*loud shrugging* I'm not even sure what this is. Something to tide me over until I start posting the long awaited Silencio. Updates will be twice a week (friday and sunday).

TW: Implied self-harm, Suicidal thoughts, An abundance of OC, Mental Hospitals and all that entails...

The halls aren't white, they're gray. A disconcerting color, much like the dust of monsters. That's what it reminds Papyrus of at least.

"And that is why, instead of using the word patient, we prefer 'client'." The woman explains patiently, feet echoing against tiled floors and Papyrus nods.

"If I'm not sick." He says. "Does that mean I can't be cured?"

Sans shoves an elbow into his side while the woman blinks, thin smile plastered on her face. She doesn't answer, just exchanges a mildly concerned look with his brother and Papyrus remembers he's a loony now.

His opinions have no agency anymore.

They continue walking down hallways of gray and mint green, a horrible color combination as far as interior design goes and Papyrus wonders if it is meant to be soothing. So far, it has mostly served to make him nauseous.

"And this is where we do our solitary confinement." The woman says as they arrive at a large, unusually robust door.

"Do you have to use it often?" Sans asks for no particular reason other than to seem interested and Papyrus has to try his best not to throttle him.

She tucks some strands of chestnut colored hair behind her ear as she frowns, trying to come up with an appropriate answer. Her opinion of monsterkind must be fairly negative, right about now.

"Still more than we would like." She decides, nodding at herself as if proud of her ambiguous answer. Sans shrugs at him behind her turned back and Papyrus rolls his eyes in response.

Two hallways down is another, more modest door. The woman opens it with some grandeur, as if a price is waiting behind it. Presumable, that price would be his recovered mental health.

Instead, it's just a room.

"This is where you'll be staying. Your roommate isn't here right now, they won't be back until Sunday night. Should give you some time to adjust."

Papyrus walks into the room slowly, wondering if he'll ever adjust to this, let alone in two days. The bed on the left side is neatly made up, so that's a relief at least. There's a small nightstand beside it, just big enough to hold a glass of water and not much more, and a cork board above it.

Looking over at the opposite side of the room, it looks exactly the same, except for the board being decorated with an entire plethora of 'get well soon' cards. It is a curious thing to send to somebody who is being hospitalized for a chronic case of trying to end their own life.

His board is depressingly bare by contrast.

"I'll leave you alone for a bit." The doctor excuses herself, and Papyrus realizes this is it. He turns to Sans and his brother has his hands stuffed down his pockets, looking around the bare room as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Anything better than looking at his face.

When Papyrus hugs him he's forced to raise his head, meeting his empty eye sockets with his.

"You don't have to do this. You know that right?" Sans mumbles, and he's shaking, just a little bit.

Papyrus thinks of the past few weeks. Of not eating because he just couldn't bring himself to anymore. Of collapsing onto the kitchen floor and almost bashing his skull in against the corner of their table. Of how scared Sans was when finding him. Of having to admit he wished he had died instead.

He does have to do this.

"It's fine." He says, one hand tugging itself between their bodies so he can touch his brother's cheek, like when they were little. "I'll be back before you know it."

"That's a lie." Sans answers, with a soft self-deprecating laugh that makes Papyrus wonder if maybe he hasn't been fooling him for as long as he can remember after all.

They don't say anything more and when Sans leaves he just waves, as if they're going to see each other again tomorrow.

Papyrus sits on the bed, until it's dark outside and a nurse comes by to check on him. She closes the curtains and tells him he should try to get some sleep.

He says he will, then proceeds to sit in the exact same position for the rest of the night.

He's immensely relieved to find oatmeal at breakfast. Then again, the entire meal seems to be made up of the blandest, most tasteless things imaginable. It suits Papyrus just fine.

There aren't lot of people, dotted around the tables at odd intervals, casting eyes around the room almost suspiciously.

The nurse has explained to him yesterday that those that could, would be gone for the weekend, preferring to spend it with family or loved ones. Patients who are still here are either too unstable to be permitted home, or have nobody left to go to.

No wonder they aren't the most uplifting bunch.

Papyrus observes them quietly as they shuffle around the room. One woman scratches her arms restlessly, long black hair tied into a messy bun that looks quite pretty. He vaguely recalls her also arriving yesterday, Papyrus saw her getting the same tour he did.

He wonders if she feels just as helpless right now.

Another nurse walks into the room, not the same as the one he met yesterday, and the only reason he recognizes her to not be a patient herself is because of the name tag on her blouse. The professionals here don't wear clean white scrubs to announce their status.

They look just like regular people. But perhaps the patients do too.

A institution of lies, then.

The nurse approaches the black-haired woman and hands her a little plastic cup from her tray, and a glass of water. She looks at it hesitatingly, unsure what to do.

"I have to see you take it." The nurse says, loud enough for Papyrus to actually overhear, and the woman responds with a mumble.

