bakerstreet | The Stuff of Nightmares

The Stuff of Nightmares

The Nightmare Fuel Meme

WARNING: This is not a nice meme, and will likely contain triggers for violence, pain, death, sexual situations, and all kinds of other unpleasant things. Click through at your own risk.

Nightmare Fuel: This is the stuff so horrifying that it can give people the creeps for years. This scares the pants off of just about anyone to the author/creator's delight. This makes you shrink in the back of your chair, look over your shoulder, and remind yourself that what's going on is (usually) only fictional....

HOW IT WORKS:
♦ Leave a comment with your character's name and fandom, and state any preferences. If you'd like to roll for/pick an option here, go for it. If you'd like, you can fill out this handy form to make things easier for others:

♦ Tag another character. Pick one of the options, either by using the RNG or just selecting one that interests you.
♦ Play out the results and respect others' preferences.
♦ Have fun and/or be traumatized!

1. ACID TRIP - Things are starting to get weird. Very weird. Your hands just popped off and are dancing the tango in the living room with your pet alligator while a Weeping Angel watches from the corner. There are invisible spiders crawling all over you and you don't dare open your mouth lest they fall in. It can only get as strange as your imagination will let it.

2. JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE PARANOID DOESN'T MEAN THEY AREN'T OUT TO GET YOU - You just can't help the feeling that someone is watching you. Someone is out to get you. Who are your real friends? Is that person really an alien in disguise? Are there surveillance cameras in your bedroom walls?

3. THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES - Think about the worst nightmare that you've ever had. Guess what. You're now in it, and you just can't seem to wake up.

4. FUN WITH PHOBIAS - What do you fear? The dark? Heights? Swarms of insects? Snakes? Drowning? Whatever it is, it is now your reality.

5. TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCES OF THE NON-SPARKLY KIND - Something has gone wrong. You're...changing. And not in a good way. Are you turning into an animal? A demon? A monster? Were you assimilated by the Borg?

6. AND I MUST SCREAM - You can't move. You can't scream. You can't do anything but remain conscious of every passing second. Did you choose the wrong words for your wish? Were you turned to stone? Trapped by a curse? Turned into a doll, unmoving but forever beautiful? Sealed inside a tree for a thousand years?

7. A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES - The dread spectre of disease has raised its head. Do you have days to live? Hours? Seconds? Or will you waste away slowly? What will happen in the meantime?

8. EYE SCREAM, YOU SCREAM - Something terrible has happened to you. It could have been an accident, a curse, an attack, a disease, or a surgery gone terribly wrong. But you've been horribly mutilated (or are in the process thereof) and are disturbing to see. Perhaps the Phantom will let you borrow his mask.

9. HORRIBLE TO BEAR - Congratulations, you're with child! Except...this wasn't supposed to happen. Did you just wake up one morning and discover the surprise? Is it part of a bizarre science experiment? Are you carrying the child of the devil? Or did you just get a Face Full of Alien Wing-Wong and hellspawn is about to burst out of your chest?

10. THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO - This is a really tiny space you're in. And it looks like you're going to be here for an awfully long time. Did the other person shut you up in here? Are they a fellow prisoner? Or can you somehow convince them to let you out?

11. WELCOME TO THE APOCALYPSE - The world is ending. In fire, in ice, in the zombie apocalypse, in a collision with a giant asteroid? Whatever it is, it's horrible. Do you even want to bother trying to survive?

12. SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE - You're hungry. Really, really hungry. Nothing seems to satisfy you, nothing at all. Except that other person standing nearby looks awfully tasty. Cannibalism? Can you?

13. MINDS ARE FOR GAMES - Mind control? Brainwashing? Total amnesia? Whatever it is, you certainly aren't completely in control of yourself. Perhaps the other person is....

14. THE PLURAL OF DIMENSION IS DEMENTIA - Everything looks familiar, but it's just a little bit off. Did your neighbor always have that mustache? Was the sky always that shade of green? Welcome to the mirror universe, where you're the crazy one.

15. THE LATEST DISPLAY MODEL - You're so pretty that you belong on a shelf. Or behind bars. Perhaps magically frozen in place so that you can't escape or mar those lovely features. Maybe someone just wanted you safely hidden away, kept all to themselves. Or did they want to show everyone in the world that you belong to them and them alone?

16. JUST KEEP RUNNING - Something is chasing you. Maybe you don't even know what it is, you just know that you have to keep running, because if you stop the consequences are worse than you can bear to consider. No matter how exhausted you are, you just have to keep going.

17. WILDCARD - Pick another option, mix and match, do whatever you'd like. After all, when it comes to nightmares YMMV, so feel free to invent your own.

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[The downstairs is in absolute shambles with the television smashed, the couch half crushed, the floors stained black with dried splatter trails leading upwards, acid-like burns between the blackness, and numerous gouges in the walls. At the very least, Papyrus is slim enough to twist his way through a door frame without breaking anything, and Sans can shortcut his way beyond the walls that might otherwise trap him if left intact.

