Chapter Text
Edge flung open the kitchen cabinets with enough force to damn near rip the doors off their hinges, muttering expletives to himself as he rummaged around in its contents and still failed to find that which he was looking for. He was lucky that he had fixed them up there so well; any more force and he would be spending the day building a new place for his brother to hide fucking condiment bottles.
“I know I put them here… come on…” The tall skeleton said aloud to himself, shoving various grimy bottles of sauces and dusty mugs aside in his search.
Frustrated at his lack of results, Edge slams the cabinet doors shut and rips open the lower cabinets to look. Maybe he left them in here?
“God-fucking-dammit where are these fucking piece of shit pills?!” The man would scream at the top of his non-existent lungs in a fit of rage, flinging himself away from the strikingly empty cabinet to kick the fucking wall.
He wasn't usually like this. Despite all the doom and gloom that follows him like a bad omen, he’s typically calm and level-headed in most situations– he had to be in a world where kindness was weakness and being volatile was a death sentence. He had to command an air of unease and fear around him to protect himself and many others– though one might sooner see him dust himself rather than admit to caring.
That is to say– he's not usually prone to such emotional outbursts. Lately though…?
He's so fucking relieved Undyne thought it was his absurdly high LV acting up instead of… whatever the fuck this was…
“I swear to Asgore I’m going to lose my goddamn mind!” He went to kick the wall again, but he refrained from doing so and just flung the cabinet he already checked open. “I’m not out! I still had half a bottle!”
Everything felt like it was too much for him to handle, body heavy and buzzing with magic for reasons unclear to him. For as long as he could remember, he hadn't had these issues– but in recent years, it seems to have reared its ugly head almost like it were hiding until now.
It was hot. Too hot. Despite the bitter, perpetual winter chill of Snowdin raging on outside and their central heating just barely warming the house enough, he was sweating buckets and unable to cool himself. He even tried an ice bath before and that did nothing! Nothing! He felt like he was going to die of heatstroke in the middle of winter.
It felt like he constantly had a high-grade fever and it made him feel like shit. It never immobilized him– he wouldnt dare let any injury or illness prevent him from doing his job– but it honestly felt like it should. It was so cumbersome trying to move– like he weighed more than he did and couldn't get the time to adjust, having to wade through raging rapids and dense snowfall. He’s done little except cleaning the blood from his ice puzzles with how ill he’s been all week.
And holy shit it made him irritable. He was on a hairline trigger and any slight thing set him off– his brother sneaking off to the grease-trap next door to fuck the bartender like usual, the sock that seems to have set up shop in his living room, the smirk that Undyne gave him that he also wiped from her face by threatening her with a sharp bone to the throat…
It was hot, he was dizzy, and everything made him angrier than normal. He felt like shit and never knew why.
Those pills though… He might not have any idea what they do exactly, but after he takes them, he feels better, so they were worth more than anything when he was like this. There were times he even went without just to scrape together enough money to get them. His brother– though he would never admit it aloud– was a saint for always getting them for him; he doesn't think he could stomach a walk to Hotland to discreetly purchase them from Alphys. The freak would want to study him.
Edge was ripped from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening and the familiar sound of his house keys, scrambling to make it look like he wasn't taking his anger out on their pots and pans before peeling out of the kitchen.
“whew. even the couch? c’mon, boss, he was an innocent bystander...” His brother, Red, would whistle as he gave the couch an apologetic look. There were a few more rips on it since he last saw it twenty minutes ago. “not even an hour since i left and you trashed the house. am i a bad influence or someth’n?”
“Sans, I swear to fucking god if you don't have those pills, I will kick you so hard, Alphys will have to invent a new kind of surgery to remove my boot from so far up your lazy ass, you start coughing up leather.” Sharp, ungloved hands held Red’s shoulders, the threat lingering dangerously close to a promise. He was too fucking hot to play nice.
“aight, bro, you need ta calm the fuck down. chill out.” He snickered and he could've sworn his brother was going to pop him like a pimple. “i got yer fucking meds. happy? these little shits’re expensive as fuck. alphys went up on ‘em again.”
“I don't really fucking care right now, in case that wasn't obvious. This is absolutely insufferable.” Once Red withdrew the little orange bottle from his pocket, Edge released him and snatched the bottle from his hands, exhaling a small sigh of relief once they were in his possession. “This honestly took you a fucking week to accomplish? I was baking my fucking ass off in here for a goddamn week while you were off doing…what– eating cup noodles and watching shitty TV all day with her?!”
“fuck you, actually. you know that bitch wouldn't let me leave if that were the case.” Red huffed as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “unless i can tell her what's going on, you can eat my big fat boney ass and fucking cope.”
“It is no one’s business whether I am the picture of perfect health or melting in the fucking snow.” The taller monster would say as he scrambled back to the poor kitchen to get some water. “If they dare to ask, suggest they reevaluate their life choices before I do it for them.”
“whatever, drama queen.”
“Don’t test your luck you overgrown garden gnome.”
Edge rolls his eyes and puts the thought of pulverizing his older brother on hold in favor of taking his magical little miracle medicine. He grabbed a coffee mug from the abused cabinet, filled it with water, and took a generous swig with his pills, pouring out the rest when he was done and setting the cup aside to dry.
It was not going to take effect for a little while, but the knowledge of this being tolerable soon did wonders to soothe his nerves.
“i should start getting paid for this shit with how often i gotta deal with it.” Red comments after finding himself a spot on the couch’s fallen remains. “ten years of this unpaid labor…”
“What drivel are you going on about now? You have never honestly worked a day in your life– at least not since I could.” Edge seats himself beside his brother on the uncomfortably lumpy couch and glares. “Your laziness rivals no other.”
“i gotta bust my ass every year for yer precious little pills and all i get in return is you yaking at me like you always fuckin’ do. and i’m doin’ it all fer free! i’m not yer fuckin babysitter!”
“I do not recall ever asking you for your opinion– nor do I remember anyone asking you to go fetch my medicine. In fact, I recall you taking up this difficult task all on your own.”
“well would you actually manage the trip to hotland on your own? yesterday i watched you trip in the fuckin’ snow and you just lied there for an hour like an angry little kid.”
“I-I did not!”
“whatever man. jus’... sayin’ i feel like i’m owed someth’n by now…” Red sighed.
“Well if you were less of a little asshole, I might actually permit you to visit the bar next door, but you will go there regardless of what I say to get your shit flipped by the living torch, so what I say doesn't matter.”
Red rolled his eyes again and settled on looking at his phone instead of counting all the imaginary wrinkles on his brother’s face, checking through his messages for a couple minutes, then holding his phone over for his brother.
“check this out, boss.”
“What… Sans, what am I even looking at?”
Red looked back at his phone to see he had shown him a blurry photo someone sent him from the bar– he thinks he can see Grillby throwing shit at someone– and chuckled to himself.
“naw, not that. that's not it. meant this.” He opens the correct chat this time for Edge. “the classics are invitin’ people over and invited us.”
“Oh goddamnit– another party? I swear these things will be the death of me if this fever doesn't finish me off…” Edge pinched his nasal bone in frustration. “Is he going to be there?”
Ever since Red got his machine in the basement working, the brothers have become acutely aware of a plethora of things– namely– that their world is not the only one out there. There were many universes across spacetime and dimensions similar to theirs in more direct or faint ways. Edge couldn't begin to fathom the science behind any of it, in all honesty.
There's been quite a few of these “meetups” after determining the origin of all these offshoots was the “Undertale” world– every single gathering being startling and uncomfortable for Edge.
Most of the other universes felt so… different. People didn't live in fear of being killed. People didn't struggle to feed themselves. People weren't ready to dust each other if they do much as grazed each other on a busy street. The stench of blood and dust didn't permeate every single surface and nobody had to do anything.
He never fully shook the unease. He wasn't used to feeling safe. There was no safety in the world he is from. Relaxing was a sign you were too weak, too stupid, or that you finally gave up on trying to survive.
That's what his world was about– survival.
He glances down at his brother. What would happen to him if he wasn't here to protect him–
He looks away. He shouldn't be thinking about these things.
“of course he’d be there. he’s like me– can't pass on free food.” Red shrugged. “he always shows up. says it's because he loves his brother or someth’n– i don't fuckin’ know.”
Edge can tolerate most of his alternate selves for the most part. Putting aside the majority of them being a little too cheerful for his liking, he could manage to stomach conversation with them. Hell– even some of his brother’s alternates were better company. Even one of his that seemed a little too eerily similar to his brother was a little more tolerable.
Edge absolutely despised one in particular. Just thinking of him made his blood boil.
“I will pass on this generous offer and remain here. I cannot stand that heathen.” Edge leaned against the back of the couch. “What do they even call him again? It has to be something stupid.”
“stretch.” Red replies.
“That's almost as bad as what they all decided to call me…” The taller monster groaned, the past memories of their alternates teasing him relentlessly still haunting him to this day. “I’d rather kill myself than spend another night listening to his incessant jabbering, honestly. I have neither the time nor energy to waste on his nonsense.”