A man interrupts them rudely, the nurse hands him a plastic cup as well and he empties it into his hand. An entire collection of pills: white, blue, pink tumbles into his palm.

"I'll show you how it's done, sweetheart." He says, and the woman physically cringes. He proceeds to raise his arm and downs the handful of medicine in one go, swallowing heavily. "You just try and get used to that one tiny pill. That's how we all start around here."

He walks away with a grin and the woman blinks twice. Papyrus wonders if she's going to cry.

He wonders what he would do if she would.

Apparently, there is such a thing as 'institution privileges'. It sounds like something very complicated, but it really isn't.

It simply means that, right now, he is a prisoner.

There is a door to the garden, a small area of brick and grass with too tall walls surrounding it, like they need to be kept away from the eyes of the public. Like they are not something that belongs in the outside world.

In a way, Papyrus thinks they're right.

The door is locked at all times, only to be opened with permission of one of the nurses. Papyrus doesn't know how to ask them.

It's funny how he never noticed he was so bad with people before.

The doctor said it will be a while before he is allowed to go home for the weekends, as an 'out-patient'. He is allowed to call Sans though, but only at certain times.

And you're not allowed to be in your bedroom throughout the day.

This, perhaps surprisingly, is what bothers him most.

Papyrus sits at the edge of one of the living room's tables and drinks cup after cup of horrible tea that makes him long for home. He doesn't talk to anyone, and nobody talks to him. He just stares at the wall and wishes he could simply stop.

It takes him an entire day to figure out there even is a 'recreation room' in the first place, and he only does because he stumbled on it by accident.

There's some more tables and a tv set you need permission for to watch (no surprises there). A collection of books that look old and torn. And a cupboard full of puzzles. Papyrus stands before them and strokes one finger along the edges, collecting the dust.

"Do you like puzzles?" It's the same man he saw taking a rather impressive pill cocktail the first morning he was here. It's the only person, other than the nurses, who has addressed Papyrus since coming here.

"It's ok to take one, you know?" The man laughs, as Papyrus stands too stunned to give an answer. His hands run along the boxes too, in search for something.

He is wearing short sleeves and Papyrus can see impressive tattoos crawling up his arms, disappearing beneath the fabric. The ink stretches all the way to his wrists too, where the black lines are interposed with pale white markings.

Scars.

Papyrus looks away quickly, not wanting to stare, and rubs his own arm unconsciously. "Puzzles can be a lot of fun. But I hadn't seen anyone come in here." He says haltingly.

The man wipes his hands clean on his cotton pants and frowns. "That's because it's the weekend. Let's just say that..." He casts a glance over his shoulder, but they are still the only two in the room. "Let's just say that they're not very representative of the normal folk we have here."

Papyrus doesn't know if he should question what constitutes for 'normal folk' in a mental institution, if there even is such a thing. Before he can open his mouth to do so, the man is already continuing.

"They're too scared to talk to you, since you're not human and all. I wouldn't be too bothered." He hasn't been looking at Papyrus the entire time he was talking, eyes caught on the open doorway instead. "I'm Marcus, by the way."

They shake hands and Papyrus introduces himself too, he has just spent enough time on the surface to learn this particular human greeting ritual.

Footsteps resound in the hallway and a nurse passes the door. Marcus lets go of his hand abruptly and runs out the room without continuing the conversation.

Perplexed, Papyrus watches him go.

He has chosen a puzzle of over 10 000 pieces and sits making it at his usual spot on the edge of the table. The picture is of a forest in autumn, a beautiful combination of red, orange and yellow. From time to time, Marcus will plop down in the seat across from him, occasionally sorting out a few pieces of similar color for Papyrus to use.

Then, something will catch his eye and off he goes. It doesn't take long for him to notice Marcus keeps walking the same route through the institution, like a guard doing his rounds. They don't exchange another word either.

Papyrus is content in the silence.

That afternoon, he's sitting outside the little nurse's office on an uncomfortable bench. The phone shakes in his hand, unsure whether to dial or not. But Sarah, the woman who handed him the phone and who's name he only knows because he managed to read her name tag, is looking more impatient by the minute and he doesn't want to ruin his chance.

Dialing home is always a weird thing to do, probably.

It rings three times, for a second Papyrus thinks Sans won't answer and he isn't sure if he should be as happy as he is, before his brother's voice reaches him through the speaker.

"Bro, is that you?"

"It's me." His legs wobble up and down anxiously, fabric rubbing against bone. It's strange to wear different clothes from his battle body, unreal somehow. But also comforting, like it's somebody else all this is happening to and not him.

They're silent for a bit. Sarah coughs into her fist in a rather unsubtle manner.

"So... how are things back at home?" He asks, hating how tiny his voice sounds. Like he's a child again, scared of everything.