Oblivious to those continuing cries of pain and sorrow echoing in the air, Papyrus trudges faithfully towards home. That is until his arm is suddenly released. Slowing in his movements to carry forward, he twists as though to look towards the space next to him where he expects the child should be only to feel that pat at his chest. Immediately he halts, swaying out of balance only to lean back and stand himself straight. His neck bows over towards one shoulder, the way it would if he tilted his head.

Yes?]

[Good, he's got the message. They were afraid he wouldn't have, which, no doubt, would have complicated the situation. Communication barriers was the least of their problems in the long run, but right now, it was important.

They crouch down in front of him, letting Flowey realign the snapped bone. He brings them together, ties with vine and leaves, tight and straight as best he can. It's not at a joint, so it should stay. They hope that it does, anyway. They just want to help Papyrus- they want to help their friends any way they can, ease their pain in little actions. Flowey is doing a thorough, tight job of mending. He doesn't want to have to do this again later. The entire time he's doing this, he's grumbling complaints. Frisk doesn't mind. His complaining is preferable to the wails of the damned that reverberate in the cavern.

"There. Done. Now let's keep moving," he says. Frisk obliges and stands up, then takes Papyrus' arm stump back in their hand. They can't replace his forearms or replace his head, but it's the least they could do.]

[Papyrus does not understand what is going on at first, but then he feels something grabbing hold of his injured leg. The femur bone is particularly sensitive with a sudden tension stiffening his joints at the contact. That...that hurts! The pain multiples, shooting up and down the limb when force is applied to realign the bone and push the break back into place. A sudden rush of black ooze sprays up as his left leg bends, threatening to give out under the strain, yet....as much as he shakes and shivers, bones rattling as he continues to pour ooze in a stream, he makes no effort to fight and puts his will into staying upright.

Sans had done this for him before, but he had been unable to secure the break with anything that could last long.

Already lightheaded and perpetually dizzy without his head, Papyrus is rather close to losing his sense of awareness by the time the work to brace the broken bone is finished. He sways where he stands, but given a few moments, steadies back to the center as that oozing slows to a trickle. He straightens his left leg, and the way his right limb pulls in and drags as it should - well he figures it was a success. Bending tentatively at his hip, he manages to raise that foot completely and set it down again with the sole of his boot coming flat to the ground even as he keeps weight from going down through it.

His leg still hurts but...it is much better this way!

That hand returning to grasp at his stump arm tells him the small one is back at his side. With a twist of his neck as though to look that way, his opposite humerus lifts and flails in the air rather excitedly! THANK YOU!

Not wanting to delay too long, Papyrus begins to move forward once more. The effort taken to secure his broken limb has an immediate effect. Staying bowed as he had before to keep his arm in reach, Papyrus is able to move twice as fast with larger hops and his right foot only intermittently dragging through the snow with the tip of his boot. This means that once they finally reach the edge of the town proper, he is able to guide Frisk all the more swiftly.

Which seems quite important as shadows begin to stir in alleys and windows.]

Edited 2016-05-15 11:31 (UTC)

[Papyrus had shown obvious signs of pain, and it hurt them too that they could do nothing to ease it in the moment- but when all is said and done, things are better this way. It's better for him in the long run- even if it still hurts he can walk better, support himself better. They watch with tension as he tests out his newly (partially) mended leg, waiting for it to snap apart at any moment... but it doesn't. The brace holds, and a rush of relief dissipates tension they'd been holding in their chest.

Papyrus is moving along much quicker now, which shows that Flowey's handiwork did its job. He's moving much better and his limp has eased up tremendously- but he is large and Frisk is small. Frisk is small and tired from running, and they have a limp of their own, making it difficult to keep up. But they have to keep moving. That's one of the only constants. Keep moving. They grit their teeth and force themself to keep up as best as they can- especially when they begin to see monstrous shadows beginning to heave and writhe in the windows and alleys. Once or twice, they spot a few of the resident bunnies(?), but once they see the malformed head of what must be Monster Kid (oh god his teeth he could easily bite them in half), they force themself to look away. They can't handle it right now. Frisk feels numbers of hungry eyes on their back. The ghosts of teeth and claws bite at their feet, pull at their bad arm.

Keep moving.]

[For as much improved as his movements are, now and again when Papyrus feels that weight on his arm drifting backwards, he actually uses that grip on his humerus to help lift the child forward back to his immediate side in a slight extension of his back and raise of that arm for a swing forward above the ground. He does so in timing with the natural movements of gait, not missing a beat while using that natural rhythm to time when to help the child along so as not to send them tripping.

Moving between the buildings with the same pace that brought them into Snowdin after his leg had been braced, Papyrus becomes aware of the magic of each monster near to them. He knows these different magics. He can feel them and where they are relatively speaking. As such, when one of the Snowdin residents staggers towards the mouth of the upcoming alleyway, Papyrus steers his charge towards the opposite side of the street, making it too much risk for the monster to actually take a real swipe at the human. The skeleton simply didn't want to bump into them.

Otherwise however, no monsters approach them directly even as they become more restless, shrieking and growling at the passerbys. Somehow, the sentry is warding them off, keeping them at a distance. Maybe they remember him. Or maybe they fear the wrath of his brother should they do anything to Papyrus in an effort to go after the human and flower he keeps with him. Either way, they seem to be safe in his company.