If he has to sit through the ‘bi-annual Stretch Comedy Hour for another two hours, he genuinely thinks he might combust and explode, taking everyone in a thirty mile radius out with him. God his stupid jokes are worse than Red’s.
“hey– he chose that name. not our faults if it sounds dumb as shit.”
Edge would give his brother an amused snort and shake his head dismissively. “As amusing as that may be, there is little you could do to make me want to go.”
“aw, c’mon. you’ve been lazing around as much as i have lately–”
“I wouldn't have to if you didn't take forever getting my fucking medicine–”
“– and it’d probably do ya some good to hang out somewhere where people won't try to stab you in the dick in yer sleep. you look fuckin’ exhausted.”
“Again, if you hadn't slacked off, I'd be medicated and fine, but your lazy ass always takes so long–”
“okay princess, how about you lighten the fuck up? you're gonna give yerself splinters with that stick shoved that far up yer ass.”
Red hops up from the couch with his phone, pocketing it before he moseyed on over to the kitchen out of Edge’s field of view.
Edge was confused momentarily when he felt his heart sank, eyes glued to the pill bottle Red had retrieved from the kitchen counter. He thought he put them in his pocket; how foolish of him to leave such a vital lifeline lying somewhere where his brother could collect it with his grubby little fingers.
“Wh-What do you think you’re doing with that?” Edge asked, his attempted sneer falling flat as he anxiously watched his brother handle his bottle of pills. He hated how he knew he stuttered.
“dunno. feelin’ a little frisky, maybe.” He shook the bottle and Edge willed his legs to keep still as he rose from the couch. “maybe i feel like dumping them down the garbage disposal?”
“You wouldn't dare.”
Red smirked. He would dare.
“wouldn’t i?”
Edge squinted his eyes at the other monster. That’s what he’s playing at, hm?
“What… what are your demands?” Edge relented, his staring contest seemingly abandoned for his respiration for his medicine. Red knew what he was doing– holding that miracle bottle hostage while Edge was comprimised.
He hated how Red relished in his suffering.
“okay captain crankypants, here's what's gonna happen.” Red twirled the bottle around on one finger and Edge resisted the urge to dive after it. “i’m goin’ to that party. and you're gonna come with so you don't trash our house every time you get slightly pissy.”
“Wha– but that is not fair!” Edge almost whined, but he resigned himself to an irritated huff and tap of his heel. “You dirty little bastard–”
“life ain't fair, boss.”
“Fuck you.”
“if you do agree to come with, then you might get yer little bottle back all safe and sound. easy enough in my opinion.” His sharp grin only seemed to get more and more dangerous the longer he taunted Edge, clearly having a blast at his expense. “but if you still wanna act like a little bitch, then… you might wanna count yer hopes and prayers now.”
“You…!” Edge growled. “You are not going to lord this over me! I am getting those pills back right fucking now!”
Edge dashed towards Red, hands reaching out to grab the bottle balancing precariously on his index finger, desperate to get the one thing Red could blackmail him with away from him. Unluckily for him, his brother had teleported just slightly out of reach and let him crash head-first into the wall with a loud thud.
He recovered quickly enough and swiped at his brother again, grabbing not the bottle of pills but thin air instead. He hated that the only time his brother decided to be nimble was when he was having too much fun annoying the everliving fuck out of him. He ducked and weaved with every staggered attempt to retrieve the medicine and it made Edge furious.
He lunged once more and his brother slipped free from his grasp, sliding out of his hoodie with the bottle still in hand. He gave an exasperated groan when he saw his brother make a beeline for the stairs and, by the time he made it to the first step, his brother was nearly at the top.
Fuck, Edge couldn't do stairs well when he was like this. The thought of ascending made him queasy and he nearly considered conceding this to Red, but through sheer determination and his adamance on never letting his brother win, he soldiered on, slowly ascending the staircase while holding onto the rail like his life depended on it– and with how he wanted to lie down and hurt, it very well might.
And then there was his brother– standing at the top waiting for him with that smug ass look on his face.
He knew Edge was going to give up at some point. He was the only one that could get him this medicine. If he really didn't want to, he wouldn't get him any more. Edge couldn't risk that– not when he needed them to function as a productive captain of the Royal Guard.
Edge was so acutely aware of how much power his brother holds right now and he desperately needed to rid him of it.
“G-Goddamnit you little piece of shit… You can't fucking run forever!” Edge hissed through clenched teeth.
Through much difficulty, Edge finally conquered the dreaded staircase and took a minute to dry heave against the wall before considering attacking his brother again, vision coming and going until his metaphorical stomach quit doing somersaults. When he recovered enough to entertain the idea of decimating Red with his claws, the little fucker dipped down low and slid on his knees between his legs, ending up on the other side of him while he smacked his head on a wall for the second time.
Though it made him want to empty his lunch all over the steps, Edge whipped around to locate his brother and watched as he sat on the rail and slid all the way back downstairs.
Goddamnit.
“Fine… fine, whatever! I don't fucking god I feel like shit…” Defeated, Edge sat himself by the wall to calm down. He was unwilling to go back down the stairs until he was convinced he wouldn't paint the carpet a violent shade of scarlet. “You win, I lose, I give up. Happy now?”
“loads.” Red called from downstairs.
Soon, the older skeleton was right beside him, rubbing his back while he willed every magical atom in his body to retain the lasagna he had two hours ago. It brought him some small amount of comfort and he decided to let him off the hook for now. He also returned the pill bottle, so that was another point in his favor.
“I’m… I’m okay now, so piss off.” Edge had enough of the sappy, comforting thing for now and shoved his brother away to stand, not feeling much better but well enough that he didn't need Red hovering over him like a concerned parent. “I’m going with you to the stupid thing, alright? Not because I want to because god forbid I want some peace and quiet but because I actually honor my commitments.”
“whatever dude. we got a little bit to get ready, so you should probs go look fer something to put on that doesn’t make you look like a wreck– not unless you’re going fer the ‘high school swim club’ look. bet they'd get a kick outta your grumpy ass pullin’ up wearing a soaked tank top and some sweatpants.”
“Piss off.”
—————
“you better not be pouting in there, man! you said you were goin’ with me! what’s taking you so long?!” Edge could hear his brother yell from the other side of his locked door, the sturdy hunk of wood able to withstand his relentless beating. “i know you don't have that much shit to choose from!”
“I told you I'm getting fucking ready! Quit trying to break my fucking door down already!” Edge snapped back. “Not everyone can throw on whatever stank the least from their laundry pile, you know!”
It wasn’t an issue of what to wear; Edge was going to wear what he usually did to these outings– his leather jacket, his skull and crossbones tank top that was ripped just below his ribcage, and a pair of leather pants. No– the issue was far more dire than that.
He couldn't fit in the fucking pants.
Not only can skeleton monsters not gain weight, but they didn't shrink when they were dry cleaned either. Still, his ability to wear them properly eluded him. They barely went up his hips and he couldn't even zip them up– plus, he could barely move his legs in them. Why were they tight all of a sudden…?
It frustrated him to no end. This was an outfit he loved to wear and now he’ll have to find a pair of pants that doesn't match.
Should he just change his outfit altogether…? No! The Terrible Papyrus does not give in to pressure! He will cobble together an acceptable solution to his little dilemma!
The knocking ceased and for a second– just a small lapse in time– Edge thought Red finally left him alone, but he should have known better. He should have known better than to think Red wouldn't barge into his room and catch him with pants only pulled up enough to be considered barely decent.
“Get the fuck out of my room right now!” Edge squeaked, face flushing a bright scarlet red as he summoned a sharp red bone to hurl at his brother.
Red promptly exited the room and shut the door behind him and Edge could hear him jump when the bone connected with the wood. Edge, despite being flustered, found is reaction amusing and it gave him the energy to slip his disgusting sweatpants back on and open his bedroom door. After he shut it, he recalled his attack and made it disintegrate before speaking with his brother.
“seriously dude– what's making you take so long? still feel like shit?”
“I…” Edge sighs. “The pants don't fucking fit now for some reason– god knows why– and nothing else matches my outfit.”
Red decided against teasing his brother this time– poor guy looks heartbroken over the pants and as much as they bickered, he doesn't want to see his baby brother so upset– and just motioned vaguely to the ceiling.
“you could try the attic i guess. there’s prolly a box or two of shit the other alternates gave us. maybe you’ll find someth’n you can wear– or you could just wear those nasty sweatpants over. they probably won't give too much of a shit about it.”
“Please. Why would I show up anywhere as anything but excellence?” Edge puffed his chest out in pride and it took a serious amount of willpower from Red to not comment on the fact that Edge doesn't exactly radiate perfection right now. “The day I succumb to your bad choices is the day I Fall Down.”
“whatever helps you sleep at night i guess. while you spend forever playing dress-up, i’m gonna go set the machine up.”
