Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the house at the end of a snow-blanketed town, a hush had fallen over.

Two skulls peeked over the back of a worn red couch into the kitchen, eyes unblinking with frozen smiles. They watched their father.

His back was to them as he bent over the stove, humming and tapping his foot to a mental beat. His hands danced over utensils, pots and pans. His bony joints clicked against the metal.

Gaster had always been an excellent cook. After a grueling day at his lab, he could finally put himself out of the mind of a mathematician and straight into the psyche of an artisan. It was methodical, productive, and allowed for freedom that he just couldn’t get at his work.

“Let’s see here.” He paused for a moment. In one pot, a thick tomato and vodka sauce was bubbling. In another, plain salted water had started roaring into a boil. It was ready. He craned his head around and smiled. “Sans?”

From behind the couch, the rounder and larger of the two skulls bobbed up. “Yeah?”

“Could you please fetch me that package of rigatte? First cabinet on the -”

“Ooh! Ooh! I know where that is!” the other skeleton piped up, and before Sans had even gotten off the couch had bounded up and thrown open the cabinet door.

Sans flopped his arms over the couch’s back and mock-huffed. “Rude to interrupt, bro.”

He knew that Papyrus had never meant any harm, not at his age. He loved everyone, and Sans was convinced that there wasn’t a bad bone in his body.

“Rig-a-tte! RIG-a-TTE!” Papyrus chanted as he held the pasta box over his head and marched to his father’s side. “RIG-A-TTE!”

Gaster let go his stirring spoon to take the box from Papyrus’ outstretched hands. “Just a few more minutes, okay?” He grinned as he gently turned his son around and pressed his back to drive him to the living room.

“Kay!” Papyrus burst into a spring, took a long leap over the couch’s arm and dived straight into his brother’s side, giggling wildly.

Sans wasn’t fazed, even if he had gotten some of the wind knocked out of him. He straightened himself back up and leaned over with wiggling fingers. “You’re askin’ for a tickle time, you little snot,” he cackled. For an added touch, he let his right eye spark up with a little blue flame. He had been getting better at that, controlling it for seconds-long bursts.

As his boys began a chorus of shrieks and laughter, Gaster stirred the pasta and added a couple dashes of oregano to the sauce. He sipped at the tip of the spoon and let it roll over the backs of his teeth. “Hmm..” It wasn’t his best, but it was good enough. A little plain for his personal liking, but his sons were still at the ages of preferring simpler tastes. He wished that he could have had time to buy vegetables on the way home.

The pasta was drained (cooked slightly, but not too al dente), and mixed into the sauce in under a minute. Gaster took off his apron before spooning out the dish into three proper portions at their small, circular table.

“Alright boys, wash up!” He loomed over the couch and clapped his hands with a sharp “tut tut!”

Sans and Papyrus raced each other to the kitchen sink, shared the same glob of slimy soap, and had themselves seated at the table in record time.

If skeletons could salivate, they surely would have as they both readied their forks and stabbed at the first tubular noodle they could. For a blissful handful of minutes, the family ate in silence.

Gaster straightened himself and dabbed a napkin to his teeth before clearing his throat. “Now, Sans?”

“Mmf?” Sans swallowed a mouthful.

“How would you describe this dish in a sentence, with creative adjectives?”

It was another ‘vocabulary’ lesson. Sans had to suppress a groan. It had only lately been obvious that his father had been trying to ‘groom’ him into some career involving food, a futile attempt to live vicariously through his son. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sans could eat like a fiend and have the heaviness to prove it? Hopefully not.

Sans glanced at Papyrus as he took another bite. The kid was just wolfing his plate down, completely oblivious.

His father was looking at him expectantly. Sans resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Uh… I’d say it’s ‘subtly tangy, with a rich and creamy overtone that compliments the traditional spicing’?” He had just pulled that right out of thin air, but he reckoned it’d be good enough.

Gaster nodded and clicked his teeth. “Very astute observation there, Sans, especially with your choice of ‘tangy’. Vodka sauce is unique in that regard, not overpowering but complimentary. It only needs a little bit to add the flavor, but too much can sully the whole thing.”

“Uh-huh. Cool.” Sans tried driving the conversation away from food (for once). “How was work today?” he asked.

Gaster seemed disappointed in the subject change, but shrugged it off. “Oh, the usual preliminary tests for the CORE are still going strong. Nothing new there, but the lab’s been starting to buzz with rumors.”

“Rumors?” Sans was much more interested now. He set down his fork and leaned forward a little, eyes wide.

Papyrus, having scraped his plate bare, raised and waved his hand in the air. His twiggy legs kicked back and forth impatiently.

Gaster chuckled. “Yes, Pap?”

“I cleaned my plate! Can I be excused?” It was his constantly rehearsed question of the evening.

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Uh-huh! All of it! Promise!”

“Then you may.” Gaster winked and cocked a thumb to stairs. "Hop to it!"

He and Sans watched as Papyrus leapt from his chair and scrambled up the stairs, cackling and whooping.

When they heard the door slam shut, Gaster got up and started gathering dishes. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, “if you help me wash up I can tell you as much as you like about what’s going on at work. I gotta warn you though, it’s not that exciting.”

“Yes it is!” Sans gathered up the utensils and tossed them in the sink. “All that stuff you’ve said about the CORE, it sounds so interesting! And it’s for such a… a big cause!” He couldn’t comprehend the idea of being ‘on the surface’. It was too abstract even for someone as science-minded as himself.

Gaster just shrugged. “It’s a little less interesting when you understand how precise your numbers have to be. The king doesn’t want us taking any chances with this, after all. It’s already pressing the budget’s limit with testing, let alone actually building it.”

“And what about the rumors?” Sans cranked on the tap water and squirted strings of dish soap all over the plates. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater.

“Here, I can do the washing this time.” Gaster squeezed his son’s shoulder and handed him a rag. “You dry.”

“But the rumors?”

Gaster pushed up his sleeves and started scrubbing. “They might as well just be unannounced facts at this point, but the gist of it is that everyone is predicting construction to start in the next few months.” He handed a dripping plate off.

Sans took it. “Do you think so too?” he asked.

“Oh, I’d be surprised if it didn’t.”

“Does that…” Sans paused. He didn’t want to sound whiny, so he tried to make come off as nonchalant. “Does that mean you’ll be coming home earlier again? Maybe pick me and Paps up after school?” he asked. He looked at the floor.

Gaster didn’t say anything for a few moments. He kept up his slow washing pace and handed up a couple of plates before sighing. “Sans, I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I know this has been hard on you, taking on so much responsibility at once.” Gaster scratched at his skull, brow furrowed. “Especially hard since you’ve only just been starting to get a better handle on your magic.”

Sans winced at that. He still went through biweekly episodes of magic overload. His eye would burn for hours, anything that he looked at would fly in the air in some random direction, and he’d teleport all over the house without any rhyme or reason. He hated it when that happened, that loss of control. But when he could control it, it was a blessing. He couldn’t imagine not being able to do what he could do.

He felt his eye flicker and shot a palm up to cover it. “It’s no problem!” He forced a small laugh.

Gaster shook his head. He hadn’t noticed the faint glow leaking through Sans’ fingers. “You know as well as I do that taking care of your brother is a twenty four hour job, and you’ve got your school work on top of all that to keep up with!” A sudden thought jolted him. “I hope your grades haven’t suffered…”

“N-No.” Sans tried to get his eye to burn out. It dimmed down, but only slowly. “School has always been easy.”

“Hmph.” Gaster snorted. “You say that now, but you won’t get away with coasting once you get into college. That’s where the real challenge starts.”

“If you say so, Dad.” Feeling the energy finally ebb away, Sans let his hand down. “But, really! I like taking care of Paps. It’s nice! He’s not like other little kids!”

“You mean he’s not a sociopath? Ha, that’s true.” With the dishes cleared, Gaster pulled the sink plug and dried off his hands and arms. The water guzzled down the drain as he rolled down his sleeves and knelt on one knee, to get at son’s eye level.

“Dad?” Sans tilted his head.

