We sat in a small room wearing formal little suits.

Dream had left us some toys to play with, which my brothers quickly claimed as theirs. I didn't care.

I was to focus on the argument in the room across the hallway.

"You can have to house, Ink, but I want at least shared custody of the boys dammit! They're my kids to."

"I'm their birth parent! They could care less about their sire."

I pressed myself harder against the wall as the argument went on.

"You know what! If you think they don't want to be with me than let them decide!"

"W-What!? Error they're kids! They shouldn't have to decide-"

"No. If you're so sure they'll want to be with you then let them decide who that want to live with!"

"Ink, I think Errors right. We should let the boys decide."

I stepped away from the wall and looked to my brother.

They were my litter mates.

My brothers.

But I knew who they would pick.

They'd pick Dad. And they'd care less who I'd picked.

They always left me behind or ignored me.

Dad was never very kind to me. Never really cared for me.

And why would he. When he had two other sons who were just like him. Liked to draw and paint with him. Like to dance and play.

Why would he like the shy son who liked reading and the quiet? Who was interested in astronomy and mathematics? Why would he care if I went with him?

But Papa. He always made sure to spend time with me. To care and remember my likes. To care enough to change everything for me.

When Dream came in and brought us into the room across the hall I was ready.

When we were brought in front of Sans, who sat in a big desk and our parents sitting at two other desks surrounded by other skeletons, I knew.

Papas eyes were locked on me, hopeful and desperate.

My answer was on my tongue.

The nice Sans asked, "If you boys had to stay with one of your parents, and only one, which would it be?"

My brother answered with a carefree, "Dad!"

I said, "Papa."