Edge was soon left to his own devices and he decided to fetch a stool to reach the attic cord instead of straining himself to reach it. Once he was able to pull it, it came open with an amount of ease that he would have to investigate later when he didn't feel like the full force of the fucking sun was crashing into the Underground and vaporizing him specifically. He fared better climbing these mini stairs on the ladder at least.
A thin film of dust– monster or otherwise– covered every surface in a thin film, enough for Edge to leave footprints as he moved about the attic. Cobwebs clung to dark corners of the ceiling and further sold the idea that they seldom came up here for anything to begin with. The light overhead flickered and buzzed from age and infrequent usage, casting a hazy glow on the nearby standing mirror.
It was easy to find the box Red pointed out at least– it had “alternates’ bullshit” scrawled on it in his brother’s barely legible handwriting– so he dusted off the box and began his quest for moderately acceptable articles of clothing.
Most of the shit in there seemed to be random miscellaneous objects that he assumes were forgotten the rare times anyone visited him in his world– a few books with distressed spines, a VHS tape of what Edge thinks to be that anime Alphys always watches, some copper coins that he doesn't know the use of, a singular tennis shoe that was missing the sole and laces… He wonders why they haven't come for these things? Are they so weak that the cannot bear to be in his world for more than two seconds? And why do these things seem like they… aren't really for him?
He may be The Terrible Papyrus, but damn does this make him feel like shit. He at least tries to care about his lesser selves.
The clothes were at the bottom of the box and he made several disgusted expressions as he pulled repulsive piece after repulsive piece out and set them aside(who in their right mind wears neon orange cargo shorts???). They probably thought it was funny at the time. Edge assumes they just wanted to see his reaction.
Edge almost gave up his search for presentable pants when he spotted a pair that seemed to be everything that he was looking for. Smooth and jet black with red threading, he was almost startled by how well they matched his outfit– like they were made specifically for it. They even had a gilded red belt hanging loosely from the belt loops, so he didn't need to retrieve one from his room.
Eager to get out of his soiled clothing, Edge quickly changes into the fresh pants and dusts off the mirror to see how he looked, not wanting to walk out the house and be told he looked strange– and oh my god did he look good in those pants. They absolutely matched everything and he felt powerful. He was even so impressed, he didn't get a chance to notice how they turned the angular outlines of his hip bones into plush curves. Strange…
He abandoned the attic soon after and even felt brave enough to make the journey downstairs, feeling even more pleased when the nausea never came when he bent down by the door to put on his boots– a black high heel pair this time– and his scarf.
Red noticed his radiant mood and snickered, giving his brother a low whistle, making the other monster jump and face him with burning red cheeks.
“damn bro– you lookin’ to impress all your admirers at the party or someth’n? you look fuckin’ bubbly.”
Edge took a brief second to calm himself and returned to tying his boots up. “Your teasing and taunting is lost on me, I'm afraid. Am I not allowed to enjoy my fucking self?”
“snrk… naw, it’s cool.” Red withdrew his phone from his pocket when he felt a buzz and sighed. “aw shit– guess it finally happened.”
“Hm?”
“they changin’ the hangout place tonight. someth’n’ happened.”
“What could have possibly happened to make them change plans on the spot?”
“hold the fuck on man, i’m still reading.” Red scrolled through a couple more messages and skimmed its contents. “classic said his bro lit a pot on fire boiling some vegetables–”
“How the fuck do you burn a pot of goddamn water??”
“calm yer tits, dude, and let me fucking read the goddamn messages!” Red snarled. Edge rolled his eyes. “classic said his brother lit a pot of vegetables on fire and the cabinet above it caught fire too– said their whole house smells like shit and there's smoke everywhere.”
“I swear to fucking god if you tell me they changed it to what I think they did–”
“look at you go– predicting the future. want a gold star?” He turned his phone around. “blue and stretch are hosting instead.”
“This is going to be an absolute nightmare…” Edge grimaced.
“hey– you agreed to come with. this is on you– but if you wanna chicken out and stay home, then by all means don't let me stop ya.” Red held his hands out in surrender. “your call.”
“Oh you would love that, wouldn't you? I’m not giving you any more ammo willingly, so you can cut it out right now.”
“i’m sayin’ I understand if you're afraid–”
“Bah! ‘Afraid’? How absurd!” Edge put his hands on his hips to further accentuate his disgust for the shorter monster in front of him. “I’m going, you annoying little piece of shit.”
The two of them exited the house and made their way to the basement– just a small trip around back and down a short flight of stairs. It was as messy as Edge remembered, but– as this is an important place where the slightest thing askew could have drastic consequences– he does not dare clean this one room.
While he watches his brother enter into the machine some information he himself will never begin to comprehend, he took another three or so pills dry and stood by idly, waiting for the go-ahead. All of this scientific nonsense is so far beyond him, he’d need a plane to catch up. It makes his head hurt, so he leaves it to his brother and his quantum science textbooks.
Once the light on the top of the machine lit up, Red helped Edge inside– it was strangely more spacious on the inside than it looked– and shut the door after getting in. He didn't have to do anything else; he just let the thing do it's magic.
And what magic it was to behold. Red didn't know where they were either– just that this is where he goes when he teleports. Just a massive, open expanse colored ink black with no discernable direction or edges. Staring out into the nothing always filled Edge with unease…
And nausea. Lots of nausea. This damn machine always makes him feel like shit and it always gets worse the closer they are to their destination. Add the fucking fever nausea to the mix and it feels like he’ll faint. This shit was so disorienting.He doesn't know how his brother manages to do such a thing so often…
He hopes it’ll be over soon…
—————
Once that door opened, Edge leapt out of the godforsaken machine and fell over onto his hands and knees, heaving and coughing up red magic all over the floor. He swears he would have died if that thing were going for any longer.
Red rubbed his back in big circles, letting Edge get the rejected magic out of his system before helping him back up. Edge doesn't thank him directly, but he gives him a small, defeated nod in acknowledgement after he was convinced that was the last of it.
Edge was eager to get away from the wretched hunk of metal and scrambled to get outside, ignoring the sideways glances the residents of this Snowdin Town gave him, waiting for his brother to join him before they trekked around to the front door and knocked.
His brother’s bright, bubbly counterpart– Blue– answered the door with a smile and eagerly ushered the both of them inside.
The usual smattering of their alternates seemed to be here already– the Classics, the SwapFells, and then Blue and his brother since this is- of course- their house. Edge was dreading this day already.
“Feel free to make yourselves at home for now! I'm not done with the food yet, so feel free to, um… hang out or even go out and explore!” Blue would tell Edge and Red as he shut the door, whisk in hand. “We don't usually have this many guests, so we don't have any seats in here… but we have a few folding chairs in the shed if you want to grab a couple!”
Red walked right past his brother and seated himself firmly on the couch, relaxing into the corner and pleased this one has seen better days. His Classic counterpart– Sans, as he is the “original”– and Edge’s SwapFell copy– Mutt, he believes he is called?– were already lounging around and fast asleep, so he thought it would be in his best interest to go with the flow.
Edge noticed a stark lack of the orange-hooded menace and thought he was finally going to go one of these parties without being bombarded by crude jokes and pranks at his expense, his smile short-lived once his lazy counterpart emerged from fuck-knows- where and waltzed right up to him.
“wow– the edgelord finally visited me in my own home? you're after my heart– truly.” Stretch pretended to swoon and placed his hands over his Soul. “if you wanted to see me that badly, you could've just called me and i woulda popped over just for you~”
“What a displeasure to see you too, you oversized ashtray.” Edge crossed his arms and glared at his lazy counterpart. “No one in their right mind would dare to so much as glance your way willingly– let alone find comfort in your insufferable company. What would ever make you think otherwise?”
“c’mon, edgy. i've seen you making goo-goo eyes at me from across the room. what is it today– the clothes?” Stretch looked up and down the Fell monster. It made Edge feel uneasy.
Edge gave his counterpart a once over. He was wearing the same thing as he usually does every day– an orange hoodie, grey tank top, and black basketball shorts. Say he were to humor him and pretend there was something there; what was there to fawn over– the grease stains from the bar food? The sticky remains of honey?
His gaze lingers longer than it should.
“edge?”
Before he could humor any deeper thoughts that would give him some uncomfortable questions, Edge is snapped from his thinking, sharp teeth settling into an uncomfortable frown. Stretch swears he could see the faintest of reds dusting his cheeks, but it could just be a trick of the light.
“Oh I'm sorry– were you talking to somebody that gives a shit?” Edge decides to push Stretch out of his way to ventire further into the living room. Unfortunately, the freak decides to teleport back in front of him.
“ooo… feisty today, aren't we? is that why you were late– because something happened?” Stretch reached over to grab Edge’s arm and the man recoiled away. “you have got to tell me! please, edgelord? pleeeeeease?”
“My business is my business, not your's– and I'd like it if it stayed that way. I know the concept of personal space is foreign to you, but I value not telling every fucking body about my shit.” Edge would dust off his arm as if it were dirty, disgusted by even the slightest of touches from the other monster. “Please drop it and crawl back to whatever hole you slinked out of.”
“i'll figure it out eventually, don’t worry.” Stretch smirked and relented, walking away from the Fell monster.