Eventually, the trio comes to the familiar wooden home of the skeleton brothers. Lights off, it stands dark and empty with the front door standing open. Papyrus does not have hands to work a doorknob after all, and Sans had left it that way for his brother's convenience. The tall skeleton slows as he nears, and turning, he moves to stand in front of the entrance. With a small wiggle of the arm held by the child, he encourages them to enter first. They cannot hold on while he has to crawl inside.]

[Papyrus' timed lifts and swings certainly help them along. They get into the system and the flow of it, adjusting their footsteps to facilitate the swings, springing and such. They were a bit limited with their injured leg, but alas.

When one of the Snowdin residents approaches, they begin to panic, their grip tightening on Papyrus; it's one of the dogs. Greater dog. The decorative faces on his gauntlet and spear have morphed into real ones; the gloved fingers warped into steel teeth, the spearhead an actual head of a snarling dog facing upwards, smiling and full of bloody fangs. His head was fused to the collar of his armor. Papyrus had steered them away and gladly they went- they didn't want to have to face another nightmare. Mysteriously enough, Papyrus seems to act like a ward. They couldn't be more grateful. He was still a semblance of safety.

Their house is as dark and cold as the rest of the town- as the rest of the Underworld save for Hotland, they imagine, unless Hotland's perpetual lava had somehow all cooled and hardened, rendering the CORE useless. Wouldn't be surprised. The brothers' door is open but wrecked, gouged with a hinge broken off. It must have been Sans. Looking inside, the other gouges, scratches, and gashes that litter the walls and furniture must have all been Sans. Papyrus has very little sharp parts, whereas Sans is almost all sharp parts. Must be getting used to having things jutting out at every angle.

Papyrus wiggles his femur. They let go and step inside. It's dark, but they can make out that the house is in ruins. They can now see the smashed couch and the upstairs. As they walk inside, more towards the living room center, their foot steps in something vaguely gross, but they elect to ignore it.

"Jeez. This place is a wreck," their companion mutters.
"Of course it is. So is everywhere else."
"Toriel's place wasn't this bad."
"Flowey, half of her living room was burned down from the fireplace."]

((OOC edit to the last post: He does so using that natural rhythm to time when to help the child along so as not to send them tripping, not missing a beat.))

[Allowing the child to enter before him, Papyrus lingers outside to give the smaller one time to move deeper inside. Counting the seconds, he waits a full count of ten before he begins to move again, lowering down to kneel on his left. The right leg bends as well, but he puts no weight through it. Slowly bowing further, he stretches both stub arms down until he connects with the ground at the end of those half elbows. Shifting weight through the remnants of his arms, he allows his right leg to drag as he crawls forward with three limbs right to the top of the three steps. Shoulders hitting the sides of the door frame, he pauses, twisting at his waist to balance on his left arm and left leg while bracing his right arm to the frame higher. Turned sideways, he shuffles through without further delay.

Once inside, he sits back to kneel in order to come off his arms. Black ooze trailing down his front again, he reaches an arm out to find the table to his right. He had fallen on it at some point, breaking it down the middle with the pet rock caught in the center fold of wood with pieces of its smashed dish scattered below. Making light contact with the edge sticking up, he raps at the hard surface with his bone to call attention to himself, then points his arm directly forward towards the kitchen entrance. He wants nothing to eat himself, but by his count, there should still be at least a few leftover spaghetti packages in the fridge he had made from before everything went wrong. That or perhaps Sans had left something out the child would find appealing. Either way, he hopes the child will help themselves. He cannot cook for them, a saddening thought to which he bows his neck forward.

Another splash of ooze down his front is the result, which makes him shiver. He loathes it! Papyrus cannot stand being so messy. The ooze keeps his voice muted and he never seems to dry off. The best he had managed thus far was leaning over something else to let his neck drain off himself. Worse yet, he knows well enough the floor of his home with Sans is sticky because of the constantly pouring thick liquid. If only he could clean up after himself it would not be so awful...

Not wanting to leave the child should they decide to accept the offer to use the kitchen, Papyrus crawls once more to where the couch once sat. The furniture may be smashed but the cushions are not. He turns himself over to sit, using his left leg to push his right where he needs it with both knees bent up and feet flat as he leans back over the far side of the couch with shoulders and neck leaning flat at the wall behind. Really, this is the best option for him to rest. Even if he wanted to go upstairs, it was hard to do so on his own without Sans to help him. He had fallen off the stairs multiple times trying to do it himself.

He would stay there for now, but as the child moves around, he can watch as Papyrus turns his neck as though following him.]

[They watch with an interest as Papyrus makes his way through the door, having adapted his method of entering to compensate for his... alterations. Curious how he makes his way, but as a puzzle master, Frisk figures that he found out how to fit himself pretty quick. The familiarity almost makes them smile. They stand there, weight mostly on their good left, just sort of watching. They don't know what to do besides.

Then he makes a gesture towards the kitchen- it takes them a while to figure out that he's offering up the contents of his food museum. Everything thus far has been inedible, so they're doubtful that they'll find anything worth scavenging... but they're starving, and noodles might be the only healing item they'll get for a long time. They don't know how to boil water well or for how long, but they'll make a guess, and it'll be better than nothing. They walk over to the fridge and open it- thankfully, there's at least one or two cans of spaghetti mostly undisturbed. Opening it, they inspect it- they don't seem poisoned... but they'll refrain from using them for as long as possible.