“I’m really, really lucky you boys turned out so well...” Gaster sighed. “I wish you had known your mother. She would have handled you two so much better.” He didn’t sound teary, just earnest. The edges of his teeth poked up in a warm smile. “Lucky thing for me your souls were so good to begin with, eh?”

Sans didn’t really know what to say to any of that. He shuffled his feet and started counting the stains on the linoleum. “Oh, well, thanks… Ahm. I try?” To be good? Heck if he knew.

Gaster coughed and glanced up at the wall clock. “Ah, it’s past eight. Paps needs to get tucked in.”

“I can do it!” Sans grinned and made a beeline for the stairs. “No worries, Dad! I promised to read to him anyway!”

Gaster watched as Sans ran up the stairs before moving to wipe down the stove. He had meant what he had said, even if he wasn’t as sentimental as monsters tended to get.

Laying out the dishrag to dry, he went to the living room and grabbed his book off of the coffee table before settling down in his armchair. He cracked open the spine and leafed to his place.

After a couple dozen pages, he stopped and strained to hear Sans’ faint voice from upstairs.

“Once upon a time, Mrs. Fluffy Bunny lived with all fifteen of her children down in the deep, deep forest…”

“Fifteen?!” Papyrus yelled. “But she only had ten yesterday!”

“She’s a rabbit, Pap. It’s her nature.”

“Heh…” Gaster snorted.

Chapter Text

Sans had almost forgotten to knock on Papyrus’ door when he had gotten upstairs. Only recently had his brother started to demand a ‘privacy pact’. If Sans wanted in his room, he had to knock and wait. Going in without knocking was due cause for a fierce punch in the gut as retaliation.

“Pap?” Sans rapped his knuckles against the door in the traditional ‘shave and a haircut’ jingle. A classic.

Papyrus didn’t answer right away, and Sans knew why. He could hear him in the middle of an epic action figure brawl.

“You think you’re so tough, you big dumb nin-com-poop?!” a low voice grumbled, which just as quickly melted into a high falsetto that cried “I will destroy the primroses in your garden… and then you! Nyeh heh heh heh!”

Sans snickered as he heard the dull thwacking of plastic on plastic accompanied with some rather respectable ‘pew pew’ sound effects. “Hey, Paps?” He knocked again.

The thwacking stopped. “Come in!”

Sans cracked the knob and walked in, shutting the door behind him (that was also part of the pact, for some reason). “Dad says it’s time for bed,” he said.

Papyrus was sitting in the middle of the floor in his pajamas, legs crossed and figures still mindlessly shoving fists at each other. He pouted. “What?! Already?”

“Fraid’ so. Actually, it was more like ten minutes ago.” Sans winked and went to the bookshelf, crouching. “You still want a story tonight?”

“Yes! Yup! Yeah!” As Sans slid the book from the shelf, Papyrus tossed his figures into his toy chest, hopped to his race car bed and wriggled under the covers. “I’m ready!”

“Alright, alright…” Sans dragged the chair from his brother’s desk to the bedside and settled in. He cradled the book in his lap. “Let’s see here…”

“Sans?”

“Mm?”

Papyrus rolled to his side. His face was half hidden in his pillow “I was thinking earlier... what does Dad mean when he talks about all of that ‘core’ stuff?” he asked, scrunching up his face. “What’s a core? Why’s he been working on it for so long, anyway?”

“Oh geez, that’s a tough one there.” Sans didn’t really know how to explain a concept that even he didn’t really understand to someone as little as Papyrus, but he’d have to try. “Well… you know what humans really are, right? Not the cartoon kind you see on T.V, but the real kind?”

“Are they still ‘bad’?” Papyrus asked. He clutched at his blanket with wide eyes. “Mrs. Winthrop says they are.”

“I dunno.” Sans shrugged. “I mean, no one but the monsters who were in the war and before that know, and most of em’ are gone. We just know they live on the Surface.”

“The Surface!” Papyrus nodded and grinned. “Yeah! I learned that in school. Monsters live in the Underground, and humans live on the Surface. I get that!”

“Okay, great! Yeah, so what Dad is trying to do is get us to be able to go to the Surface. The CORE is gonna get us there.”

“How?”

“Uh… Dad hasn’t really told me that part.” Actually, Sans was pretty sure that no one really knew the specifics. Government projects were always very hush-hush like that.

“Really? No fibbing?”

Winking, Sans held up two twisted fingers. “Cross my soul and turn to dust.”

Papyrus nodded. “I’d like to meet a human. Yes, and then I’d ask them to be friends, and then no one would fight!” He clapped his hands, smiling. “Yes! And Dad can cook them all pasta, and you can… ah…” he ground his teeth and knit his brow, thinking.

“I could what?” Sans was using the book as an elbow rest now, his hands cupping his cheeks.

“A flashlight!” Papyrus snapped his fingers and poked one in his right eye socket, grinning. “You could do that thing with your eye and help humans get around when it’s dark out.”

Magic worries or not, Sans snickered. “Pfft, it’s not that bright, bro.” He glanced down at the book and tilted it up, cover facing Papyrus. “Now, less chatting and more reading, okay? How does some ‘Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny’ sound for tonight?”

His brother’s eyes lit up. “Awesome! The coolest of cool!” he cried.

“Okie dokie then.” With the book’s bottom edges resting on his knees, Sans opened the cover and leaned over to read upside down.

“Once upon a time…”

Chapter Text

Much like his youngest, Gaster often found it hard to stick to one thing before moving to something else. His book, a battered leatherback from the Surface, had been abandoned on the coffee table in favor of the day’s newspaper.

Gaster didn’t read the paper. He got enough politics at his job, but he did enjoy flipping to the second to last page for the daily crossword. It was the only reason he bothered paying the exorbitant subscription. Propping up the paper in his lap, he chewed the eraser tip of his pencil and hummed as he thought.

From the kitchen, the house phone started to ring. Gaster cursed and sprang for it, hoping that Papyrus hadn’t gotten riled up. Oftentimes when the phone rang he would come charging down the stairs demanding to say hello to whoever was on the line.

The first thing Gaster noticed was that, as he picked up the phone, a garbled conversation clicked in along with a haze of static. He tried to make out some of the words on the other end before saying, “Hello?”

There was silence for a few seconds before a sudden ‘thud’ crackled and a tiny voice whispered out “Uh… Dr. Gaster? Hi! Sorry, is it too late? I-I hope it’s not…” In the background was a very faint giggle.

“Oh, Alphys!” Immediately Gaster relaxed and swung himself around to lean against the kitchen counter. A call from his intern was much, much better than a surprise call from the king. “No, no, it’s never too late to call. How are you doing? Is everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, yeah. I just… well… You know those charts you wanted me to take home and work on for tomorrow?” asked Alphys.

“Mhm?”

“Well… I kind of… Well…”

She broke off. From the other end of the line, Gaster could hear a frazzled, but completely inaudible conversation shooting back and forth, then more silence.

Finally, he heard Alphys clear her throat. “I forgot them.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” Gaster brushed her off. He was used to dealing with Alphys’ guilt trips. “Just start up on them first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Um… about that?” Alphys took a deep, shuddering breath. “I-I can’t go in tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Gaster couldn’t help but feel his shoulders slump. “Are you sure, Alphys? I’m really sorry, but I’d wish you’d tell me these things sooner so I could make sure that my kids were taken care of.” He tried to make himself sound as gentle as possible. Chiding Alphys was like poking a wild animal most of the time. She couldn’t take criticism very well.

“I know! I’m so sorry!” Alphys was gasping now, and her voice came out in an endless string. “I-It’s not my fault, though, honest! Mom just told me she wants me to with her to get some kind of acupuncture thing done? A-And at first I tried to be all like ‘mom you know that stuff is totally bogus science and totally isn’t gonna help your dumb arthritis, right?’ but she wouldn’t have any of that! And I tried to tell her that I can’t just get off of work for the reasons you just told me, but apparently she can’t cancel it without paying a bucketful of money?! I don’t know!” She sucked in a deep breath. “A-Anyway… Here. I’ll let Mom prove it. Hold on.”

