Papyrus pondered over that question for the grand total of three seconds. “NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
“…Really?…”
The questioning gaze perplexed Papyrus even more. What’s so strange about his response?
“…Don’t you want to go back… to a time where you didn’t need to worry… about anything?…”
“WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS THINK BABYBONES DON’T HAVE WORRIES?”
Papyrus didn’t like feeling negative. If possible, he wouldn’t want to ever admit it.
…Yet his journey had taught him that he had to be honest with himself.
He continued, “BACK THEN I DIDN’T KNOW WHO I WAS. I MEAN, I KNOW MY NAME. BUT I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WERE MY PERKS AND DE-PERKS. I TRIED EVERYTHING THAT I COULD THINK OF. AND NOTHING REALLY WORKED.”
“I WAS FRUSTRATED. LONELY. FRUSTRATINGLY LONELY. I KEPT SMILING WITH ALL THE POSITIVITY I COULD MUSTER BECAUSE I HOPED THAT TOMORROW I’LL DISCOVER WHO I’M MEANT TO BE.”
“GRILLBY, I FOUND MY DESTINY. IT CAN BE HARD AND SAD AND TERRIFYING AND I MAY NEVER HAVE A DREAMLESS SLEEP EVER AGAIN… BUT I’M SATISFIED. HAPPY.”
Just the thought of going back to his ignorant days… it made his sockets moist.
Papyrus then heard some strange, heavy breathing from the bartender. He’s trying to keep down a mixture of complicated emotions.
Who’s consoling who now? How strange the tables turned.
“…Papyrus… I murdered a child…” so confessed Grillby. “…For years I wondered if I could… have done something different… What if I had the power to undo my mistakes?…”
At last, Papyrus understood the grief and anger.
The Seer decided to gaze into the timestream. Possibility may give this man peace.
Lava surrounded the end corner of Hotland’s many islands. Grillby was there in full armour, facing a child wearing a cowboy hat.
The results of that violence were too gruesome for Papyrus to render.
He wondered… what if the knight declined his duty? Would that child’s fate change? Would Grillby’s fate change along with it?
The scenarios played by in quick succession. Papyrus didn’t need to linger to make his conclusion.
So he declared: “YOU’D STILL BLAME YOURSELF.”
That’s the harsh reality.
“…I know…”
Whatever choice he would make… the child would soon succumb to the nation’s order. The problem lay in Grillby’s heart, and not his actions.
“…I know that now… but I think Sans is attempting the same…”
The moment when Sans stole Mezil’s Determination flashed by the Seer’s vision. The Persona’s victory against a younger version of the Vampire followed right after.
Another piece of the puzzle fit into place. The resonance of fate grew stronger.
“…From what I gathered… Sans stole Judge Thyme’s power… There has to be a reason… Frisk is stronger… but too young…”
“THAT’S RIGHT!” The youngster exclaimed: “MISTER MAGUS WAS IN THE JOB FOR A LONG TIME! HE HAD A HUNDRED SAVES. THAT’S A HUNDRED DIFFERENT POINTS OF TIME!”
“…That many?… It’s more than enough… But we don’t know… where Mezil SAVED… and how far back in time they’ll go… or why…”
Papyrus scrambled to stand on top of his chair. Started making beeping noises.
“…What are you doing?…” Grillby asked.
“TRYING TO THINK LIKE SANS,” the other replied. “THE BIGGER PICTURE! THE HIGH PLACE! THE WHOLE STORY! LOGICALLY AND IN PIECES!”
“…He's not a computer…”
Papyrus told himself to remember his brother. His joys, and his pain…
“WILL SANS BRING BACK MOM AND DAD?”
Grillby frowned further. It’s not one of anger or worry. Rather, it’s of pity.
“…If he chooses to restore your parents… it would mean sacrificing you… Forever…”
“HUH?”
“…So they never told you…”
After a sigh, the old colleague of Uncle Gaster revealed another dark secret.
“…Your parents didn’t have enough magic for a second child… They already had complications with Sans… The next time would be worse…”
“…Gaster suggested an abortion for their safety… Your parents refused… They took the chance… and lost…”
“…They died trying bring you into the world…”
The fact that Papyrus could still stand was a feat in itself.
“HAS SANS EVER BLAMED ME?”
Grillby shook his head. “…No… he never did… and never will… He loves you too much for that… But will he think you’re too good for this world?… That’s a different matter…”
It was then, a new vision weaved in. Though the moment faded and blotched like an old painting, Papyrus once again found himself staring down on his brother’s sleeves.
The blade no longer pierced through his SOUL. That latest conversation had somehow provided a vital clue.
“CAN’T HE TRY TO SAVE BOTH OF US?” Papyrus asked.
“…Maybe… But I don’t think it’s possible…”
For as long as Papyrus could remember, his brother raised him with the kind of dedicated love that many would envy. To think that devotion may be rooted in tragedy.
The future showed a glimmer of hope.
But, as a whole…
Papyrus had yet to find the golden path.