But it did worry him.
Stretch was scarily good at finding information on anything he wanted to should it tickle his fancy. If Stretch wanted to know why Edge was so pissy, he would figure it out and that thought was mortifying. Forget his Underground finding out about his embarrassing fevers– if Stretch knew, Edge would never again know peace.
And what scared him the most was a teeny tiny feeling– something faint and barely even there– that wouldn't mind if Stretch knew. That wanted him to know.
What even was that? It was gone before he could really focus on it…
Edge now finds himself in the company of his Classic counterpart, Papyrus, and the version of his brother that was eerily similar to himself, Black, joining their discussion about the disapproval of their brothers’ laziness, wanting anything to distract him from the orange-clad annoyance in the corner of the room. It was easy to lose himself in their conversations and he might even dare to say he enjoyed them in some fashion, the three of them thoroughly tired of constant jokes and the inability to pick up one fucking sock.
Truly, they were the victims– not their lazy brothers that would rather sleep all day instead of doing their fucking jobs.
Edge soon found he had nothing left to talk about with them– he was never really one for socializing and he had little else going on that anyone would enjoy hearing about– so he slowly pulled himself away and set about finding himself something else to occupy his time with.
He glanced over at Stretch, bothering to give him any minute sliver of his attention. It seems he had migrated to the couch and draped himself across the back like a cat to take an– what Edge assumed to be– uncomfortable nap with his arms dangling over Mutt. He was finally free from him at last.
With nothing else to do and wanting out of this gathering already, Edge peels out the house and busies himself with grabbing some chairs from the shed.
Unlike himself, Blue seems to leave his shed unlocked for… whatever reason. Do people here really not steal?
It was a normal shed, too. There weren't shelves upon shelves of various tools to extract information out of people– just a handful of various woodworking tools and little shitty wooden sculptures. A couple paint cans called one corner home and another had the chairs he sought, so he would approach them to grab two or three.
As he leaned over, he felt another rush of warmth flood his senses and it took all he could not to buckle to the floor. He thought he was going to be okay for longer. He took his medicine. He thought he would manage.
Everything was spinning and he felt sick, magic running down the sides of his skull almost like he ran a marathon. He could not falter. He could not show weakness in front of any of them– let alone him. He had to get up. He had to get up and bring those chairs back and fuck what is that smell?
“boo.” Stretch whispered, having teleported inches away from where Edge’s ears would be if he had any.
Edge gave a surprised yelp and turned around faster than Stretch could shortcut away, swiping at him and managing to cut his cheek before shuffling away, breathing heavily in short bursts and… stumbling into the stack of chairs, scattering then around him as he fell on his ass. Stretch had to stand there in stunned silence to process what just happened.
Something was wrong; Stretch wasn't wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he could recognize something was.
Edge kind of looked like a wreck– face flushed and eyelights blurred around the edges, sweat rolling down his skull as he tried to catch his breath… and he didn't even notice him standing there until he said something. He's the most vigilant monster Stretch knows– he's never seen him let his guard down for any reason, even remaining somewhat alert while resting– and he managed to sneak up on him! Maybe he was ill…? Why didn't he stay home?
This was in fact Edge he was talking about. Of course he wouldn't stay put an rest. Still though… it was enough for him to consider keeping an eye out for him. Surely he wouldn't leave the house if it was severe enough, right?
“N-Never sneak up on a Fell monster like that! Never! I could have killed your sorry ass!” Edge said, pointing an accusatory finger at the other monster. The gesture lost some punch while he was still seated on the floor.
“yeah, uh… i believe that.” Stretch chuckles awkwardly, blood beading at the seam of the cut.
Edge swallows dryly as he watches a bead slide past the cut and down his cheek, hands twitching as he refrained from the mortifying urge to wipe it away with his thumb.
I wonder what it would taste like–
“if i didn't know any better, i’d say you were avoiding me. dunno why. am i too handsome to be around?”
“I-I…” Edge stammered, his heart in his throat and nerves still fried. How did he not notice him?! He never lets his guard down!
“shit– was i actually right?” Stretch grinned. “does the edgelord wanna–”
“Let me stop you right there.” Edge said, finally finding his voice and quelling the magic that rose to his face as he rose to his feet, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “Shit, that hurts… First of all: fuck you and fuck off–”
“oh you wish–”
“Shut the fuck up or my next attack will not be accidental.” Edge brought his palm to his face and sighed. Lingering embarrassment was quickly being replaced with agitation. “Two: I am avoiding you. Your presence brings me nothing but grief and migraines.”
“so you decided to come freeze your ass off out here in our shed? damn dude, i thought you were smarter than that.”
“Have you come all the way out here just to harass me or was there actually a reason?”
“here i was hoping you missed my gorgeous face. damn…” The Swap skeleton sagged defeatedly against the door, head hung low in mock sadness long enough to make Edge question if he was playing or not before perking back up. “no really, it's been like… fifteen minutes since you left. does it really take that long to get three chairs?”
Edge stiffened. He was out here for that long? Fuck, he hates these goddamn fevers…
“I was simply… enjoying not having you in my general vicinity– but you had to go and ruin that, did you not?” He huffed and put a hand to his hip bone, wincing shortly after and crossing his arms again instead. “The nerve of you– honestly…”
“tibia honest, edgelord, that looks like it kinda hurts.” Stretch pointed at Edge’s hip and the Fell skeleton swears it ached on his command. “knocked your illac crest on the chairs i guess? looks like you chipped it.”
“Oh fuck off already.” Edge rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to his other leg. Blood sat at the seam of the chip. “Your puns will exacerbate it and I hope you will find someone else to terrorize. I have heard but the one so far and I pray that it was the last fucking one.”
“what– you don't find me very humerus?”
Stretch ducked just in time to miss a can of paint being hucked at his head, the can instead hitting the wall behind him and spilling onto the floor while his assailant growled at him from the other side of the room.
Growled? Stretch wonders what's going on with him…
“Don’t.” Edge warned. Stretch could feel the malintent in his tone and backed away further. “Just… don’t. If you want to irritate me that badly, do it when I don't feel like shit, okay?”
“loud ‘n clear, bossman.” Stretch nodded and, after determining his proximity to Edge was not going to cause any more issues, walked over to him. “want me to heal that?”
“Heal? You?” Edge looked skeptical. “What?”
“yeah, yunno– healing magic? i can do a little bit no problem. do you not, uh, have healing magic in your world…?”
The silence from Edge spoke volumes.
“waitwaitwait– nobody over there can use it? nobody? that sucks ass, dude.” Stretch put his hand to his chin. “i’d be cranky all the time too if i was constantly covered in bruises and scrapes and damn you must spend a fortune on medical supplies…”
“Piss off.”
“whatever– enough of that. you want me to heal up that hip?” He makes an “X” over his chest with his arms. “i won't tell a soul, i swear.”
Edge really wanted to refuse his help– truly, he did! For someone like him, accepting aid from anyone was admitting defeat and weakness. It would tarnish his pride and make him feel lesser– below someone he views as even lower than himself– but would the alternatives be any better?
His other options were pretending to be fine and suffering in silence all day or not pretending everything is fine and having the whole house in his business about it– plus there's the risk he reveals his shameful, feverish condition to everyone and he is pressured to go home and be lazy until he’s better.
As if he would do that.
With much consideration and a resigned grumble, Edge sat back down on the floor and leaned against the wall, turning his head away from the other monster and trying to suppress the rush of warmth he felt through his body. He couldn't manage to stand any longer, pain shooting up his spine from his left femoral head.
“Fine.” Edge winced as he stretched his leg out, giving his lazy doppelganger better access to his injuries. “As much as I loathe you, I loathe the thought of everyone in my buisness more, so just… heal it or whatever– I don't know. I don't fucking feel good…”
Yeah, something is definitely wrong with Edge if he’s giving in this easily– if he's trusting someone to help him– especially in a place most skeleton monsters wouldn't want others touching them.
“i’ll be careful. i promise.”
Slowly, Stretch knelt down and placed his hands on Edge– one placed gently, directly on his hip, and the other place over where his hip joint would be if there weren't his pants in the way. He watches for any additional signs of pain or discomfort and chalked Edge’s uncomfortable blush up to being touched somewhere borderline inappropriate. When there were no protests, Stretch thought it okay to continue.
Little swirls of magic enveloped his hands as
he ran them over Edge’s injuries, making sure to keep his fingers spread to evenly distribute the wispy green magic. Edge would peek back at him and a little twinge of something settles in his Soul.
He's so… focused. He wasn't trying to poke or prod or even bombard Edge with his usual flavor of skeleton puns. His attention lied solely in mending his wounds, eyelights trained on the chip in his pelvis and magic filling every crack and indention it could reach. He was still. Quiet. Determined to actually help Edge. Determined not to betray his trust.
He could see concern in his eyes– genuine, actual concern. Stretch, despite all of his tomfoolery, gives a shit about Edge and cares that he’s hurt.