Gaster didn’t even get a chance to respond before he heard the phone exchange hands with a couple more words in-between.

“Hello, Doctor?” A much calmer voice came through.

“Yes, hi, Mrs-“

“Yes, I’m afraid that I am indeed going to have to borrow Alphys for an appointment tomorrow. It won’t happen again.” She was quick, succinct, and professional – the polar opposite of her daughter. “I really do hope I haven’t inconvenienced you too much.”

“It really isn’t a problem, really!”

A few more pleasantries and apologies were passed between them, and Gaster finally hung up. He let out the long, deep sigh that had been building up in his chest.

He’d have to go in extra early tomorrow, which meant that Sans would have to pack Papyrus’ lunch along with his own. At that thought, he pressed a couple fingertips to his brow and shook his head. None of it could be helped.

“Oh yes… Mumbling to himself, Gaster strolled back into the living room and up the stairs. He walked on his tiptoes, careful not to wake Papyrus (that is, if he was actually asleep).

Sans room was at the far right. Gaster made for the door and tapped his knuckles against the frame. “Hey, kiddo?”

He heard a small shuffling from inside, then Sans calling softly, “what’s up, Dad?”

“Did you check your magic levels yet?” Gaster set his hand on the doorknob. “Or did you want me to help?”

“Aw Dad, I’m fine. Come on.”

“Sans, you know it’s important. Even if you don’t feel like it, you still need to do it.” Taking his hand back, Gaster sighed. “I’m going to go get your reader, okay?”

No answer, but Gaster took that as a ‘yes’.

Chapter Text

Sans curled the tips of his toes deep into his comforter. He stared at his door, arms wrapped around his knees, waiting. The bones of his legs rattled against his bare ribs.

His sweater and pants had been tossed to the carpet (along with another week’s worth of clothing), and replaced with plain gym shorts as sleep ware. Not that Sans didn’t have pajamas, he just didn’t bother to change into them.

The only light in his room was from a lamp. It would have been brighter, but a sock had been draped over the shade to dim it out a little bit.

Sans could strain his ears hearing his father rummage around downstairs. He tried to ignore the pinpricks that had started up on his scalp, little electric shocks that made his vision fizz up for just a split second. They didn’t hurt, but they didn’t feel good either.

Flaring up his eye or hands usually helped. It drained some of the magic that stewed and swirled in the marrow of his bones, but it never lasted. The pricks and soreness would grow and grow, and the cycle would keep on. It would get less and less severe as his body grew and adapted to it, but that seemed too far away to matter.

Tucking his forehead between his legs, he could hear the soft footsteps of his father coming back upstairs.

“Sans? I’m back.”

Sans cringed as the door creaked open. He glanced up just as Gaster put his hands on his hips.

“Come on, Sans. I thought I told you to pick up your laundry earlier.”

“Sorry.” Sans let his legs unfold and looked around his room.

It really was a wreck. If anything, his Dad was underestimating just how much of a disaster area it was. There were enough clothes scattered around to supply a small orphanage. It smelled stale, like slightly spoiled food that had been stuffed under the bed and forgotten.

Sans snapped back to reality as the bed creaked and shifted next to him. Gaster had sat down and clapped a hand to his back.

“How are you feeling?” He sounded so warm, even right after a reprimand.

“I don’t know.” Sans looked away. “My head kind of hurts a bit.”

“Does it? Can I see your eye?”

A click, a thought, and the flame sparked. Sans looked up in Gaster’s face, gauging a reaction. He could feel and hear a hazy buzzing in his eardrums.

His Dad had a longer face, more like Papyrus’, but with rounder eyes. His skull had the nicks and scratches that betrayed old age. If he seemed concerned, his face didn’t show it. He put a finger to his teeth and tapped each of them as he thought aloud. “Hm, that is a little brighter than normal, isn’t it?”

“It burns a bit.” Actually, it felt more like someone was scratching the sharp tip of a needle over his eye.

“Let’s have a look-see at your levels then, okay?” From his pocket, Gaster drew out the reader.

“Do we have to?” asked Sans, bringing a whining edge to his tone. The long, cylindrical device resembled a pen of sorts, with a short needle at the end and a hollow cavity to fill.

“Sorry kiddo.” Gaster took the cap off of the reader’s point and held out a hand. “I’ll be quick with it, okay?”

Sans sighed and stuck out his arm. “’Kay…”

“Done in a jiffy, promise.” Gaster cradled his son’s arm and rubbed at a small spot with his thumb, numbing it for those few vital seconds before taking the needle to the bone and sticking it. “There! See? Just like always.”

The pain stung, but it didn’t last long. Sans risked a few fascinated glances as the pen drew in a splash of red marrow. “Is it bad?” he asked.

Gaster held the reader to his eye and squinted. “The screens on these things are way too small these days… ahh, looks like about 170 mg.”

“That’s high.” Sans shook his head. “Man…”

“It’s not as high as it could be though.” Wrapping an arm around Sans’ side, Gaster smiled. “You just need to be a little extra vigilant tomorrow, okay? Any weird physical feelings and you go right to the nurse.”

“Right.” Sans returned the gesture. His fingers clung into the thick wool of his father’s turtleneck. “I’ll be okay.”

“And speaking of tomorrow…”

“You gotta go early again?” Sans pulled his hand away and rubbed the sore spot on his arm. “Yeah, that’s okay. I can do it.”

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you don’t feel up to it, it really is.” Pausing, Gaster tapped at his teeth. “Maybe I could call Grillby. He owes me a favor, after all.”

“Grillby opens up for breakfast now, remember?”

“Ah, you’re right.” Leaning forward, Gaster rested his elbows on his knees, his hands resting on his chin. “Well, I guess there really is no other way, huh?”

“Nope, and that’s okay.” Sans could feel the pinpricks on his head sharpening. He ignored them. “Pap isn’t hard to take care of, after all.”

“That he isn’t.” The bed’s springs squeaked as Gaster stood. He stretched and cracked his spine. “Still, I’d like to at least do something to make it up to you…”

“Aw, Dad, it’s really no big-“

“None of that, now.” Gaster waved him off. He started to bend down and gather up an armful of clothes. Midway in picking up a white sock, he paused. “I’ve got it!” He grinned and grabbed a couple more stray shirts. “We’ve got some extra gouda and pepper jack in the fridge. I can pick up some eggs after work and teach you how to make a quiche. I haven’t made one of those suckers in forever.”

Sans stiffened. He had to hold back a groan, and for once he was glad that skeletons couldn’t frown. “That sounds awfully gouda, Dad. Ehe.”

“Come on now, don’t get cheesy on me.” Shifting the weight of the clothes in his arms, Gaster made for the door and edged it open with his foot. “I’ll see you before I go tomorrow, okay?”

“’Kay.” Sans tried to make himself sound cheery. “Night, Dad”

Gaster stepped sideways out the door. He winked. “G’night, kiddo. Sleep well, okay?”

As the door clicked shut, Sans breathed a long sigh and flopped backwards, the mattress bouncing gently to his weight.

He didn’t hate cooking, not really. It was more that his Dad just didn’t seem to ever want to talk about his work at the CORE. Now that was something that Sans would’ve been more enthusiastic about.

Ignoring the dull thrumming in his skull, Sans crawled to the top of his bed and under his thick comforter. He sat up, bunching up the sheet with his hands to make a small, closed cave.

There was a small flashlight and a thin book hidden there. Sans crossed his legs and propped the hardcover up in his lap. He twisted the knob of the flashlight and held it between his neck and shoulder.

It was a human book, a tattered thing that Alphys had found and given to him for his birthday. The cover was smudged and scratched, but the title was embossed deeply enough to make out the letters. Sans ran his fingertips over them, ‘R is for Rocket’.

Admittedly, Sans would have preferred nonfiction. One of his favorite things to do was flip through his algebra textbook and solve random problems. This book was different though, different from any other book he had seen. It was filled with stories, human stories about the Surface. Some of them even had Monsters, but they weren’t very accurate portrayals.

Sans put his finger to the text as he read. The prickling in his head seemed very far away now.