... wait a minute, they can't even reach the sink for water. And Flowey can't summon vines through floors.

Frisk decides to just put both cans in their inventory as raw noodles. Once again, better than nothing. You can't be picky with these things, and they'll scavenge what they can.

Unfortunately, they aren't facing Papyrus to see him express his displeasure over the goop that bleeds all over and down his front, so they don't get set on fixing that right away. Rather, they spot the sad pet rock sitting at the bottom of the broken table. They take a few raw noodles from their inventory, snapping them into little sprinkle-sized pieces, and scattering them across the rock. It's a little hard with one hand. It might be an insignificant act, but it feels right, and it's the little things that keep them sane. Turning back around, Frisk finds that Papyrus has situated himself on the cushions of the couch.

They should keep going, but... they're tired. Maybe if they stay with Papyrus, they can stop running for a while.]

[Fatigue weighs on Papyrus, keeping him where he lies watching with his right leg propped up by the left. The half of the couch he uses is more flattened to the ground than the other side, and that lends to greater comfort for him with less of a curve at his spine required. It is impossible to be entirely comfortable with the constant pang of his leg or ache in his bones, but this is pretty good.

As he monitors the child from what little he can sense (sadly he cannot tell the child fed the rock for him), Papyrus finds that he feels happier than he has since this all began. He is doing something worthwhile in taking care of his new charge - and that makes all the difference. He has been nothing but a hinderance to his brother, requiring care when he had days before been the caretaker. Sans had been unable to communicate well with Papyrus, and while the skeleton is certain Sans is busy with something important - like possibly trying to fix what has gone so horribly wrong with the Underground - he misses his big brother.

In the presence of this child...he is not quite so lonely.

As soon as Papyrus realizes that the child is looking his way with that odd sensation of a stare, he raises one arm to pat at the unclaimed, mostly-intact couch cushion beside him. Come and sit! It will be okay.]

[And indeed they do, limping their way over there. When they sit, they try not to jostle their bard arm too much ~~and try not to look down at if~~, but that's how it is with almost every movement they make. They wonder if Papyrus' leg hurts ad bad as their arm. ... probably not. He doesn't have additional flesh and additional nerves to have torn. Now resting, all of their accumulated fatigue falls on them like a dropped weight. Frisk is out of breath, with a headache, sore, hungry, thirsty, bruised, burned, and bleeding. Yet...

... now is the safest they have ever felt so far- Papyrus remains the only one they can be around without the risk of death, one way or another, in all routes. Somehow his sweet and gentle personality is unmarred in the mess that Chara made (and Frisk too) and it is incredibly admirable. Their love for the cinnamon roll of a skeleton grows. Suddenly, the howling outside doesn't seem as bad.

Something still bothers them.

They look back up at Paps. Is he okay, with all that black gushing out? They don't know if he still has the conscious mind of being dirty or clean, but he invited them in, basically said "help yourself to anything in the kitchen," then sat on (the remains of) the couch, so it's possible. Reaching over with their arm, they wipe the goop from the top of the spine with their thumb. Frisk knows it'll just be replaced with more soon. But it's an effort.]

[The child comes close again, then Papyrus feels the weight shift that translates to the slightest change in the broken couch surface when Frisk sits to join him. Making sure to stretch his arm out of the way along the back of the couch at the wall, he leaves open that side. The costume top of his battle body is not so soft as it once had been, but he certainly would not mind if the child chose to lean against him for support while they rest.

Another shift in the surface is the only warning Papyrus has before he feels a touch at the top of his spine. Rather embarrassed by the mess of black ooze, he fidgets with his left foot as he rotates that neck as if to look away as he attempts to brush at his front with his far half arm in an effort to wipe some of the black trails away. The touch didn't hurt, but he really does not like being messy. Moreso, he does not like making others messy!

Settling his arm down, he contemplates what he can try. It always slows down when he rests, so maybe this is a good chance to clear it. Leaning carefully away in a twist with his whole torso, he bows his neck in the opposite direction from the child and purposefully coughs. His reflexive response to the constant leak had long diminished, but he can do it himself. A spurt, then a rush of black ooze wells out of his neck, literally pouring in a puddle to the floor beside the couch. When he manages to cough without bringing a second wave, he slumps back to flat on his back. Only once, he sounds like he is wheezing, before his neck gurgles with a fresh trickle of black ooze.

To that? He flops his far side arm in frustration as his legs slide out straight going limp. Well, that didn't work.]

[Frisk is plenty messy. They have long since stopped trying to avoid it. And they need to eventually get their arm back in place, but... that'll have to come later. Maybe in a place where no one will hear them screaming- don't want to attract anyone.

Papyrus can definitely vocalize, they find, but the goop that leaks from his spine prevents it. They can't get rid of that, but he doesn't like having it all over him, and... well, maybe they can do something about that, instead. Papyrus still won't be able to talk very well), but at least Frisk can try and staunch it. Hopefully he won't mind his scarf being used like this. They tell Flowey to help them tie again. He looks disgruntled about it, but they're the mobile one here, and they won't want to move until he complies.