Warm. He felt warm again, but… this time, it doesn’t bother him as much– not with Stretch’s cooling touch against his bones. It eased the headache and the Fell monster might even say that it was a pleasant sensation.
Stretch rubbed his thumbs in clockwise circles, massaging the magic further into Edge’s hip. The other monster would unconsciously relax into the gentle touch and sigh as Stretch worked the pain out of him, head leaning back against the wall and a content sigh leaving him without him noticing.
Once he was done with his hip, Stretch moved on to the hip joint. He couldn't apply the magic directly to it without Edge removing his pants, so he had to settle on a light pressure with similar hand motions. Edge had no complaints whatsoever– in fact, he had the opposite of complaints. He distantly wonders if the fevers have something to do with his strange acceptance of the orange freak. It took less time to heal the femoral head, so pretty soon, Stretch finished and removed his hands from Edge.
The Fell skeleton flushed a brighter red when another wave of warmth washed over him and his Soul craved the contact again, pounding against his ribcage demanding more. He had to hide the whine that was ripped from him with a hiss through clenched teeth, dizziness making it difficult for coherent thinking.
“i'm no professional, so it's gonna be obvious that it looks healed, but yeah– there you go.” Stretch stood and moved out of Edge’s way. “if it hurts more later, i can try again i guess, but you should probably go to a doctor at that point.”
Edge grazes a hand over his hip bone and quietly marvels at Stretch’s work, reluctant to admit it was fascinating. The chip was fully filled in, buzzing with a faint orange hue and flush with the surrounding bone– and it was so fast, too! This would have taken weeks to heal back home, but Stretch healed it in minutes? He doesn't feel any pain in his joint either and the man couldn't even touch it directly.
“how’d i do bossman?”
His eyes lingered on Stretch’s hands before he looked away. Something inside him wanted to say perfect, but Edge swallowed the thought.
“The results are… satisfactory, I guess...” Hesitantly, Edge spoke, careful to avoid anything directly positive. It did little to phase Stretch though; this was basically high praise coming from the Fell monster. “You are not to speak of this to anyone, got it?”
“cross my heart and hope to die.” That earned Stretch an amused snort. “i may be annoying but i’m no narc.”
Edge pulled himself up after some time and patted himself down, making sure he was still looking presentable before he entertained the idea of returning to the gathering, grabbing about three chairs he originally came for and leaving the shed, not acknowledging the mess he left in his wake. Stretch assumes he was still embarrassed about it and tidied it up for him, leaving the can of paint to fuse into the floor while he stared at the shed door.
He flexed his fingers, the feel of leather still fresh on the tips. Stretch left those pants over at his house, didn't he?
—————
Edge returned with the chairs he went to get and set them up around the folding table Blue had drug out of a closet before he and his brother even arrived, taking a seat and resting his head in his hands and groaning to himself. He was lucky everyone else was focused on their own things and don't even seem to know that he was gone for a period of time.
Only Stretch noticed. Only he knew and bothered to check on him.
The buzzing of his healed hip continued and Edge tried to gently rub it away, but the contact made him bristle and he ceased immediately. He could still feel Stretch’s hands working the magic into the bone, phantom sensations smoothing over the bone and making him feel warm.
He put his head back in his hands. He hates this. He should have stayed home.
Red would have absolutely held that small victory over him though. He couldn't allow such a thing to happen.
And if he found out Stretch healed him– that he allowed the man he loathes to touch him like that– Edge would never again be safe from teasing and taunting. He'd tell everyone and they would all harass him about it.
The thought mortified Edge.
He can't let anyone know about this.
So, quiet he remains.
It was suffocating. It felt like everyone was watching; they weren't, but he still felt as if all eyes were on him. Watching him. Judging him. He felt restless, tapping his boot on the floor as he looked around for a distraction– any kind of distraction– from the uneasy feeling bubbling beneath his metaphorical skin. It was getting hot in here. Was it always this hot?
Maybe Blue would like some help in the kitchen? That would certainly be an appropriate distraction– that and he couldn't think of anything else that didn't involve exercising his fighting capabilities. Edge decides that this is his best option for now and carries himself to the kitchen to occupy himself with his brother’s cheerful counterpart.
It was far less of a mess in there since the last time he was over– that was a while ago and he rightfully assumes that evil microwave was disposed of shortly after the explosion. Blue had a pot going with some kind of meaty stew in it and was busy mixing away a thick batter. Vegetables left unchopped sat by a cutting board with a knife and various seasonings lined the back of the counters. To the left of the oven, there were two twelve-count greased muffin pans on the counter.
Quickly enough, Blue turned around and smiled when he saw Edge. Edge suddenly regretted his decision and his posture stiffened.
“Oh hello there Edge! I am terribly sorry, but the food still won't be done for a while! I have more to do than I thought, ehehehe…” Before Edge could comment, Blue held out a finger to hush him. “No, of course my brother isn't helping. I cannot trust him to cook anything. Remember the microwave?”
Edge nodded and they both hung their heads in remembrance, ignoring the scorch marks on the wall where it once stood. He understands why Blue hasn’t bought a new one yet; it shouldn't suffer the same, fork-shaped fate.
“He is hopelessly hopeless when it comes to meal preparation. You understand, right? Our brothers– always opting to go that bar instead of eating our delicious home-cooked meals?” Blue huffed. “I swear he would starve if that bar closed…”
“Honestly, I cannot see the appeal. All that greasy, sticky food… if he found an artery to clog, he sure as hell would.” Edge grimaced, the memories of monstrous meal abominations fresh on the mind. “Regardless of their… poor choices of eateries, I was not coming to ask if you were finished in here– nor did I intend on disparaging your brother and his abysmal life skills.”
“Oh? What do you need then? You usually don't… um… approach any of us…? Is something wrong…?” Blue looked a little nervous now. For just a second, Edge felt bad for worrying him. Just a second though.
“Whatever you have cooking in your skull, please cease it immediately. I am not here to rip your imaginary throat out.” He rolled his eyes. “I am merely… curious, that's all.”
“Curious…?”
“Yes, curious. Believe me– if I had anything else to do right now, I would be doing that instead of talking to you. There is only so much puzzle conversation one monster can have before he wants to destroy the damn things…” Why was that the only thing his alternates talked about? It annoyed him to no end. “I decided your cooking strategies would be more… appropriate… than what I would have done to distract myself from their mindless chattering.”
Blue nods. He remembers Edge breaking someone's arm for testing the limits of his patience.
“And if I was required to… assist you in these endeavors, then I suppose that would be fair.”
Blue stared. Edge crossed his arms.
“Well?”
“You are… asking if you can help me in the kitchen?” Edge felt himself light up at the mere suggestion he was offering help and turned his head away to hide his face. “You want to help cook?”
He'd be damned if he repeats himself, so he says nothing.
“Aw, you don’t need to be so shy about it–”
“I am not–”
“– but I would love if if you wanted to assist me! It is a very tiring thing to cook for eight people all by myself, after all!” Blue pointed to the vegetables on the counter next to the Microwave Explosion Evidence. “Can you dice those up for me? I already peeled them.”
Edge silently agrees and weaves himself around Blue so he could stand by the counter. He wasn't quite sure what these vegetables were– they seemed to be mostly roots and tubers– but cutting them up shouldn't be too difficult. And it wasn't. He removed his gloves first and made short work of them, much to his little bright supervisor’s surprise.
“What are you even doing in here? I was under the impression you were obsessed with another form of cuisine.” Edge would ask.
“Oh– yeah! Miss Undyne said she found this book in the dump? It had all these yummy looking recipes in it and I wanted to make some!” He seems to have finished mixing the wet batter and set it aside to set, removing a frying pan from the overhead cabinet and setting it on a stove burner with some cooking oil. “The stew was… well… stewing already before we were told about the change of plans. I was going to keep most of it as leftovers for a week, but sharing it with friends is so much more fun!”
Blue scoops up all the diced vegetables– they were chopped so finely and he had to compliment Edge on it, making him grumble and groan– and throws them in the pan to cook. He covers it with a lid and turns back to Edge to resume their conversation.
“I’m making these neat little dinner rolls and thought ‘I have these leftover vegetables, so why don’t I add them in?’, so I will! I believe they will be delicious at least.”
“That is… certainly an idea.”
“What would you cook for guests if you had any?” Blue would ask, shifting his stool over so he could reach the large soup pot, stirring the ladle through it a few times. “You like spicy food, right?”
“You remembered such a trivial thing…?” Edge sounded surprised.
“Well… of course I would. You are my friend.” The shorter skeleton shifted back over to stir the vegetables on the pan. “And I noticed many things about you, my friend! Specifically, I noticed you do not like offering up much, so I have learned things through observation!”
Curious, Edge leaned down to Blue’s level and propped himself up on the counter.
“I wouldn't think you were a monster that paid such close attention to things like that. Your job doesn't require that, yes?”