“He listened to the wind and the falling ocean and my voice,” Sans whispered each word, “always with a rapt attention, a concentration that almost excluded physical bodies themselves and kept only the sounds.”

What was an ocean? There were so many things like that littered throughout, but Sans never dwelled on it. After all, would a human know what Hotland was? Probably not.

Sans had meant it earlier when he had told Papyrus that he didn’t know if humans were ‘bad’, not even with a small glimpse of their lives on his lap. They were strange though, and smart, if the stories had any truth.

Amidst the mystery of it all were little tidbits here and there that Sans could grasp on, if only the basic concepts. From what he could tell, this one seemed to be about a father going off to work somewhere far, far away. He had a son and wife who were sad and tried to stop him from going, but he went anyway, and for a long time.

At least his own Dad never went away for longer than a day. Sans had to be grateful for that.

After a couple hours of slow reading, he fell asleep sitting up. The flashlight, flickering with dying batteries, fell from his shoulder.

Chapter Text

In the calm depths of sleep, Sans dreamed. His dreams, fueled by magic, were usually wordless and surreal things.

There was a house, two stories tall with white trimming and powder blue shutters. It had a front yard, a picket fence, and a line of trimmed hedges that hugged its small porch.

And what was that above the house? It looked like nothing, but it was a blue something. Just a wide sheet of blue speckled with bits of swirled white. Was that what the sky looked like? It looked so bland, nothing at all like the shadowed craggy rock ceiling that loomed over the Underground.

Sans found himself standing in the yard. He felt strange, heavy, like someone had wrapped a lead jacket around him. There was an alien, pulsating feeling that twitched and itched his whole body.

He looked down. Two fleshy, furless hands stared back up at him. They were similar shape-wise, just with a fresh coat of dark skin and little hard bits on the fingertips.

Fascinated, Sans looked himself over. He was wearing his normal clothes, but his legs were soft and hairy, and his cheeks felt smooth. He reached up to the top of his head and felt curly short hair.

“Human.” The word sounded weirdly enunciated on his lips. A thick tongue curled and rested in his mouth.

There were muffled voices coming from inside the house.

Sans took a cautious step towards the door. Something stiffened and writhed in his chest. He could almost hear it pumping in his ears, a motor fueling liquid for a saggy body.

A creak, and the door was opened a sliver. A head, a human head, poked out the opening and stared at him. Its hair and skin were as dark as Sans’, but its face was less round and more narrow. Its eyes were wide and wet-looking.

“Arent’cha gonna come, Sans?” it asked.

“Pap?” Sans’ knees buckled a fraction. He stared.

The child, Papyrus, stepped out to the porch. “Come on, Sans! There’s flapjacks!”

“Flapjacks?”

The ground shifted, and the house’s white trim turned blurry. Sans shook his head and shut his eyes.

“Sans! Come on! Don’t make me have to get the you-know-what!”

Sans could feel something warm being stripped off of him. He kicked out and flailed at the air, panic rising. He didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

From the farthest corner of his consciousness, Sans could hear tiny footsteps fade off. He tried to lean forward and reach out, only dimly aware that he was falling.

His eyes shot open as his chest hit the carpet first. He wheezed, coughed, and sat up.

Papyrus was standing in the doorway, fully dressed and aiming a dripping squirt gun right at Sans’ head. “Aw man.” He lowered it. “I was so close to using it, too…”

“Wha?” Sans lifted an arm to his face. A normal, bare boned hand stared back at him, joints and all. “Oh, geez… just a dumb dream.”

“Was that why you kept moving so much?” asked Papyrus. “I tried getting your blanket off, but that just made you move more.”

“Did it?” Sans glanced over and saw that the comforter had been stripped off and crumpled in a corner. As his neck turned, he felt an oncoming headache. He tried to ignore it.

“Well, that’s okay! Come on!” Papyrus hopped to his brother’s side and grabbed his hand, tugging at it. “There’s flapjacks! I already ate, but you haven’t yet!”

Sans let himself get dragged out of his room. “Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“He said that he left a note and money on the table.”

“What? But he said…” Sans could feel his chest tighten just a little. His limbs felt as heavy as they did in his dream.

Papyrus let go of Sans’ hand to hop down the stairs two-by-two. “I woke up while he was making breakfast, and he said that… what did he say?” He paused at the second to last stair and scratched his skull. “Uh, it was something about something. I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay, bro. You did good.” Sans caught up to his brother’s side and gave his shoulder a weak punch. “And it’s good that you’re already prepped, yeah?”

The whole downstairs smelled like maple syrup and warm sugar. Sans took a deep, long breath and glanced at the wall clock.

It was 6:15, and that meant only about an hour before they both had to be at school. It was crunch time.

“Is it okay if I watch T.V while you get ready?” Papyrus was already holding the remote and sitting at the couch.

“Sure, as long as you keep the volume down.” Sans could have cheered. The more distracted his brother was, the easier his job would be.

There was a small stack of cold flapjacks waiting on the kitchen counter, complete with a drizzle of caramelizing syrup and a pat of butter crowning the top. Sans grabbed a fork and speared into the top layer. He didn’t even bother taking it to the table, preferring to stuff his face standing up.

That was the one positive of being Dad-less for a morning. Not only could Sans go downstairs without a shirt on, but he could eat without having to bother sitting down. It was, as his Dad would put it, the ‘bachelor life’.

Dumping the plate in the sink, Sans made for the table. As he grabbed the folded-up note, he felt the head pains again. They were stronger this time, enough to make him need to stagger into a chair. It was either that or fall flat on his face, and he didn’t need to do that twice in a day.

Sans propped up his head in his hands and let his elbows rest on the table. He counted each breath until the haze cleared from his eyes, and then unfolded the note with trembling hands.

Sans, I’m sorry that I missed you this morning. I thought it would be good for you to get as much sleep as you could. I’ve left 60g in case you need anything in a pinch. I’ll try to be home early. Love you!

“Sixty? Geez, Dad.” Well, money was as good an apology as any. Sans couldn’t argue with that. He looked and saw that there was a coin purse lying where the note had been.

Trembling, he stood. The pain wasn’t so rough so long as everything was done slowly and deliberately. He had gone through days like this before, and he would do it again.

On his way back up the stairs, Sans risked another look at the clock. As long as they were out of the house in the next ten minutes, everything would work out.

Sans prided himself on getting mundane things done quick. He grabbed whatever clothes his hands touched first and threw them on. So what if his socks were mismatched? It wasn’t like anyone bothered to look at his feet. And so what if his sweater had a small hole in the back? It wasn’t like it made him feel colder.

He took his time to lace up his sneakers, careful to stop whenever his eyes got cloudy on him. Focusing too much on one thing made it feel worse.

His backpack was slouched next to his desk. Sans grabbed for it and stuffed it with any loose sheets of half-finished homework that he could find. That was something to worry about later.

“Alright, Pap? I’m ready!” Sans called downstairs. “T.V off and winter gear on, okay?” He grabbed his own coat and made his way down.

Papyrus was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. He held out a long red scarf in his puffy, mitten-wrapped hands. “Can you help me wrap it?” he asked. “The cool way?”

“Sure thing, bro.” Pain or not, Sans grinned as he tucked one end of the scarf in front of Papyrus’ coat before wrapping it around his neck in such a way so that it hugged his mouth. The other end trailed down his back and dangled just above his ankles. “Good?”

“Stupendous!” Papyrus giggled and raced for the front door. “Let’s go!”

There was a spare set of house keys hung on a hook in the entryway. Sans made sure to grab them along with the money pouch.

It was snowing outside, as per usual, but it was a light flurry instead of something wet and heavy. The cold was still sheer enough to freeze the marrow, but it wasn’t as bad as it could be. The light was dim, but not too dark. It would get brighter as the hours went on.

As Sans locked the door, Papyrus tugged at his pant leg. “Sans?” he asked.

“Yeah, bro?”

“What about lunch?”

Sans stiffened. “Oh, shit.”