Frisk can't tie with one arm, but Flowey has two leaves, which is good enough combined with a third helping hand (Frisk's). They take off his scarf and Flowey sets to tying it around the top of his spine to stop the flow, maybe at least slow it. They're trying, you know.]

[The tugs on his scarf are puzzling at first, Papyrus not quite understanding the reason behind them. The red fabric does not really budge until he figures that the child must want him up and he pushes down through his half arms to raise his torso up at an angle, taking his weight off the scarf. Then swiftly the red material lifts from over his shoulders, and Papyrus tilts his neck curiously. Seconds after around that very neck, he feels the fabric come back against the wet vertebrae. As the fabric is wrapped around his neck and pulled taut, he shifts his arms a little to better brace himself as he finally understands the purpose behind the child's actions. Pulling his left leg up to push down on the floor with his boot, he does what he can to keep his spine rigid in the process.

This is hardly the proper way to wear a scarf, but there really isn't much proper about him at this point.

Splutters of ooze spray out as the first loop is cinched around his neck with fabric burrowing between the vertebrae, but the more layers that are applied and tied tighter, the more that flow is stiffled. Between those three grips on the fabric, his scarf is tied tight enough to finally stall the flow of ooze to a slow drip much akin to a leaky faucet. It is by far a huge improvement.

Once the weight pulling on his scarf releases, Papyrus sits himself up fully. He stays quite still for several seconds, then testingly wiggles his neck side to side in the little range left. It has limited the motion of his neck significantly, but there is no real purpose to that movement without a head. A bow forward follows, and when he does not feel the ooze splash to his lap, the giant skeleton once again raises his arms up, angled thoughtfully away from the couch, and flails them so fast the white bone blurs.

Practically vibrating with happiness after his arms lower, he twists at the waist and eagerly stretches those humerus bones forward towards the direction he can sense the child. Please, please let him hug you this is so much better!]

Edited 2016-05-18 12:08 (UTC)

[Success! They're helping! Frisk is promptly satisfied. They would wipe the gunk off from Papyrus, but they have no access to water or any fabric they're willing to dirty any more than it has already been. They'll have to settle for this. But it's good- two of his biggest newfound problems since the last reset have been mostly fixed, and it's good enough for them. Then a though hits- what does Undyne look like, now? They decide not to dwell on it. Frisk will take things as they come.

He looks so happy... oh, careful now that he doesn't smack their bad arm with his flailing. Would hate for that to happen. And now he's poised for a hug... hmm, how do they make this work?

"Frisk, don't do it. What if he accidentally kills you here?"
"He has no head and his arms are blunted. I don't see any danger- if he wanted to attack, he would have by now."
"Yeah, well, Sans nearly killed you when you tried to shake is hand. You're lucky I stopped you."
"But he's literally all sharp parts now. Papyrus isn't. Plus, he brought me home."
"Pff, if you can even call this a h- hey! What are you doing?!"

Papyrus will feel an arm, hesitant and careful, reach around to his back in an awkward sideways hug, careful not to touch the the leftover black goop that spills down his front. Very careful, and a bit loosely. They want to be able to make a run for it if they have to.]

[There is a noticeable delay, during which Papyrus remains steady and still - just as eager for that hug to thank the child for their assistance. After all, a hug is about the best he can offer in his gratitude. So when he feels that contact against the side of his ribs and towards his back, the skeleton lifts his arms up higher as though in cheering. Yet, it is there that he pauses. He realizes in that moment of preparation with such great enthusiasm, just how much larger than the child he happens to be after the changes hit, as well as the implication of that oddly positioned hug. Until the child had tied his neck, he had been leaking quite a mess, and that would be quite unpleasant to try to hug against especially while he remains wet. Almost sheepish in how he moves with shoulders hunching upwards, he lowers his arms back down, and quite gingerly, lays the arm under which the child is positioned down against his back for a light squeeze in against his side as he leans ever so slightly towards the child.

Despite being far more monstrous, somehow Papyrus remains as gentle as ever.

Another bluster of wind sweeps in through the open door, bringing with it a new rush of snow to trail inwards into the dwelling that had once before been quite warm and inviting. Sadly those bones hold no real warmth, subject to the temperature of the air around.]

[They stiffen (everywhere except for the arm, which remains slack as always), tensing up, bracing for pain... that never comes. No wraparound hugs, thank god. Even made of bones, even cold, even missing half of his arms, he is gentle and it feels as good as a full one from a fuzzy monster like Toriel. Oh, how they ache for a normal home! It seems to manifest as a physical fatigue that weighs on Frisk, dragging them slower and slower as they progress. They sink a little into Papyrus, settling. Flowey had been tense and ready to strike by biting, but after Papyrus shows all he wanted was a simple hug, he relaxes.

"Tch. Typical. The buffoon could never even hurt a fly."
"Flowey, just let me enjoy this."

