Whumptober Day 25: Surgery

“There’s really no cause for concern, Sans! This was the first place the humans thought to bring me, which means these surgeons are first-rate! They will solve the complicated puzzle pieces of my shoulder with ease! This is internal fixation: the fixing of not just slightly excruciating pain, but of any and all stress, uncertainty or—maybe-even-possibly-a-tiny-bit-of fear regarding the procedure!”

Papyrus’ hasty rambling was earnest but far from encouraging when his sockets were so wide and his working hand clutched Sans’ in a desperate vice-grip.

“Of course, bro. You’ll be good as new, greater than new in no time.”

Whumptober Day 24: Collapsed Building

Sable was always the clear head, cool, calm, collected, the voice of reason even in the worst case scenarios—until that rationality was cut off with the light and fresh air.

“Get off! Get off, I have to get us out of here now!”

“Bro—Sable—Sans, y’gotta calm down. If we loosen th’ rubble—” Pike pleaded thickly through smoke and debris dust, tangled around Sans’ thrashing form. “Stay still—”

“I can’t, I can’t! We can’t die in the dark!”

“We won’t if y’just breathe with me! C’mon, shh-shh-shhh…I’m scared too, y’know? C’mere, h-hold still, hold onto me. Breathe.”

These kids were tragically young to be wearing masks like his. Sal’s may have been the only one medically prescribed but all of them were meant to hide untold hurts: a thin paper shield between Mono and the monsters; a missing link for Hiro, alienating himself to soften the blow that he was no longer of this world; a weapon for Chara, their “creepy face” full of teeth like daggers and eyes like the pits of hell they promised anyone who crossed them.

Not like this new boy, weeping so openly as his split skull streamed blood and CSF—a bite from a bear, he said through the sobs.

Sal knew a thing or two about getting too close to dangerous animals. With nothing else on hand, he sacrificed the nylon strap from his guitar, winding it carefully around blood-matted curls.

Through his tending fingers, the boy stared as if utterly astounded that an older boy could show such care. His anxious shivering didn’t subside until Mono draped his trench coat over his shoulders.

“It’s not so bad, being lost together,” Hiro assured, though none of them understood his home tongue.

“Cheer up, crybaby,” Chara muttered, offering a red-specked buttercup—thrusting it at him, more like, obscuring his tearstained face in its petals.

Bandage it. Blanket it. Bury it like they were buried, before any of their masks slipped too.

I saw dotjpreg's hurt/comfort meme and for some reason my brain immediately said "Swap boys!" Thus Swap Boys I provide :D

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R is for "Race"

"Dear heart, you must try to breathe with me," Itward soothed. Though right beside her, he was barely audible over the frantic sound of Fran's heart. It felt anything but dear right now; it was like a herd of wild horses racing through, trampling the air from her lungs.

"I c-can't! It h-hurts, I can't…!"

She could barely croak past the pounding lump in her throat. Trembling hands came up to claw at it but Itward caught them before she could do any damage.

"You can, I promise. Breathe in slowly as I squeeze your hand. One, two, three, four…"

K is for "Kitten"

Mr. Midnight had never wondered what it might be like to have kittens. He never needed to; although mateless, he could never say he was childless. His life was so full of Fran—and her life so empty now without her parents. 

He may not have been able to protect her like one of his own kind but whatever he could do to assure her comfort and happiness, he would: kneading her pillows, nesting her blankets, licking dried streaks of salt from her cheeks, purring that he loved her. He was all she had and she was all that mattered. 

UT/FB - Unfinished Business (Yet to Begin)

“Are you free, Itward?” Sans piped up suddenly, cutting off the rather intricately woven tale his imaginary friend was currently spinning for him. Self-conscious for interrupting, he briefly shrank lower against his pillows but Itward didn’t seem irritated. He merely tilted his head questioningly, hat quirking askew.

“Mm? Free in what sense, babybones? You know I’m possessing of free thought, free speech and free time that I’m happy to share with you.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m real glad that you do but…Dad told me that this place isn’t really home. He says we’re trapped down here thanks to the humans. He says if he doesn’t do all of this really important work for the King, we’ll never be free—so I-I guess I shouldn’t be complaining that he works so late.”

Itward’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly where they were draped over his folded knees. Why Gaster had chosen to burden his son with that knowledge so soon, so young, only for it to serve as another excuse, he couldn’t begin to fathom. “It’s not wrong of you to miss him, Sans. It’s wrong of him to leave you alone so long.”

“But I’m not alone; I’ve got you,” Sans dodged acknowledging that can of worms, propping himself up higher in bed. “And you tell me stories about all these places you’ve been that I’ve never seen; I’ve never even heard of them, which means they’re not part of the Underground, right? You can get out of here, somehow. You’re free!”

“…Yes,” Itward allowed, a slight tingle of guilt skittering up his spine as he sensed the question coming. “I’m free to leave the Underground when I so desire, when my wards in other worlds need help.”

Sans fidgeted for several moments, staring at the patchwork pattern of his bedsheets until his eyelights flickered uncertainly out. When he spoke again it was barely audible. “Could you take me with you?”