Papyrus gasped. “Sans!” he cried. “Language!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sans tried to get himself to think and to ignore the somersaults his stomach seemed so keen on starting. “Okay, focusing.” He counted his breaths again and thought.

It was a twenty minute walk to their school, fifteen if they hustled. Making lunch would eat up way too much time. It wasn’t like there were any pre-processed goods – their Dad would have an aneurysm if he ever found something with corn syrup in the house.

Thinking of his Dad made a lightbulb go off in Sans' head. He turned to Papyrus. “Hey, Pap? How do you feel about a treat?”

“A lunch treat? Yeah!” Papyrus nodded. “Sure!”

“Good.” Sans reached down, took his brother’s hand, and led him down the road. “We’re gonna go see Grillby.”

He did the mental math as they walked. Five minutes tops to get to Grillby’s, then twenty to hustle to school. Shave off maybe five or so more minutes for food to get prepped, and they were looking at only ten minutes of time to spare. It would be tight, but it would work.

The bar looked empty even from a distance. Sans braced himself against an onslaught of head pain as he dragged his brother to the door. For a split second, he felt dizzy, but it didn’t last long.

He peeked through the door’s window before going in. The whole place was deserted, and even Grillby himself wasn’t in the main dining room. Sans checked the door. It was unlocked.

“Are we allowed?” whispered Papyrus.

“The lights are on, see? We’re fine.” Sans pulled them both inside and let the door drop closed behind them.

There was a thick greasy smell that hung over the place. Normally, Sans would have craved for a hamburger at that smell. Now it just made him want to retch. He had to swallow down the bile that bubbled up in his throat.

At the bar was a little bell. Sans climbed up on one of the stools and tapped at it a couple times. “Mr. Grillby?” he called.

The back door creaked open at the first ring, and a warm glow filled the bar’s dim lighting. Grillby, immaculately dressed even at nearly seven A.M, came out.

Flames spat from his head. He held a couple of soapy dishes in a pair of waterproof gloves. Without a mouth, his voice came through in through the hisses and pops of his fire. One had to strain their ears to make out the words.

“You aren’t at school?” he asked. His tone was flat.

“Not yet.” Sans drummed his fingers on the counter. “Um, actually, are you busy?”

Sopping dishes aside, Grillby shook his head. No.

Sans fished for the coin purse in his coat pocket. “I’ve got sixty gold pieces. Could you please whip up a couple burgers for me and Pap to take to school?”

Without a word, Grillby retreated back from where he came.

Sans took that as a ‘yes’.

“Do we have to have dumb ol’ burgers?” Papyrus paced around the room, huffing. “You know I hate those things.”

“I’m really sorry, Pap. I know you’re not a fan.” Sans meant it, because worse than any magic-related pain was not acting up to par for his brother. “I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

“That’ll do.” Papyrus sniffed and turned up his nose in a way that he thought probably looked diplomatic. It didn’t.

Grillby came back out, two paper bags in each gloved hand. He set them down at the counter and let his eyeless glasses stare down at Sans. “Why isn’t Wingdings with you?” The question came out in one long hiss. It was impossible to tell whether he was angry or just indifferent.

“Dad had to go to work early, and I got up too late to make food.” Sans poured the coins into his hand. “Now, how much do I-“

Grillby waved a hand. “It will go on your father’s tab.”

“O-Okay, thanks!” Ignoring the head rush and nausea, Sans grabbed the bags in one hand and his brother’s arm in the other. “See you later!”

Grillby didn’t reply. He just watched as the two lurched out the door.

“Man, that guy can be way too intense.” Sans stopped a few feet from the door to catch his breath. His head swam.

“It’s not his fault he can’t talk much,” said Papyrus.

“I guess that’s true.”

The walk towards school was much slower than Sans wanted it to be, but he couldn’t get himself to go any faster. His palms and forehead had started to sweat, and his stomach kept flip-flopping at every second step he took.

It was a good thing he could hide it relatively well, otherwise he would have been making a scene of himself.

The school that he and Papyrus went to was a place between Snowdin and the Waterfall, shared by both districts. All Monster children, from preschool to graduation, went to this one large facility. For such a disjointed population as the Underground had, it was the best they could do.

“Sans?”

“Yeah, bro?”

“I can’t feel my hand. You’re squeezing too hard.” Papyrus sounded more concerned than pained.

“Sorry.”

“Are you okay? You look hot and sweaty.”

“Ah yeah, I’ll be fine.” Sans forced a chipper edge to his voice.

The school was in sight now. Just a few more yards and they’d make it. There were groups of other students that were walking on the same path now. Nobody paid Sans or Papyrus any mind at all.

When they were within a few yards of the main doors, Sans had to stop. He shook his head, sucked up the pain, and turned to Papyrus. “Hey, bro? How about I let you go here?”

“Really?” Papyrus gaped. “All by myself?”

“I don’t see why not.” Sans made himself smile and handed over one of the paper bags. “Don’t forget your lunch, yeah?”

“Aren’t you coming?” Papyrus took it and tugged at Sans’ coat.

“Nah. I gotta take care of something. I’ll see you later, okay?” Leaning forward, Sans made himself smile. He only needed a few more seconds.

Papyrus grinned and stood tall to nuzzle his forehead against his brother’s. “See you, and love you!”

“Love you too, bro.” The words sounded way too far away to be coming from his own mouth, like echos. "Have fun."

Sans watched as Papyrus skipped to the door, stopping every few feet stopping to turn back and wave. It might as well have taken eons for him to get through the doors.

As soon as he was gone, Sans physically crumpled. He ignored the stares of the other students as he sprinted to the nearest line of bushes, fell to his knees, and vomited.

Chapter Text

Gaster clutched at his satchel’s strap, panting. He kept his focus on the ground, careful for icy patches that had frozen back up from overnight. It was especially bad so far out of town, where no one bothered to salt down the paths until after dawn.

He glanced up. The river was just ahead, along with the long wooden canoe that bobbed against the shore.

The hunched over Riverperson looked up from their perch. They shook away the dusting of snow from their hood.

“So early, Doctor?” they sang, nearly drowned out from the river’s rush.

“Oh, you know.” With his hands still held tight to his bag, Gaster stepped over the gap from the shore to the boat. It jerked away at his weight, then settled as he sat. He slid his satchel over to rest on his lap.

The Riverperson, their face shadowed, nodded. “Duty is calling when monsters are falling?”

“Just get me to Hotland, please.” Gaster tried not to grind his teeth.

With shaking hands, the Riverperson took up their paddle. “To Hotland we’ll go, where rock runs as water, where one commits so much slaughter.” They snickered, and pushed the canoe from the shore’s rocky edge.

“It’s always too early to deal with you, did you know that?”

“Yet you still tip despite my quips.”

“Careful and I might prove you wrong there.”

The canoe slid with the river’s current, water sloshing up its sides as the bow jumped with the waves. Gaster covered his satchel with his arms and braced himself against the deck’s haphazard rocking.

Humming and crooning, the Riverperson steered almost lazily, with the wide end of their paddle only skimming the water’s surface.

Gaping at the end of the river was an enormous cavern, the entrance to Waterfall. The path that ran alongside it was well-trodden, the only road from Snowdin to anywhere else in the Underground.

As the river brought the canoe inside, the air turned clammy and damp. Gaster unzipped his coat. The sound echoed off of the cave’s walls.

“So much noise,” the Riverperson chided, “but tell me, how are your boys?”

“Just fine, thank you.” Gaster brushed a bit of rock dust from his sleeve. He hoped that the more clipped his answers were, the less his driver would be willing to chat.

The Riverperson glanced at him from over their small shoulder. “Oh? Even the one born with high magic, as most everyone has called his case most tragic?”

“You’re awfully talkative this morning, you know that?” Gaster dug his fingertips deep into his satchel. The canvas chaffed against his bones.

But the Riverperson didn’t seem to hear him. As the river’s mouth narrowed, they reached out their paddle and brushed it against the petals of an echo flower, one of the few plants to survive in such a cave. The stem reeled back and snapped in two, and its natural blue glow dimmed to a flicker.

They did this at three more flowers, humming in thought. The purple of their cloak took on a black edge in the light.