“It does not, but it does not stop me! Not all monsters can talk or even have expressive faces like other monsters, so– in my quest to be the best friend and Royal-Guardsman-in-training that I can be– I have learned how to read body language rather well!” He smiles at Edge again. “This doesn't apply to the spice thing though. You smelled like spices the last time you were here, so I made an educated guess! Mweh heh heh!”
“You were correct, in any case. I do have a preference for such flavors, but… I am not so picky as to refuse meals offered by my hosts.”
“Can you try the stew then? See if it's missing anything? My brother said I was a bit heavy-handed with seasonings, so I refrained from my usual techniques– and it tastes better now! I still cannot place what is wrong though…” Blue sighed defeatedly and removed the pan from the stovetop, scraping the cooked vegetables into the batter he made earlier. “Cooking is one tough battle to win…”
“Truly.” Edge hummed in agreement.
As asked, Edge checked the stew for him, stirring it once more before bringing the ladle to his mouth for a quick taste. Blue did, indeed, not destroy it with handfuls or whatever seasoning he felt appropriate at the time, and he was right about it tasting a bit bland as well. He wasn't quite sure about the flavor, actually.
“You were trying to make what kind of stew? It vaguely tastes like you were attempting something, but you aborted it halfway through. Some kind of spice I'm not sure of the name for…”
“I knew you were coming over and wanted you to feel welcome, so I was trying to make it to your tastes– since I knew you liked hot food? I didn't know what I was doing, so I stopped…”
“Well that's why spices are powdered– to make it easy to add small portions at a time.” Edge picks up a bottle that appears to have some sort of black chili powder in it and opens it, shaking just a small bit into the pot and stirring it in. “You wouldn't add a whole bottle of this, would you?”
He stares at Blue. He definitely would.
“... do not answer that. My point is thus: measure your shit and, when the time calls for it, add more in smaller portions. And never start out with heavily spiced shit. Always start tame and gradually increase the additions to suit your tastes.” After tasting the stew again, he adds a bit more chili powder before setting it aside. “You can add seasonings later; you can't take them out when you put them in.”
“How insightful! You know a lot about cooking, don't you?”
Edge smirked and puffed out his chest a little in pride. “Why of course I do. You shall never catch me lacking for even a moment. It would do you good to learn a thing or two from me.”
“I sure will! Do you think you could come over again soon then? We could cook together and you could show me your kitchen mastery!”
“Certainly.” Edge would say without thinking much on it– but when he did think about it, he realized what he had agreed to.
He told this overly excitable version of his brother that he would return at a later date to hang out with him. He couldn't possibly blame this on the fevers as well, so what was going on? Wasn't he usually more agitated than this?
He’ll worry about it later when he's home. Right now, he is helping Blue prepare the food for later.
He held the greased pans while Blue filled each cup halfway with the thick batter lumpy with vegetables, careful not to overfill them and end up with burnt tops later. Once both pans were filled and there was none left over, Blue would put both of them in the oven and reach over to set a timer.
“Okay, now that this is settled…” Blue would mutter as he stepped down from his stool, removing his apron and hanging it up on the wall before putting his gloves back on. “Can you watch the stew and take the rolls out when the timer goes off? I have to go do my patrols now. I would ask my brother to watch everything, but…”
Blue glances over at the Microwave Marks again. Edge nods.
“You needn’t say more– I understand. I will keep your worthless brother out of the pot.” Edge set about cleaning up the dirty mixing utensils; if he's already fucked by offering to help this little freak, then he might as well not do a half-assed job. “Now go before I change my mind.”
Blue gives Edge a small nod before he scampers off to the door, retrieving his bandana from the coat hanger and then hurrying out the door. Edge will give him props for rushing to do his job as soon as he had a chance to; a lot of people could learn a thing or two from that unbearably infectious work effort of his.
Speaking of work effort…
Edge looks at the couch again and sees no Stretch– only the rest of the lazy good-for-nothings in various uncomfortable sleeping positions. He briefly wondered where that Swap skeleton was and when it made the healed chip in his hip throb, he decided he didn't give a shit; if he wasn't here, that meant Edge gets a break from him and he should stop thinking about it.
But, knowing him, he’ll just pop in whenever he damn well pleases, so what's the point of even wondering where he is?
Whatever. Edge has more important things to worry about right now– namely, the food. If he wasn't expecting to eat any of it, he would have refused to watch it for Blue, let alone watch it while he was gone, but since he agreed to both, he has to make sure it's edible so he can get his deserved portion.
He tasted the stew again and decided it needed some citrus, so he started rummaging around in cabinets to look for something that fits these specifications. If need be, he can ask his brother’s SwapFell alternate to stand guard while he makes the brave journey next door to ask the barkeep for some lemon juice, but he would prefer not to. He doesn't want those eyes on him– the people at the bar…
He hears the ladle move and knows what happened immediately, summoning a sharp bone and whipping around to press it dangerously close to the Swap monster’s throat, catching him red-handed trying to eat from the pot before it was even done.
Why did he think he was ever going to be rid of him?
“Don't you fucking dare touch that fucking pot until I say so.” Edge yanked the ladle from Stretch’s hands, emptied it back in the pot, and hung it on the handle. “I can't have you ruining this. Your ability fuck up the smallest of things in mere seconds is truly astonishing.”
“aw, relax a little, edgelord. i just wanted a taste–” Stretch would say with a snicker as the weapon in Edge’s hand crept closer, nicking one of the vertebrae in his neck. The Fell monster would glare and try to ignore the way he saw blood slip down the bone, hiding in-between the vertebrae. Stretch held up his hands in defeat. “okay okay, i’ll stop.”
He didn't believe him, but still, Edge relented and let the weapon dematerialize along with his murderous intent.
“what are you doing in my kitchen anyways? if you're looking for snacks, i already ate them all.”
“If I must tell you… Since you are so useless in lieu of basic life skills such as cooking, your brother had to consult someone from a different world for assistance– and as the best one here, it was natural he came to me for such an inquiry.” The Fell monster pushed Stretch out of the way so he could stir the pot again, careful not to spill any while he stirred. Stretch didn't need to know he had asked Blue if he could help him. “And if you do not mind– not that I give a shit if you do or don’t– I would like to focus on that instead of keeping your hands out of the fucking stew.”
“will i finally get a taste of this royal guard captain's home-cooking today? amazing.” Stretch bat his eyes at Edge. “the fastest way to a guy’s heart is through the stomach, y’know~”
Edge doesn't dare to dignify that with a response, setting the dirty dishes in the sink and turning the knob to fill it with water.
“how’s the hip doing?”
Almost as if on command, Edge braced himself against the sink with a hiss, his leg threatening to give out on him. He was confused; wasn't he feeling great not even five minutes go? Why did he suddenly feel like he couldn't move? Why did Stretch of all people make him feel this way?
His Soul throbbed. Hands I need hands I need him to touch me–
“I’m fine.” He said, biting back a pitiful whimper. Whatever was going on with him– he could not let it have a hold over him.
“not what i asked, bud.”
“Fuck off. Wh-While I might have entertained you for some aid earlier, that does not mean I need more of your help.” Despite himself, Edge forced himself to stand upright again, shifting his weight to his left leg instead to mitigate the aching. “I am fine now, so please go the fuck away.”
Edge manages another step or two before he has to brace against the counter again, cursing his own weakness under his breath. He wants the other monster to piss off. He needs Stretch to get away from him. He needs him to–
“that don’t look okay to me, mister. you sure you don’t need my help?” Stretch moved around to Edge’s right side, glancing down at the spot he healed earlier– or he tried to heal. “i could give it another go if you want– no skin off my back.”
“No, I'm fine. Go away.” Edge could feel that feverish warmth creeping up his spine again and grit his teeth. “I-I neither want nor need your help.”
Stretch watches as Edge kept looking out of the kitchen– at the couch with the menagerie of lazy, sleeping monsters and the nearby wall with his own counterparts. Tense. Uneasy. Nervous. Afraid. He was afraid that people would see and talk. Even if their world was safe, he’s been conditioned to deny deny deny and hide everything away.
“i’m over here, okay? they wouldn't see me.” Slowly, Stretch inched closer until he stood behind Edge on his right. “i can tell it hurts. just let me help, man. you can’t kick my ass later if you can't even kick, y’know?”
Edge peered out of the kitchen once more. Everyone looked so absorbed in their own things and if Blue’s schedule like anything his used to be, it should be another half hour before he’s back.
Why was he even considering this? It was like he was afraid he'd be caught with a lover–
Is that what Stretch is trying to do? Really?
… nah, that's impossible. He's just overreacting.
“... make it quick.” Edge whispers, unable to bring himself to look his way. Hands made their way to the pot of stew in an attempt to look busy. “Don't try any funny business.”
“aw, but that's my jam–”
“Don’t.” Edge warned. “Just… just get it over with. Please?”
“yeah, no problem. i'll try to be as quick as i can be.” Stretch out his left hand on Edge’s back to steady himself while his right rested over the sealed injury on his right hip. “you’ll tell me if i fuck up and hurt you, right?”
“Goddamnit, just do the fucking thing already.” Edge glared briefly before resuming his vigilant watching of the rest of the party-goers.