The gust makes them shiver, trying not to let their teeth clatter by clenching their jaw. The wind bites at their ears and their wounds. It's oppressive and bitter and it makes them cough, which is painful given the state their body is in. Frisk wants to close it. Maybe they can, and just open it when Papyrus wants to go out... ? Yeah, sure. Briefly they get up to close it, limping over and shivering more violently as the wind blows directly at them. It sends pain down the arm, and they have to bite their lip to keep from crying out. When the door closes, the air in the room seems to settle, albeit cooler than it was before, and the snow on the carpet might melt and make a water puddle. Oops.]

[The weight of the small one held against his side becomes more apparent with a lean into the hug. His own trunk remains steady and still, and lightening the pressure through his arm, he gingerly moves his humerus side to side across the back of the child briefly before stilling again for a second careful squeeze.

Though aware of the wind by the brush of air over his few exposed points, it does not strike him as bothersome. The cold has been severe and incessant since things changed to a nightmare landscape, making it difficult to notice the continuous presence. So when the child tucked close shivers, he is left with a sense of confusion and concern. The child pulls away from him, and Papyrus obligingly lifts his arm out of the way to let go. While the child moves away from him, he leans back somewhat, reaching that same arm to use the end of his half arm to brace against the wall for support. He understands the child has moved to the entrance, but it is not until he feels the vibration through the wall that he understands that the effort had been to close the door.

Then it dawns on him. OH! The cold may not bite so fiercely at bone, but it can leave those with flesh shivering and crumpling for warmth.

Pushing away from the wall with a curl upward, Papyrus shuffles his left foot back beneath his hips and pushes upwards away from the couch to stand. He sways upon rising, but steadies before he begins to hobble towards the stairs. Slowing as he approaches the bottom, he shuffles forward until the front of his boot finds that bottom step front. Once able to locate that first step, he leans over to the wall to brace with his shoulder, left arm extended outwards to press with the bottom of his humerus to the wall as well. Feet too large to completely fit on the steps now, he pushes up onto only the toe of his boot and takes a hop up. He makes it a few steps up in that one hop, but he wobbles as he slides his shoulder along the wall. Steadying again with his right leg bending to drag after, he takes a second hop, but this time slips off the step he attempted to land on and tumbles back with a crash to the bottom of the steps on his back.

Okay, not that way.

Rolling over, he gets to his left knee and half arms with right leg tucking up as much as he can manage with the assistance of the brace. One of those three limbs at a time, he crawls up to the steps and starts to creep his way upwards. He slides occasionally, but only to slip down a step or two before being able to catch himself. It is slow, but the effort is worth it when he finally makes it to the second level of the home. From there he crawls along to nudge open the first door at the top of the steps to his own room. He twists at his waist to slip his shoulders through, but his legs do not follow as he fumbles just inside the room. Though he collapses to his chest multiple times in his effort, he finally retrieves what he is after with a couple minutes spent grappling to get a hold of it. Dragging it with the fabric pinched between both ends of his arms, he scoots backwards with the blanket from his bed. Sliding along the floor carefully, he lowers first his right leg downwards over the edge of the second floor towards the smashed pile of TV components and wood, and follows with his left leg. Stretching his left leg down quickly, he more or less slips right off and collapses to sitting on the pile with the blanket dragging after and falling overtop of him.

He got it at least.

Using his left leg, he scoots his way out of the pile and back onto the carpet in the direction of where he expects the couch should be. He is a little more angled back towards the stairs than needed, but he brings it back over and bows forward to dump the blanket off his shoulders to the floor to only then let go with his arms.

There! A blanket should help, right?]

[They watch as he approaches the stairs. At first they don't understand, but then they realize- he's trying to get up. They want to stop him, tell him that it's alright, they can get up, but... silly as it sounds, the more paranoid part of them, that had grown incredibly since the start of this run, says that it's a bad idea- let him do his thing. It's better this way. It's safer. Don't interrupt Papyrus. Still, it's a little upsetting to just... let him fall down the stairs. It feels a little rude, doesn't it? But survival instinct dominates.

They watch his struggle up the stairs. They see him stumble, and fall, and trip, but they do not flinch or wince, only watch with a detached interest. They do follow him up the stairs, waiting on the top step, thinking maybe he's offering the bed- it's elevated. It's away from the door, and it's a bed, but instead he twists his way into snagging the blanket. Confused at first, the realization that he was bringing it to them hots, and that Frisk had better move out of the way lest they risk him crashing down on top of him and hurting that arm. And that is the least that they need right now. Or, uh, until he... opts to take a more direct route. That works too.

Carefully they step off the stairs, slipping between the black mess on the floor and back to the couch- that's where he'd expect them to be, right? Frisk's hunch is confirmed when he scoots back to the couch, then spills the blanket on the floor in front of them. It was… an interesting, and somewhat impressive thing to watch, the retrieval of the blanket. Carefully, they take one end, and crouch down in such a way that their legs are folded beneath them, and their cast arm is close to touching the floor (another wave of pain- every little jostle of the muscle hurts). Flowey reaches over to take another. He drags it so that it's centered and draped over their back and one shoulder. He doesn't want his legs dying any time soon. Then, slowly, they turn sideways so they're laying on the side of their good arm, and the blanket wraps around their bad one and Flowey, so neither of them are covered. It's an odd way to sleep. But they will take it.