They drew back their paddle and turned to face Gaster. “Poor little child with so much ability, a shame the cost is his fragility.”

“Hm.” Bits of luminescent pollen began to stick to the fibers of Gaster’s coat. He brushed them off, trying to keep himself distracted.

The air began to turn from waterlogged to steaming. Hotland was just ahead. The river’s current turned gentler as its width narrowed to a streamlined tunnel.

Gaster slipped off his coat and folded it under his arm. This was the stretch of his commute that he hated the most, even if it never lasted long. The lab was just a short walk from the Riverperson’s drop-off, but it was always just long enough to give him a healthy case of armpit sweat.

“Tra la la, we’re here.” The Riverperson dipped the paddle deep into the water and dragged the canoe right at the edge of a long, rocky staircase.

“Thanks.” Gaster got up and half-jumped off before they had stopped. He adjusted the strap of his bag and turned to go.

The Riverperson coughed.

“No tip today, sorry.” Gaster ran up the stairs two at a time. He tried not to gasp in the Riverperson’s earshot (because nothing is more embarrassing than giving someone the last laugh by revealing just how out of shape you really are).

He had to stop at the tunnel’s end, a narrow crack in the rock that had been widened just enough for most monsters to be able to squeeze through. Harsh light and dancing heat waves cut through Waterfall’s gentle purple glow.

As he caught his breath, Gaster flipped open his bag and fished out his cell phone to check the time. He saw that its screen was blinking with a text notification from Grillby, which wasn’t unusual. Being a monster with little verbal capability, Grillby often preferred to correspond via writing.

Moving to lean against the cave wall, Gaster opened the message and read it over.

Hey, as flattered as I am that you’re suddenly okay with S & P eating my bar’s (your quote) “garbage”, please know that I’m not your damn housewife.

Oh god, was he drunk texting again? Gaster sighed and checked the time, then tapped out a reply:

um??? what??? 8/

He never had to wait long (if really at all) for an answer back when it came to Grillby. Somehow it was easier to text when your hands were fire.

Just because I’m opening earlier doesn’t mean that you can pull off that workaholic parent bullshit and expect me to pick up your slack, okay?

Okay, that was way too cognizant for drunk texting. Gaster checked the time again. He could spare it.

grill buddy i’m really confused :o did sans n’ pap come by??? and for the record they’re still not really allowed to eat that filth u call food and pap doesn’t even like greasy junk.

Gaster’s thumbs already hurt. He was tempted to just call Grillby and talk while he kept texting.

Huh. They came by about fifteen minutes ago and had money. S mentioned not having the time to cook? And by the way, the food went on your tab.

The ‘tab’ was code for ‘free’. As annoyed as he was, Gaster smiled.

thanks bud. i did tell sans to cook somethg but i guess i shouldnt always trust a teen with cash right??? rofl ill get on to him about it. sorry about that. :’(((

“Oh Sans… why do you do this to me?” As Gaster opened his bag to put his phone away, it vibrated.

Nah, I’m sorry for being a dick again. You know I don’t mind your little gremlins. I have to get back to work now, a couple of dogs are coming in. But just so you know, S looked a little clammy. Might want to make sure he’s OK.

It was almost funny just how quickly something like parental disappointment could turn into sour worry. Unable to keep still, Gaster powerwalked out of the tunnel and into Hotland, pit stains be damned.

Unlike the other parts of the Underground, Hotland was abuzz with activity. Monsters, mainly reptilians and elementals, strolled about the trampled clay paths. Their figures seemed to waver with the heat waves the steaming lava lake put off.

Many of them stopped and mumbled greetings when they saw Gaster tromp past. Gaster ignored them, he was too lost in his own head to even notice.

Should he call the school? No, Sans was old enough to be trusted to let someone know what was happening if he really felt bad enough. The only problem was that there was always that risk of real harm to other students if something happened.

The lab was just ahead. Gaster let himself slow down, just a little. No, he wouldn’t call, he decided. Calling would be more likely to embarrass Sans than it would prevent harm.

He felt his phone vibrate in his hand, over and over. With the lab’s stainless steel door just steps ahead, Gaster answered it without bothering to look at the I.D. “Dr. Gaster.”

“Hi Dad…”

“Sans?” Even with the way his hand twitched, Gaster managed to punch in the door’s lock code. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you at school? Are you okay?”

“I, uh, didn’t go to school. I took Pap and went back home. C-Can you call the office for me?” Sans’ voice sounded very, very small, almost creaky.

Gaster walked inside the lab, flicked on the lights, and started to pace. “I can do that, kiddo, but how about you tell me what’s up first?” he asked. It was always so hard to keep his tone calm, even over the phone.

“Um, well…”

“Did you throw up?” Gaster threw his coat and satchel at his desk chair. He never broke his stride.

“Y-Yeah, I did. Felt a little better afterwards, but still not that good.”

“Okay, that’s good, but I know it’s not fun. Are you near the kitchen?”

“Yeah, I’m on the couch…”

“Okay, great! Do you think you can get yourself something to drink? Even just water?” The heels of his shoes were clicking so loudly against the floor tiles that Gaster stopped and kicked them off. “What else are you feeling?” He half-slid and half-walked in his socks.

“I, uh, I don’t really want to get up. Or move much.”

“Okay, I can get behind you there.”

He could hear Sans take a few long breaths before answering, “I-I’ll just get some sleep, okay? And then I can pick up Pap later. I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, that sounds fine, but I’m gonna call Grillby and ask if he can check up on you later, okay?”

“Okay…”

“And you call me whenever you feel funky, okay? Or if you just need a pep chat.”

“Um, Dad?” Sans sounded so quiet.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“W-What time are you coming home again?”

From the pit of his gut, Gaster felt a sudden, sheer coldness.

The conversation might as well have been another world away for him, just the typical confirmations and goodbyes.

Gaster hung up, shoved his phone into his back pocket and made his way back to his desk. He didn’t bother to pick up his shoes. The floor was cold. His feet felt numb. The fluorescent lights must have been irritating his eye sockets; they were tearing up.

What time are you coming home?

It was such a simple and horrible question.

Gaster slumped in his chair. He looked at his mess of a workspace, at the absolute chaos of folded blueprints, scratch paper, and chewed pencils.

He suddenly realized, for the first time, that he didn’t have a photo of Sans or Papyrus on his desk. The thought was just as quickly pushed away.

For now, there was work that needed to be done.

Chapter Text

When Sans slept, his dreams began almost immediately. It was an easy, effortless way to let the magic leech from his bones.

And the more magic he had, the more lucid and vivid his dreamscapes could become.

He found himself lying face-first in something. It was soft, stringy, a bed of little tendrils that poked up from a soft floor that felt crumbly at the surface.

But the smell of it! It was a deep and loamy smell, of rich life and rotting plants.

There was something protruding from his face and digging into the ground. Air passed into it with each long, snuffling breath Sans took. His body felt a familiar heaviness, the weight of skin and muscle.

“Again?” Sans felt lips brush against the ground. Flecks of soil caught in his mouth. He coughed and spat.

There was a hand pressed to his shoulder, shaking him. “Hey? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Sans strained to peer out behind him. The bones of his neck cracked, straining.

There was a human boy squatting over him, pale with flossy brown hair. He was biting his lip into a bloody pulp.

“Do you need me to go call someone? Where’s your mom?” He was rattling off questions.

“I don’t have a mom,” Sans heard himself answer. He flattened his palms to the ground and tried to push himself up.

“Whoa, hey, take it easy.” The boy’s hands grabbed for Sans’ shoulders and steadied them. “You don’t want to fall over.”

Sans let himself get eased into sitting up. He forced his legs to crisscross, something that was a bit harder to do with padding instead of bare bone. His eyes focused.

They were in a wide, open patch of bare field. A few oak trees dotted the landscape before ending in a long line of buildings. It was so bright. Was this what having a sun was like?

A hand passed over his face. “Hey, anybody home? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three?” Sans was staring at the sky. The sun was there, a fat yellow dot that made his eyes blur.