Relief was immediate, the healing magic in Stretch’s hands soothing the dull ache in Edge’s hip with gentle strokes. He could tell Stretch was genuinely trying to help Edge; maybe he thought he should since his prior healing wasn't enough? Either way, the comforting magic relaxed Edge, the tension falling from his shoulders as he unconciously pressed himself against Stretch’s hand for more contact.
When Stretch complied by spreading his fingers further across the visible areas of his pelvis, Edge had to snuff out the little noises burning in the back of his throat and try to focus on either watching for anyone coming towards them or watching the pot of stew; neither of them could distract himself well enough though.
“you’re doin’ good, edge...” Stretch would whisper.
He could feel magic slide from his Soul and down his spine. He hopes it won’t be visible when he's done; he won't have the time to clean it up.
Say it again. Tell me I'm good–
How long has it been– a few minutes? Edge can't tell.
Everything was too hot and that hand on his hip was too good at making every inch of bone too damn sensitive. Every time his thumb slipped over the healed wound, it felt like a shock traveled all the way up his spine and into his Soul. He felt out of breath and had to hiss through his teeth to keep himself quiet, eyes shut tight and hands barely holding onto the pot in front of him. He felt weak at the knees. It was all too much, but it still felt like he needed more.
More, more! he felt his Soul cry, thumping against his ribcage and brightening it's glow. If Stretch noticed, he didn't say anything and continued, waiting for a sign to stop that would never come.
More I need more please more please Stret–
Edge would nearly mutter Stretch’s name in his haze when the timer went off loudly beside them, snapping the Fell monster out of it. Where he was once relaxed, the tension returned with a raging scarlet on his face, standing up straight like he wasn't just standing there getting his bones fondled by someone he claims to hate.
“so uh… you good now?” Stretch thought to ask, hiding an amused smile behind his hand as Edge scrambled to find an oven mitt.
Edge doesn't respond just yet, slipping on a mitt from the drawer and pushing Stretch out of the way so he could remove the pans from the oven and set them on the counter. After he dies so and removes the mitt, he turns to Stretch and crosses his arms, doing his absolute best to look anywhere else but Stretch.
“Well it doesn't hurt anymore, s-so… I suppose…?” That was probably as close to a thank you as Stretch would get. “Your assistance has been… noted, so please get the hell away from me now.”
“and here i was thinking we were having a moment–”
“Don't. Unless you are some kind of culinary genius, I implore you to vacate my general area so I may work without… distractions. Immediately.” He refused to look at him. He could feel the color rising to his cheekbones. “Leave.”
Stretch doesn't tease him this time; he just gives him a small smirk and a wink before hopping back over to the couch so he could melt across everyone’s laps, leaving Edge alone in the kitchen.
He didn't feel any better. Now his entire pelvis stung.
And he could still feel those hands– the reassuring one on his back and the one delving further and further and–
Don't think about it. If he does, he’d have so much shit to explain to his brother.
The heal looks more natural now at least. That area of bone is lighter than the rest, but it rests flush with everything.
All because of Stretch–
Blue returns shortly after that, flinging the door open and declaring that he, The Magnificent Sans, is done with his patrol and is now ready to serve dinner. The idea of food seemed to wake the living dead over on the couch, the skeletons erupting into cheers as they made their way to the table.
He would briefly thank Edge before retrieving plates and bowls from the cabinet, placing about three rolls on each plate and lifting each bowl up for Edge to deposit some stew in– which he did with careful precision. After fishing up some utensils for everyone, Blue would send Edge to sit– he had been diligent in his dinner-protection duties after all– and he would bring out everyone’s food.
He in no uncertain terms dreaded having to sit at the same table as Stretch after what happened in the kitchen, but he must do so in order to maintain the idea that nothing is wrong, so he swallows his grievances and seats himself as far away from the source of his discomfort as possible.
He knows Stretch is staring. He knows those eyelights are watching him, taunting him, waiting for him to slip up so he can mess with him. He knew his gaze was on him and it made his Soul ache– but he still doesn't relent. This shall be a test of his patience and self-control.
Food was fully served and everyone would dig in, trying the stew first since Blue seemed excited about it. While he, Blue, and Black seemed thoroughly pleased by the flavor, everyone else seemed a bit confused, having expected something a bit less hot. Edge glances over at Stretch and the sight of him barely able to keep a straight face made him smile something sinister.
“Something the matter?” Edge asks, dipping a roll into the stew.
“n-naw, all good here. just savoring my bro’s awesome cooking.” Stretch ate another spoonful and Edge believes he could hear him die a little on the inside. “he’s an awesome cook, you know.”
“Excluding me from the praises now when my assistance was crucial, are we? Didn't you say earlier that you were excited to, quote, ‘finally get a taste of this Royal Guard captain's home-cooking today’?”
“don’t, uh… don't know what you're talking about there, edgelord. don't remember saying anything like that.”
“The man of this world that managed to fix such an important machine– forgetful? It's a little hard to believe…” Edge devoured the soaked roll and kept his eyes on Stretch. Thin streaks of the broth clung to his jaw like blood, making his gaze seem all the more predatory. “Maybe I expect too much of you.”
Okay now this isn't fair. Why is Edge doing the teasing now and how is he so good at it? This is Stretch’s forte!
Everyone watched in silence, partially surprised Edge would ever instigate a conversation with the other monster and mostly entertained by the was Edge seemingly backing the other monster into a corner. Even Blue took some small delight in watching Edge be comfortable enough to bite back.
“Enjoying it so far?” Edge would ask swallowing down another large spoonful of the stew like it wasn't full of fucking chili powder. “This was one of my additions, after all. I'm curious about your opinion.”
“it's… it's interesting at least. would've never c-considered it like this before.” Stretch copies Edge and sets a roll in his bowl to soak up some broth. “real good i guess.”
Edge watches as Stretch takes a bite of the roll and waits patiently for the inevitable to happen. To Stretch’s credit, he was putting up quite the effort; if it were anyone else testing him, he might've stood a chance at fooling them, but for Edge to be the one subjecting him to this… it was quite unfortunate.
Then, it finally happened.
Stretch calmly put down his spoon, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and… ran to the kitchen like his life depended on it, scrambling for a cup to put some milk in to soothe the burning in his mouth.
And Edge laughed, the howl loud enough to echo. All the deep lines that framed his scowl were gone, hidden by his expression of unbridled joy at poor ol’ Stretch’s expense– like this small bit of his suffering amused the Fell skeleton. He didn't even intend on it being too much for him to handle; that was just a little dessert to go with it.
By the time Stretch returned to the table out of breath and with a tall glass of milk, Edge had calmed himself down to a snicker– and before the poor guy could complain, the rest of the alternates erupted into laughter. Even jokes about heat and spice went excused amongst the chaos.
“The meal is… decent.” Edge would say to Blue, the others distracted by their teasing of the suffering monster in orange. “I forgot the citrus though, so that is a blunder on my part…”
“Oh hush, it was fine. You did good.” Blue would grin up at Edge. “Thank you for helping.”
Edge looked away, the color on his cheeks betraying that signature scowl of his. Being thanked for anything was foreign to him.
But he… he liked it– even if it made his Soul feel strange.
“... welcome…” Edge muttered and decided to occupy himself with the rest of his meal.
The rest of the dinner went rather well. Everyone ate and poked fun at Stretch whenever they could, Papyrus tried to convince everyone that his wild puzzle prospects were possible, Black had to constantly silence his brother’s inappropriate remarks, everyone watched in horror as Red dumped a load of mustard into his stew… it was a great time.
Once everyone was finished, Blue would collect the dishes and begin the difficult task of washing eight sets of everything. Edge didn't dare offer any help in front of the other alternates– Blue would probably refuse the aid anyhow– and instead chose to step outside for a break while the rest of the party-goers mingled indoors.
Once Edge was outside, he made a hasty retreat to the back of the house– and when he was certain he was out of view of the rest of the sleepy town, he fished his bottle of pills out of his jacket and dumped a few into his palm, staring down at his shaky hands for far too long before swallowing them dry with a grimace.
Where was this warmth coming from? Why did he feel so hot and antsy? It was like his magic couldn't decide where or how to settle, rolling around restlessly in his bones and his Soul. It had its claws around him and they kept sinking deeper.
It was already bad enough today; he finally got his medication that afternoon after waiting a week, so it had been particularly hard on him for far too long. Despite the medicine keeping the worst at bay, this warmth kept accumulating the longer he lingered in this world.
Then Stretch tried healing an injury he caused in the shed and Edge started feeling worse, his Soul calling out in want and desire for anything– for the physical contact of those nimble fingers over his hip.
Edge was doing fine until he saw him again after the shed incident– then it was like his body forgot how to function properly and he lost his ability to move, Soul sobbing and weeping and begging for Stretch’s help again. And he got that “help” again– only this time, it exacerbated that sticky warmth clinging to every atom in his body.