Belatedly they think that maybe they should have left the door open for Papyrus and dragged the blanket back upstairs. Ugh, but they don't wanna get up.]

[The feeling of the blanket sliding off of his leg is enough to tell him that the child has accepted the provided cover in order to regain some warmth stolen in the freezing snow and air. That cheers him, and he remains sitting patiently while he still feels movement on the couch with his hip bone against it. Once it seems the child has settled, Papyrus takes care to scoot and return to his prior position reclined over the more broken half of the couch. He will rest for now.

And while doing so, he will guard the child laying next to him.

Arm lifted up straight then out across the back edge of the couch, Papyrus allows himself to sink down more heavily than before. The tension at his joints eases, and he allows himself to enjoy his newly improved condition as he begins to doze. It has been hard to rest, let alone sleep while in so much pain and constantly choking out ooze, so he is quite ready to take advantage of the reprieve he has been granted.

Maybe when they wake up, they can go look for the home of the child.]

[But before we go on like that, we have to see what happened earlier.

With the skelebros, when this all started.

It was another late night at Grillby's- gosh, he should stop falling asleep there, shouldn't he? But he can't help it. He had dozed off, and the next thing he knew Papyrus had swept him over his shoulder. Ah, well. It wouldn't be the first time. It doesn't feel like Papyrus minds to much, at least. He's an amazing brother, really, for putting up with him like this.

Being on Papyrus like this seems to unfailingly make him fall asleep. Sans doesn't know how he does it. But he's not complaining, because he has the unfailingly best brother in the world, and right now everything seems just fine.]

[Though it comes with a muttering of disapproval and something about Sans being a lazybones, the way Papyrus lifts his brother from his seat is with the same care and skilled, sweeping ease that he always uses. Not a hint of his spoken displeasure is expressed in the close hold he takes his brother into, using one shoulder to lay his brother over from his collar bones up while he uses that same side arm beneath his femurs as a secure seat. The other hand is laid open at his scapulae over the back of his hoodie to hold in safeguard until he is certain his brother is settled properly. He could never risk injury to his brother, and he would do anything for Sans. Even carry him home night after night to put to bed.

A nod of his head is given to Grillby in silent gratitude for the call to tell him Sans had dozed off again, and Papyrus turns to head out of the well frequented establishment out into the cold. His boots crunch through the ice crystals, his pace steady and slow so as not to disturb his brother once he has grown still against his front. As he walks, he thinks over the rather routine day that had passed. His patrols had been generally uneventful, but it had been quite nice to check in with Undyne. He is certainly looking forward to another cooking lesson with her tomorrow.

However, normalcy slips away in an instant.

Papyrus is jarred from his thoughts with a gasp of alarm as he nears the Librarby, startled by a harsh spike of cold that pierces his senses like a jolt of electricity through his magic. He stumbles a couple steps with his arms tightening protectively around his brother, and is able to regain his balance swiftly to straighten upright. He looks around the immediate surroundings quickly with a horrible sense of dread settling into his SOUL. Something feels terribly wrong. Without a thought, he curls his arms as far as they reach around his brother in guard.

It feels...sickening. They very air feels thicker, and the cold begins to dwindle even further below freezing as the wind starts to stir its strength.]

W-WHAT JUST...

[Everything is weighing. Everything seems to much heaver, much thicker, much slower than it should- if it were possible, the atmosphere seems to have turned from crisply cold to bitter, and, almost... brackish. Though he thinks that word better suits Waterfall. Still, his bones feel heavier, if it were possible, but they are not. Dread settles over him. Anticipation clutches at his heart. His very SOUL has been shaken. It's spooked him enough for the lights to fade from his eyesockets.

Is this some kind of bad RESET? Any moment and they'll all go flying into the past. So instead of worrying, he says:]

im sure we'll be fine, bro.

[… but it doesn't come.

They're not going to go back, he realizes. He hears something sickenig in the far distance, doesn't know what could have ever made that sound, but it was godawful. He has plenty of worry, but tries not to let it show on his face. His grip on Papyrus tightens a little, almost protectively. Normally, his brother can hold his own. Hell, he lives a healthier lifestyle than he does, all Sans needs to do is cheer him on, but this is something else entirely. Facing backwards from his Bro's view, he can see that something is going on in Grillby's. Some thumps likely from the patrons. An unnerving flicker of firelight.

It starts slow and small. At first, the sounds are infrequent, only mildly not okay unlike the weird thing from before, but they start to go downhill pretty quick. He hears something that vaguely resembles the cry of a Snowdrake. Oh man.

Then the pain comes- it strikes his head and settles in his bones. Sans doesn't let it show too much outwardly, but his grip on Papyrus slackens. He can't hold anything tightly, can't be tense or else it'll hurt even worse than it already does now, which is an impressive lot; feels like somebody shattered his bones and Elmer's glued them back together. It's getting hard to focus, but one thing is certain: he needs to know if his brother is okay.]

uh… bro, you holdin' up alright?