“Close enough.” The boy took his hands back and bent down in a squat. He scratched at his ear. “Are you from around here?”

Sans’ fingers clawed at the ground, feeling at plant roots and bits of rock. He stared at the boy’s face for a minute and thought up a response. He wanted to play along, to see how far he could go in his own dream. “Um, well, I think I might have gotten lost. We just moved in nearby and I wanted to, uh, check things out?” He put on a smile. It felt strange to flex his lips upwards. “I’m Sans, by the by.”

The boy stared at him, and then smiled. He popped out a hand. “Swell to meet you, Sam. I’m Doug. I live over at Green Village, just down off of Oakhurst. Those names ring a bell to you?” He had such a chipper, happy inflection to his voice.

Sans took Doug’s hand and gave it a firm shake, marveling at the warmth of his skin. “Those do sound kinda familiar, now that ya mention it…”

But they were familiar for an entirely different reason.

“So what’s your Dad do? If you don’t have a Mom, that is. Uh.” Doug’s cheeks were flushed. He looked away. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no. It’s okay! I mean… I didn’t really know her, but my Dad is a scientist.” It felt a little weird to not preface that with ‘royal’, but Sans wanted to keep things simple. He wanted the dream to keep going.

“A scientist? That’s really neat.” Doug leaned back and crossed his legs, elbows on his knees. “My Dad is a-“

Sans broke in. “A Rocket Man?”

“How’d you know that?” Doug’s eyes narrowed. “You some kind of psychic?” His tone was only half-joking.

“Just a lucky guess.” Sans shrugged.

But it wasn’t a guess. Now he knew for sure where his dream had taken him, to the short story he had been reading last night.

“Hey, you know, you look a little loopy,” Doug was saying. “If you want, my house isn’t really far off. I can get some lemonade mixed up, and you could use our phone to call your Dad.” He stood and brushed the dirt from his khakis.

“Really? That’d be really nice of ya!” Sans got up, slowly. He didn’t want his head to spin.

“Nah. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got any plans.” Doug waved for Sans to follow and started across the park. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Honestly, it’s just kind of nice to talk to someone new. I don’t have that many pals, just the neighbor kids during the evenings when we all go out and play kick-the-can.”

Sans trotted behind, stumbling occasionally. “Hey, I don’t have friends either. Just my little brother, but he’s five, so it’s a little different, I guess.”

“At least you have a brother. I just live with my Mom since my Dad’s always out in space. It’s too quiet sometimes.” Doug sighed.

It was when they reached the end of the field that Sans began to notice just how vague some of the details in his dream were. The buildings were almost exactly like the ones in Snowdin, brick-set with low rooftops. There were no other people, either. The whole street was deserted, something that Doug didn’t seem to pay any mind to.

And why would he? He was just as much a part of it as everything else.

Doug was talking again. “So what kind of science does your Dad do, Sam?” He turned a street corner and quickened his pace.

Sans didn’t bother to correct his name. “It’s kind of hard to explain,” he said, “like, it’s something to do with…”

A chill went up his back. Something had changed. He stopped and turned around.

There was a human standing behind them, a slender man with a black vest and pants. His hair was an unnatural flaming orange.

“Sans?” he called. His voice was soft and came hissing from clenched teeth. “Are you in there?”

“Sam?”

“Huh?” Sans looked back at the boy, blinking.

“We’re almost there. See?” Doug pointed at the one house at the end of the sidewalk, the one unique building in a line of cookie-cutter placeholders. “The one with the big porch is mine.”

Sans glanced back, but the man was gone.

“There’s a swinging bench we can sit on while we wait for your Dad, if you’d like.”

“That sounds nice.” Sans kept his focus on the house and its wide, wooden porch and rough brick walls.

Doug nodded. He swept back the hair from his eyes. “If you want, you can sit out here and I’ll go get those drinks whipped up in a jiffy, okay?”

“That sounds good.”

“No sweat! Pop a seat and I’ll run on ahead.”

As Doug sprinted up to his front door, Sans felt a stabbing sensation in his arm. He winced and rubbed at the skin, but the pain didn’t last at all.

“Weird.” He mounted the steps, crossed over, and fell back in the porch swing. His legs were just long enough so that the tips of his shoes could touch the floor.

He closed his eyes. He could hear Doug rummaging through the house, clicking buttons of a machine to make drinks.

Sans felt calm.

---

Hey, so S’s magic is at 190 mg. I’m going to take a wild guess that you don’t want me waking him up when it’s that high?

190?! yes!!! remember that 1 time he couldn’t stop teleporting to ur bar’s walk-in fridge?? nobdy wants a repeat of that.:x sleeping is the safest way for that to go down w/o much risk

I notice you left out the part where he projectile vomited ALL OVER my goddamn hamburger patties. There was blue ooze everywhere. Freaking disgusting. I didn’t think a ten year old could cause so much damage.

hey, i paid u back!! >:o

You only paid in money, not in manual labor. I still had to clean it.

:’c water under the bridge??

As much as I might bitch about it, there’s never any harm done. I know S can’t help being how he is, and it’s worse for him than it is for anyone else. Magic overload is no joke. It’s some spooky shit.

it is ;~; god grillbz, ur a real pal. i dont kno where i’d be w/o u.

Oh my God, WD. Please don’t. I can’t stand it when you’re sentimental. It makes me feel weird.

rly tho!!

Do you need me to keep watch over S or can I go back to work? It’s almost past lunch hour.

ah no… he should be OK. i’ll leave early & pick up pap. king fluffybuns just has to deal with it. too drained to think of the phonecall i’ll get tonite.

Are you sure? He doesn’t do freaky shit in his sleep?

not when it’s under 200 mg :’x

Good enough for me. I’ll lock up then, okay?

thx a mil grillbz ;w;

No problem. Drop by the bar sometime soon if you can, okay? The dogs miss getting attention and I don’t have time to pet them.

aha! sure thing :D

Chapter Text

The lab was quiet. The lights buzzed and the wall clock ticked. The air had a sour smell to it like stale food.

Gaster’s finger hovered over the call button. He couldn’t stop sliding around the floor in his socks.

“He isn’t going to answer. He never answers. It’ll just go to voicemail,” he mumbled to himself. “Just one quick message to your boss, and then skedaddle.”

It was a good thing that his intern wasn’t here to see this. Gaster could only keep up a façade of professionalism for so long before it cracked. Making semi-emergency phone calls to Asgore was the surest way for him to break into nervous twitches.

The worst part was that the King was the nicest boss a monster could ask for. Somehow that only made Gaster feel guiltier for taking off work. What right did he have to be a ‘royal’ scientist, anyway?

“God.” He tossed the phone onto his desk and started gathering papers or anything that looked like it could be worked on at home. It was a good way to procrastinate the inevitable.

His armpits felt hot and sticky, but he didn’t look at them. Nothing was more humiliating than lifting an arm and examining your own sweat stains, even in private. It was best to just pretend that nothing was wrong.

How much time was there? Gaster shot a glance at the clock. He had two hours to pick up Papyrus.

His phone rang, the ringtone bounced off of the lab walls and echoed in a way that could only be called ‘screechy’.

Gaster checked the caller ID and blanched. It was the school, but why? Did he miss a PTA meeting?

He let the phone cycle through its ringing one more time before answering. “Dr. Gaster.”

“Hello there, Doctor. ” The reception was fuzzy. “This is Omoo, student admin. How are you doing today?” It was an older woman’s voice, as scratchy as the call quality.

“Just fine, thanks.” Gaster started to pace again. “Is everything alright?” He was amazed at how calm he could get himself to sound.

“Everything is fine, we just broke up a small scuffle involving your son and some of the older children.”

Pure bone or not, Gaster could almost feel his legs jellify. “Papyrus? Incident?” he heard himself ask.

Omoo’s tone was crisp and thorough. It was almost as if she couldn’t hear the heavy breathing on her end of the line. “Yes. We don’t really know what the exact catalyst for it was, but apparently Papyrus was being verbally harassed by some of our third-years in the cafeteria.”

“Was there an, uh, a fight?” Gaster hoped that didn’t sound like a squeak.