It was easy to ignore these things when everyone was grouped together and noisy as fuck, but when they separate and Edge is alone, it creeps up fast and hard, hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had to get out of there. He couldn't let anyone see. He couldn't let Stretch se–
“man, you really did a number on me…” Stretch would say as he approached Edge, having seen he left and went looking for him. “that shit still hurts–”
Edge, not wanting anyone else to know he was hiding back there, grabs Stretch by the arm and yanks him behind the cabin with him– much to the other monster’s shock.
“dude what the hell–”
Stretch stopped talking when he saw the state Edge was in, words dying on the back of his tongue. He might have looked rough earlier, but holy shit did he look bad now.
The way he held his arm with claws tangled in the fabric of his hoodie was fearful, desperate, hesitant, nervous. His frantic gaze kept switching between Stretch and towards the rest of town. His breathing came in short, quick bursts. He looked on the verge of collapsing, legs quaking and unsteady, a sway to his movements.
I don't want to be seen like this.
Edge didn't need to say anything; Stretch could just tell that is what he wanted to say. With everything that's been happening today, he wants so badly to hold onto the fact that no one else has seen him in such a condition. It's the most his pride will allow.
Stretch is the most his pride will allow.
“o-okay man, chill. no one knows i’m here. what's wrong?” Stretch tried asking. “need something?”
Edge opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't, the reason why eluding the both of them. All he could manage was that heavy, labored breathing, and staring into Stretch’s eyes, trying to communicate a silent plea– a need for something that he seems to be unable to communicate to Stretch.
“you sick or something?” Stretch puts his other hand to Edge’s forehead and frowns. “shit, man, you’re burning up. how did you manage to roll out of bed today like this?”
Edge couldn't silence the groan that left him when he felt Stretch’s hand on him, his grip on the lazy skeleton’s arm loosening as he shut his eyes.
“you want me to get, like, your brother to take you home or…?”
Stretch could hear something– something so very small and faint and pitiful, he would never have believed it came from the terrifying skeleton he knew Edge to be. He would lean closer to hear him better and felt that grip on his arm becoming almost feather-light.
“Help…” Edge would say, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Please, it's… I can’t take it anymore…”
“yeah, man. anything. just tell me what you need.”
“It's… it's all so warm. I feel like I'm on fire and it… it hurts…” Slowly, Edge drags Stretch’s hand down to is hip– not the one he injured earlier– and his whole body quaked– like Stretch’s touch was electric. “I need contact. I– fuck it hurts… I need help. Help me Stretch… please…”
Stretch suddenly felt like an idiot. This is what's been going on? How could he fight it for that long?
“i’ll help you big guy, okay? just relax. you’re in good hands.” Stretch glanced around again and backed up against the wall, pulling Edge against him. “just hold onto me, edge. i'll make it better for you.”
As instructed, Edge placed his arms over Stretch’s shoulders and damn near fell over when he felt his hand move across his spine, his head now resting beside Stretch’s. He was careful with how he moved– grazing his thumb over watch scratch and scar and chip, flooding the old wounds with his own magic, dulling the throb of warmth that consumed Edge.
While one hand traveled slowly up his spine with careful attention to every bone and mark, his other was spread across Edge’s pelvis, rubbing in small circles and venturing further below the belt in his efforts to dismiss what ailed the Fell skeleton.
Edge could barely gather his thoughts with Stretch touching him like he is. He wanted to recoil in disgust. He wanted to berate the man for daring to lay his hands upon him. He wanted to fuck him up in general, but for every coherent thought he managed to form, the gliding of fingers across bone would scatter them like pollen in the wind, the little voice in the back of his head growing louder and louder the more he was touched.
Feels so good! More, more! Touch me more, please! it would cry, begging for more relief that Edge wasn't getting. He knew his face was as red as his magic and he couldn't help it, his self-control working overtime just to keep him from screaming out and alerting the whole of Snowdin Town. He had to muffle himself in Stretch’s hood and Stretch had to keep telling himself that Edge wasn't fully in control of himself.
If only he were and still asked him to touch him…
“you feelin’ good, hm?” Stretch would ask. “being good for me?”
He would scrape his nails against Edge’s ala and the man would bite his hood to stifle a moan, back arching into his touch and strings of magic dripping from his ribcage.
I’m good for him he called me good he wants me he–
“getting a little excited now, are we?” Stretch pulled his hand back to examine the magic falling on it. Clear? He isn't far along then. “you must really want me, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Edge breathed out, pressing himself even closer to Stretch.
“fuck, you're lucky there's people over right now. you’d probably be in my room by now if they were gone already.” Stretch used every fibre of his being to will his magic into staying dormant. He’s just helping Edge blow off steam right now. That's all he’s doing. It still won't stop him from running his mouth though. “would you like that– me taking you up there just to be used?”
Stretch’s hand makes it into Edge’s ribcage and the man whines for more, legs rubbing together and hands grasping at the back of Stretch’s hoodie.
“you look so good like this– and it's all for me? maybe you deserve a reward, hm?” Delving further into his ribcage, Stretch grazes against Edge’s Soul and the Fell monster arched into it. He could feel how warm it was– unbearably so if Edge finally snapped and clung to him like this– and could feel the erratic pulses of magic it sent out. Like it didn't know what to do, but I knew it needed to. “give in. i’ll take care of you, baby, so let go.”
Stretch grabbed hold of Edge’s Soul and Edge cried out into Stretch’s hood, spasming as his Soul wept more sticky streams of magic, panting like it was the first time he ever tasted air in his entire life. Slowly, Stretch would rock against Edge, helping him ride out the high until his legs finally gave out and he fell back into snow too tired to move.
Stretch takes this opportunity to quickly clean him up, quietly apologizing for his used sock being the cloth to wipe away the magic coating his ribs and spine. He then stuffs the sock away into his deep pockets to hide the evidence, taking a minute to examine Edge to see if he was alright now.
And… it seems like he fainted.
He looked so peaceful when at rest– no scowl, no Soul-piercing glare, no posture that indicated he knew the best way in how to kill everyone in the room should they get on his bad side… and it looked like he finally managed to cool off some.
A magic buildup, perhaps? Does he not exercise the excess? And if stimulation relieves it, then does he not do that? Does the thought never actually cross his mind to…?
He looks at Edge again. Surely…?
This is Edge though. It's certainly possible.
He’s not telling anyone about this. Even though he does give a shit about the high heel asshole, what he does and does not decide to do isn't his business. He won't speculate on what is wrong with him. If Edge really needs some help, he’ll ask him. He’ll ask Stretch and he can confirm it then.
For now though…
“hey edgelord.” Stretch would say, squatting down to shake Edge by the shoulder. “wake up buddy; you'll get soaked if you sleep in the snow.”
He didn't stir.
“yo. earth to edgelord. wake up.” He shook him harder. “lie there too long and people will stare.”
Nothing.
Stretch reaches into Edge’s ribcage again and the moment he grazes his Soul, he bolts upright and Stretch hastily removes his hand.
“What… what happened?” Edge looked around himself, noticed he was sitting in the snow, and gets up, dusting off what little ice and snow that clung to him. “Did I pass out…?”
“yeah, pretty much. for about five minutes.”
The poor guy look mortified. Stretch probably would be too if he was as shy and private as Edge was.
“Oh my fucking god…” Edge hid his face in his hands and sighed. Stretch almost snickered at his embarrassment– even his joints were flushing red– but he is a master of self-control today. “I-I swear to Asgore if you tell anyone about this–”
“dude, relax. i’m not an asshole, believe it or not. my lips are sealed.” Stretch rose to his feet and put his hands in his pockets. “how’re you feeling?”
“I…”
Edge tried to muster more shame and outrage, but he couldn't find it in him to muster the strength to. He felt oddly… calm– and that godforsaken warmth was so quiet and subdued. The throbbing in his bones has ceased for now as well. It felt so… strange. He was so used to feeling like shit all the time, he started to forget what feeling normal was like.
And he only started feeling better after Stretch nearly got him out of his pants.
“Yes, I… believe I do.” Edge stared down at himself. Was this how he used to feel? Less agitated and prone to snapping? “Do not expect a ‘thank you’ from me though.”
“nah, no sweat. you kinda looked like shit, so i wanted to help.” Stretch shrugged.
“Hopefully I will never need your ‘aid’ again.”
“maybe not, but if you do, you have my number.” Stretch shrugged. “not saying you will or won’t– but if you do need some help again, call me, okay? limit the people that know what’s going on and all that.”
“Your generous offer will be… considered, despite my many, many, many reservations suggesting otherwise.” Edge glanced back at Stretch and sighed. “I am not so prideful as to deny when something makes sense, and if today was anything to learn from, then…”
“again dude, no worries. we’re chill. if you call, okay. if you don't, also okay. don't think too hard on it until you need to.” Stretch moved to peer around the side of the house. “you want me to tell red you wanna leave?”
“Please don't tell my brother anything–”
“don’t tempt me.” Stretch chuckles and shakes his head. “naw, i’ll say some shit like you shat your social battery. go on and head into the basement for now, okay?”
“A… alright…”
“seeya later, edgelord.”