"Oh, things are fine. Quiet, of course." Sans goes on to relay about something he and Toriel did the day before, Papyrus tunes out and stares at the wall some more, occasionally making a sound to pretend he's interested.

When Sans really starts to drag the story on, he realizes his brother is simply too scared to ask him how he's doing.

He's scared Papyrus hates it there and he has inadvertently helped condemn him to weeks or months of miserable solitude.

"Things are great here." He says in a beat of silence, hearing Sans sigh almost as if a physical weight fell off his shoulders. "It's very calm, I like that. The food is nice and they have a lot of puzzles."

It sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than Sans, even though it's the truth. It's really a great place for Papyrus to be.

Still, he rather be dead.

When evening rolls around more people are there. They came in quietly, carrying odd combinations of bags, as if they just returned from a peaceful vacation.

A vacation to the real world.

And now they're back here, where the sick people reside.

Most of them flee to the garden, drawn to the sunlight and fresh air by instinct, prolonging their sense of normality, and Papyrus paces the little hallway in front of it, staring out the window at the trees in dusk.

He is still unsure of his privileges and, in extension, if he's even allowed in the garden at all right now. All he knows is that the nurses have the keys and he's not talking to any of them.

When Marcus comes by, a pack of cigarettes curled in one fist, he frowns. "Do you want to go out?"

Papyrus startles, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know if-"

"Hey Jackie." Marcus stops a woman who was just passing through by touching her shoulder. She doesn't seem fazed by this. "It's alright for the new one to come out for a bit, right?"

She hesitates, mouth opening and closing a few times. "The doctor hasn't spoken about your privileges with you yet, has she?"

Papyrus shakes his head, hoping her sense of duty will be greater than her empathy and she'll refuse Marcus's request.

"What is he gonna do, scale a wall?" The man in question jokes, and Papyrus decides this probably isn't the best time to mention blue magic and how that works. "Come on, I'll keep an eye on him, I promise."

Marcus pleads some more, long enough for Jackie to roll her eyes at him and give in while Papyrus feels his soul shrivel up inside him.

Opening the garden door makes an unpleasant sound and everybody turns their heads at them, only making him want to sink into the ground more vehemently.

Marcus ignores their stares, herding him over to a round plastic table instead, where a few chairs are already occupied by various people, some smoking cigarettes.

Papyrus introduces himself shortly, trying to commit their names to memory. They continue their conversation almost immediately, as if he wasn't there. In a strange sense, it's rather comforting.

Looking at them, Papyrus can't help but wonder at how stunningly ordinary all these humans look. Though perhaps, by skeleton standards, he doesn't look very insane himself.

"So what are you in for?" Somebody suddenly implores, forcing him to snap to attention. It is the man sitting next to Marcus, but Papyrus can't remember his name at all.

The woman with the long black hair, who he saw at breakfast the first morning and knows to be fairly new herself, pushes against his arm and frowns. "Don't do that." She says, though her voice comes out more like a mumble.

The man laughs, slapping his knee as if it's all a joke. "Oh come on, we're all partners in crime here."

He continues to stare at Papyrus, who blinks back in response. When has he gotten so bad at words?

"Don't react, he's just messing with you." Marcus says quickly. "You don't have to tell us anything."

"Of course you don't. We'll hear it eventually." The man laughs even harder, and the woman, whom Papyrus now recalls is called Emma, crosses her arms in front of herself protectively.

Paige, a reserved young girl who is also at their table and hasn't said much more than her name, just looks at the proceedings silently.

Suddenly a sixth person joins them, plopping down on the only seat left empty, to Papyrus's left.

"What's so hilarious this time?" They ask, sitting on the seat with crossed legs. It's not how you're supposed to sit on a wobbly old garden chair, Papyrus thinks, but he doesn't say so.

"Not much. We're acclimating the new one." Marcus takes yet another cigarette from his pack, his fifth one for the evening. "Your new roommate."

"Oh, in that case." They turn to Papyrus and smile. Their hair is messy and uneven, barely reaching their shoulders. They look at him with dark friendly eyes that remind him a lot of Frisk. "Nice to meet you, roommate. I'm Alex."

Papyrus notes how they don't shake his hand, preferring to keep them hidden inside the cuffs of a too long sweater, only using them to brush the reddish strands of hair from their face.

"So, what are you in for?" They ask, and Emma groans loudly while the man, whose name Papyrus still can't remember, breaks out in chuckles again.

But this time, Papyrus has an answer prepared.

"I wish to die." He says promptly, grin firm in place. These humans don't seem nearly as startled as others would be at such a proclamation and Papyrus decides he likes them for it.

They would be great friends.

"Do you, now?" Alex shakes their head wistfully, looking at the darkening sky above. "I think we'll get along just fine then."

Do leave a comment if you feel like it. They make me happy!