“From what we know, Papyrus physically instigated it. He didn’t cause any major physical damage, just some bruises. One of the students scorched the back of his hand with fire magic, but it’s not anything severe. The nurse is putting a salve on it right now.”

Cradling the phone in the crook of his shoulder, Gaster shoved a mass of papers deep into his satchel and yanked his shoes on. “How is he? I can be there in a little over half an hour.”

“He’s a bit shaken up.” Omoo paused. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to give him a suspension.”

“Wait, a suspension?!” Gaster buckled his satchel and threw it over his shoulder. “He’s only five years old. I bet he didn’t even understand what he was doing. What if it was self-defense?”

“Even participating in a fight is grounds for suspension, Dr. Gaster. You know of our zero-tolerance policy well enough.” There was a clear hint of disapproval in her tone, and the message buried in it was spelled out clear enough: You couldn’t wiggle out of this with your oldest’s magic outbursts, and you can’t wiggle out of it now.

Gaster wanted to reply with something along the lines of ‘oh, I understand your shitty public school bureaucracy well enough, you heartless cow.’

Instead he just muttered a small “can I talk to my son?” through clenched teeth.

“I’ll go fetch him from the nurse. Can you hold?”

“Sure.”

A click, a succession of pops, and tinny hold music erupted from the phone’s speaker. It didn’t help Gaster’s mood. He swore he could feel his soul plummeting to his pelvis. Worry and anger made a terrible emotional cocktail.

He counted the seconds, then the minutes. He never stopped moving. His feet tapped in time with the clock’s ticking.

The hold music was cut off and replaced with fuzzy sniffles.

“Daddy?”

Gaster swallowed hard. “Papy? Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Are you hurt?”

“My hand is black and it stinks.” Papyrus’ voice was quiet and punctuated with teary sniffs. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“I’m not mad, just worried. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I got really mad.”

“How come?” Gaster plopped himself in his chair and leaned back, a useless attempt to get himself to relax.

Papyrus snuffled and coughed. “Two of these really big girls came close to my lunch table, one of em’ looked like Mr. Grillby? T-They were talking loud enough that I could hear, and they were talking about Sans and I got mad.”

“Why did you get mad?”

“They called him a ‘fat freak’ and ‘gimpy’ but I dunno what that last one means… It sounds mean.” Papyrus sounded a little calmer now. “I got up and tried to get them to stop, and then they laughed and said some really bad things.”

“Oh yeah?” Gaster tried to keep his tone casual while the tip of his finger scratched out a shallow groove on the surface of his desk. “What kind of things?”

“One of them was the ‘F’ dash dash dash word.”

“Ah.”

Another long and shuddering breath. “Then I thought, y’know, maybe they just don’t know? So I tried not being mad. I told em’ that Sans isn’t really fat, just big-boned, and that he’s not a freak just cause’ he’s got too much magic in him.”

“You did a good thing there, Pap.”

“Then they laughed again and then I punched them. I dunno why I did! I just…”

“Got mad?” Gaster finished for him.

“Yeah…”

“Do you think you can hold out there while I come to get ya?”

“I think so.” Papyrus had stopped sniffling. He almost sounded calm.

“Attaboy.” Gaster got up, adjusted his bag, and went for the door. “I’ll be there soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too!” He could almost hear the small smile in Papyrus’ voice. “Bye!”

It was just after midday by the time Gaster had locked up the lab, the time when Hotland was at its most oppressive. Only monsters like Grillby were out around then, flickering fire elementals in a spectrum of colors. Several of them were gathered into little knots, their blazing hands flying as they signed to one another in silence, beady eyes expressionless.

With his coat under one arm and his bag steadied in the other, Gaster half-jogged a beeline to the Waterfall tunnel. Sweat glazed the top of his bare skull. His bones felt like they were sizzling.

Hotland really was no place for a frazzled and dehydrated skeleton.

In the shade of the tunnel’s mouth, Gaster stopped to take a breather. He took out his phone and punched out a text.

grillbz? i might b taking up that invite 2night >>’

The Riverperson was always at their post wherever they were needed, by whoever needed them. They sat up in their boat as Gaster came stumbling down the stairs.

“Tra la la, back so soon?” they cooed. “It’s so rare to see you just past noon.”

Gaster stepped over into the canoe, lurched forward, and nearly fell over the other side. He pin wheeled his arms and dropped his coat half-way in the river.

“I, uh…” Gaster’s hands trembled as he fished his coat from the water and tried to wring it out. He sat down and coughed. “I can, ah, tip you triple if you get me back to Snowdin quickly.”

“Ho ho! Feeling generous now, are we?” The Riverperson took up their paddle. “And what would the occasion be?”

“Let’s just say that kids are sending me into an early grave.” Gaster laid out the coat on the canoe’s deck and tried to pat it dry.

The canoe slid from the shore, the paddle dipped deep to drive it against the lazy current. From his perch, the Riverperson shook his head with a breathless chuckle. “Is that not the curse of every father, for their children to give them both joy and bother?”

Gaster said nothing, only watched the clusters of echo flowers pass by, their petals undulating in a gentle glow. He fidgeted, rubbed at his arms, checked how wet his coat was (still sopping), and glanced at his phone. Grillby had texted back.

Your written tone implies that you want to get shitfaced. You’re welcome to come, but you’ve got a limit on your tab for that.

“Fair enough,” he mumbled to himself. The Riverperson didn’t seem to hear him.

The river narrowed as the canoe pushed against the current. Despite the Riverperson’s staggered rowing, its pace went smoothly and evenly. The echo flowers pulsed a greeting as they slid by.

“So hard to maintain tranquility with so much responsibility,” the Riverperson sang.

Gaster winced. “I’m not really in the mood to chat.” But was he ever?

No, because in the end the Riverperson did more than just take laborers from place to place. Underneath that hood there was an omniscience that could make anyone uncomfortable, a fountain source of hard truths and unwanted advice.

The Riverperson, as if knowing that they were being thought of, turned the void of their open hood to Gaster and giggled, but said nothing.

Somehow that was worse.

---

The lemonade was almost too sweet. Sans flexed his lips and crossed his eyes to watch as granular bits of sugar and ice seeped into his mouth. The chilliness of it made his skin tingle.

“Do ya like it?” Doug sipped at his own drink through a bendy straw, a bizarre looking thing that Sans hadn’t trusted himself to try out. “We’re the only house on the block with a drink machine like the one we’ve got, small benefits to having a Rocket Man as your dad, I guess.”

“It’s really good.” Sans pried the glass from his lips and cradled it in his lap. “Dad likes being frugal at our house, so we don’t get much fancy stuff. I think being richer than other people makes him embarrassed.”

“Your dad sounds like a goof.” Doug chuckled.

“Nah, he just wants to be normal and wants us to feel normal.” Sans shrugged. “It’s hard though, cause’ me and my brother aren’t really ‘normal’ to begin with.”

“You seem pretty normal to me.”

“Not really though. I get sick a lot.” Among other things, but it wouldn’t fit the dream for Sans to let any of that out. “Sometimes I just shut down and sleep for a whole day.”

With his own glass empty, Doug leaned forward and set it on the porch. “Sounds rough,” he said.

“No, no, it’s not bad!” Sans shook his head and felt lemonade slosh into his lap. “It’s just a little inconvenient.” The very idea that his dreams could pity him was almost enough to make the nausea start all over again.

“And your brother?” Doug asked.

Sans was about to answer before something caught his eye, a flicker of movement. He turned and stared out at the street, searching.

Doug didn’t seem to mind. He got up from his chair and took up his glass. “Are you done with your drink? I can take it back in.”

“Sure.” Sans didn’t look over as he handed off the glass.

He heard the click and squeak of the front door. Doug had gone inside, and Sans could see why.

Two people were walking down the sidewalk and towards the house, a man and a little boy holding hands. They stopped at the yard’s edge and looked up at him, their faces a mixture of concern and urgency.

Sans didn’t need to be told why. With surprising quickness, he leapt from his chair and hopped down the porch steps.

He didn’t stop until he had Papyrus in his arms.