A vulnerable, honest question deserving of an honest answer. “In theory.”

“Would you? In theory? Or would I just get in the way when you’re working too?” A small, mirthless laugh escaped him, one beyond his years. “I bet Dad wouldn’t even notice I was gone.”

“Now, now, we both know that’s not true.” Even if later rather than sooner, the doctor would notice if he lost track of his one-of-a-kind specimen but Itward wasn’t about to say that. “You put a lot of stock in fairness, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Being trapped here in the Underground isn’t fair. Your father’s long days and late nights aren’t fair. But your absence at my hand wouldn’t exactly be fair either, when his absence was the very thing to bring us together. And as much as I’d love an extra pair of hands on my airship, as much as I know you’d be a great friend to the other children in my care…everyone is born to the worlds they belong in. The last thing I’d want to do is get in the way of your work here; knowing you, I have a feeling it will be just as important as mine.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Who knows? There may be another bright young monster who comes into your life someday, needing friends, needing a lot of care and kindness from someone who understands what it’s like when things aren’t fair. For all we know, you could be the most important person in the world to them, as your dad is to you. We can’t have them missing you without even knowing what they’re missing.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Sighing, Sans slumped in slight defeat against the consoling hand Itward settled on his skull. “Dad’s not supposed to know you exist so you can’t tell him how you get in and out of the Underground, huh?”

“True.” But that didn’t mean he was sworn to silence with his charge. Smiling lopsidedly, Itward stroked his thumb over Sans’ forehead a few times before sliding it down to secretively tap the side of his nasal bridge. “When not by my airship, it’s by teleportation.”

“…Wow. Wow. Stars, I wish I could do that.”

US - Odds and Evens

Summary: Blue has a downward spiral after getting a diagnosis.

A/N: Warning for internalized ableism and some ableist language stemming from it, though it does get firmly shut down and refuted

Later Fran would learn it was an accident, books that had been stacked top-heavy. The most precarious of them had slid off the pile onto the floor with a thunderous bang.

As soon as the sound registered, Fran hit the ground too, clutching her chest, fully expecting to see red seep onto her shaking hands. Dr. Oswald’s voice echoed on the library walls. You little monster—

Eyes wide and worried, Mr. Midnight pawed at her, urging her to scoop him up and bury her face in his fur until all she could see was darkness. No red. No more, please.

Undyne is only semiconscious as she flails to sit up in bed, pain and confusion dizzying in the healing magic haze, and it's likely that vulnerability which allows the tears to bubble over. At first she doesn't even seem to register it, dust streaking down her cheek with the salt to stain pallid blue scales gray.

Her gaping eye socket throbs, then it burns, and Asgore can't do much but mournfully cup her face in his hands as she screams.

“Hands off, dearie,” Muffet snapped, even the pet name made sharp by stress as she shrugged irritably against Grillby’s touch. Even that small movement provoked a sharp spasm and shiver in her stiff, knotted back but nevertheless she persisted. “The bake sale is in two days! There are flyers still to print, batches to thaw from storage! You think I have the time to sit on all six hands?!”

“… …Make time,” Grillby murmured, patiently pursuing to knead her rigid shoulders.

The penetrating warmth of his palms made her ache, biting her lower lip against first a hiss, then a whine.

“I warned you, my sweetling,” Muffet sighed as she strummed a consoling hand over the trembling ridges of Papyrus’ spine. “I know my treats are ever so hard to resist but too much of a good thing can turn sweet to sour right quick.”

The babybones didn’t answer, curling tighter around his bucket. His wet heaves were subsiding, replaced by miserable mewls as magical essence smeared his face. It was a queasy color, syrupy and thick with sugar. “It h-hurts…” he whined, voice cracking to pull at Muffet’s soul strings.

“Poor dear. Some tea and honey will set this right.”

It took a while for Papyrus to feel truly safe with Muffet but eventually her hugs would become a staple.

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Sans doesn’t remember ever seeing another skeleton in the Underground before. He wonders if he’s dreaming, at the size and splendor of him. He towers over them in shining white armor. Is he a knight? An angel?

The angel is an upper caser but he’s softening his voice. He asks about the baby and Sans can’t help but sob, rubbing his cheekbone against the poor excuse for bundling.

“I’m s’posed to take good care of him but I dunno how. I can’t do it.” He hesitates, mandible quivering. “Are you here to…take him away? To someplace better?”

If his vision weren’t so blurred with tears and exhaustion, he might have spotted the flicker of shock and grief that passes over the angel’s face. Just as quickly, it sets into something more.

Sans squeaks faintly as large hands slide around him, pulling him out of the snowdrift and onto his feet. It feels like a practiced motion. He wavers where he stands, gazing blearily up at stern eyelights in a face mostly disguised by red cloth.

“Now you listen here, Sans, and don’t ever forget: there is no better place for your brother to be than right at your side.”

UT/Fran Bow - Where There Is Need

Summary: A forgotten figure watches from the void as Itward steps up to care for his sons. The bar hasn't been set very high.