[The change in atmosphere is overwhelming, the heaviness bringing with it a sense akin to claustrophobia even in someone that has lived their whole existence trapped in contained spaces. With that oppressive awareness comes a sound unlike anything he has heard before, and that is enough to send him stepping closer towards the brick front of the building next to them. He remains there in front of the dark building, lights long turned off with closing. Papyrus gazes back towards the main portion of the town without fully turning, knowing his brother is watching his back, and his jaw tightens as he picks up on the growing cacophony of the town. The distant thumps, the sharp sound of glass breaking, the cry of the Snowdrake, and soon enough after, the first howl of one of the Royal Guard. That howl is unlike any Papyrus has heard before. It is distressed, and it breaks with a yelp bringing it to a sudden end.

Lights go on, shining faintly through the trees...only to die off again as the power shorts for the entire town. The only illumination that remains at ground level is the light shining out of the windows from the restaurant - from Grillby himself. At this short distance, it leaves more than enough light for a monster to see.

While he had focused his senses outwards, stretching the range of his magical intuition and detection, Papyrus does not fail to notice the sudden slackening of his brother in his arms. Alarmed, his focus pulls back in an instant, and he looks down to Sans with worry, about to ask his brother what happened only to have Sans ask him a question first.

If Sans is asking about him... Voice kept low at a whisper, he responds with intensity not matched by the volume.]

OF COURSE I AM... SANS, WHAT'S WRONG?

[He pleads with his own question, hoping his brother will clue him in as he tries to weigh his options. They can stay there, where everything is still dimly lit, or he can forge onwards. There is no guarantee home will be any more safe for them though, especially as he hears more distant cries from the houses behind Grillby's begin to rise. Perhaps, he needs to go out of Snowdin entirely with Sans? In any case, staying put seems like the worst option as it leaves them vulnerable and him on guard for something he cannot yet identify as a threat. Starting to move, Papyrus uses his long stride to pick up a fast walking pace immediately, carrying his brother with him as he heads away from Grillby's and towards the house - intending to go beyond still towards Waterfall.

Distantly, he feels a faint ache beginning to creep into his own bones, but it is well masked by the surge of magic he feels being so alarmed by everything happening.]

Edited 2016-05-28 19:31 (UTC)

[He takes a deep breath, but even that is hurting. Howls pierce the air, distant snaps and cracks and twists and it all sounds so awful, so bad and everything is going so wrong. Back towards Grillby's, he sees a silhouette thump against the window, then slide down out of sight. There is an unnerving brightness from within the diner. Sans can't imagine what must be going on in there. He can't take his eyesockets away from the windows, even as Papyrus starts walking away- and yeah, that's. Definitely a good idea. He sees something stumble in the shadows and can't recognize it as any of the local residents.

An intense pain strikes his teeth, like they've all started rotting away at once, pulling and grinding against each other and in this buzzing ache. It's in his jaw, too. It's the same feeling, he distantly recalls, as when he first got braces, but multiplied however-fold. He doesn't want to worry Papyrus, but he'll tell the truth. Somehow. Despite all the hurting in his mouth, he'll speak as clearly as he can manage, in an equal whisper.]

i dunno, i just feel… off.

[Then his jaw splits in two with a splintering crack.

It's sudden enough that Sans doesn't scream, or cry out, but he does make a sharp inhale because holy fucking SHIT, it HURTS, and he's just dazed for a few moments while he tries to regain his bearings. Breathe. Breathe. Don't panic. Why is this- nothing even touched it, why would it…

then he remembers the howls and yells that are currently rocketing through the air, and all of a sudden they sharpen into cries of pain (to him) when he realizes. This is it. This is what's happening. But that train of thought only goes so far when he tries to speak again, only to have pain stab into his skull, and he wheezes.]

Edited 2016-05-28 23:09 (UTC)

[His quick walking pace had been meant to keep from drawing too much attention to them should anyone or anything have been watching them, made with rather hushed steps that would still carry them fairly quickly from the town. That pace brings them nearly to their house when he hears a distinct sound that sends his SOUL dropping and halts his footsteps. The crackle of breaking bone is familiar and hearing it next to his own skull at his shoulder momentarily robs him of thought. Papyrus turns his head to look, to see where and possibly how his brother had been injured but -

Oh god.

Eyesockets widening in horror, he realizes his brother's mandible has split apart down the middle. Worse yet, the way his teeth have changed - shifted unevenly in his jaws and grown with sharpening tips that would put the dogs of the Guard to shame while having no room to be in such a state - hint that his own teeth are the cause of the break. His own body feels numb as he stares, but Papyrus lingers mere seconds before his arms around his brother regain strength to hold him securely as he bursts into motion at a full sprint. The skeleton races to leave the town in an effort to get Sans out of reach of the cause of all the horrible sounds and happenings, his chest tightening as he hears a pained wheeze escape his sibling. Flying passed the house they share, his boots throw chunks of snow in his wake as he pours himself into the effort to escape. He races with his brother alongside the trees that line the river, following the path towards Waterfall. Not much longer and he could have them out of Snowdin entirely.

Traces of fog linger in the trees around them as the branches of the trees themselves begin to curl downwards, the pine needles turning dusky and brown before falling to sprinkle the snow below.]

H-HOLD ON, SANS! STAY WITH ME!

Edited 2016-05-29 22:56 (UTC)

The Stuff of Nightmares

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HERE COMES DEATH

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