Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He hadn’t meant to do it. Well, he had, but the aftermath of his actions hadn’t been accounted for in his “fool-proof” planning. Fool-proof? No, Dr. Gaster was worse than a fool. The sound of alarms blaring stopped after a short few seconds. Usually, he would have complained about the effectiveness of such a noise in a situation such as his; however, he was currently falling to his death. The brilliant Dr. Gaster, destroyed by one fatal concept: his own ignorance. He knew everything there was to know, but that didn’t make up for a complete and utter lack of common sense.

Surely, he should have realized that creating a machine to, well,… Travel through timelines (and possibly other universes!), would have some sort of drawback. It imploded! Imploded! And decided to take him with it. Great. Amazing idea, smarty pants. Gaster didn’t account for that. The one thing that consistently failed him was himself. It should have- Ugh! Why was he still falling? The ground couldn’t be that far down. Right? Right. It wasn’t scientifically possible. Unless it’s some sort of time-goes-slower-when-you’re-about-to-die thing, there was definitely a problem. Maybe there was no ground where he was going.
Ha! No ground. There had to be some sort of flooring, surely. Unless he was somehow launched into space, he would be fine. Probably dead, but fine. Perhaps slightly less-than-fine because he would be dead. His internal monologue was constant, it always had been and it always will be. Until he dies. Because he’ll hit the ground. That definitely exists.

It’s been at least five minutes since he started falling. The scientist had gotten in a slightly more comfortable falling position. He had a feeling it would take a while. Then, for the first time, he decided to look down at the space below him. The space was everlasting, stretching infinitely across what felt like the universe. Hundreds upon thousands of star-like formations were scattered, glittering in the vast darkness. Vaguely, he wondered what would happen if he ran into one. Were they balls of fire like the real stars? Would he fly too close to the sun and burn up like Icarus had? Unbeknownst to him, Dr. Gaster would find that out very shortly. The space under him gradually began to glow brightly, as he barreled right into one of these false-stars.

After the overbearing light, there was an impact. A violent, painful impact. Upon having a face-to-face meeting with an icy, wet patch of dirt. Dirt. Ground! That meant ground! Unfortunately for him, he passed out almost immediately after the collision with the earth. Dr. Gaster awoke to find himself in what might have been the most comfortable bed he’s been in, in… Ever. He nearly convinced himself it had been a dream. That was until he noticed both of his legs in casts. Huh. Casts. The skeleton monster considered himself lucky if those were the only major injuries he had sustained. Gaster didn’t notice the figure in the open doorway for an embarrassingly long time, eventually making eye contact with the fluffy goat-adjacent monster he knew all too well.
His long-time friend stared him down in disbelief, as if what was currently going on was impossible. “As… Gore?” The scientist’s voice felt foreign to him from disuse. That was odd. He’d been talking less than an hour before he had begun to fall. Maybe he was tired.

“You’re here. Wingdings, you’re truly here.” The king’s eyes watered, but he didn’t wipe away the forming tears. Asgore rushed to his bedside, putting his smaller hand in between his two large palms. The taller leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with the skeleton, “how are you feeling?” At such a close distance, the ever-so-observant Dr. Gaster noticed that his dear friend looked worn out. Like he had aged. Stress did awful things to a person, after all. “I am.. I’m not quite sure. Stiff, mostly. I give my sincere apologies, your majesty, if I upset you in any way. I didn’t expect to take such a tumble,” he word-vomited, unsure how to feel. How much of that had been real? Had it been his imagination? It all felt so real, but.. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind. Plenty of dreams are odd. “Stiff?” The king looked perplexed. “Is that all?” Those furry paws of his held the sides of his face, as if inspecting him for any sign of deception.

When he found no such indication, he pulled back slightly. “Is this about my legs? I don’t feel them at all. I assumed that would be normal.” The skeleton monster avoided eye contact, running his finger over the fabric of the blanket. Although he had just woken up, he continued to be exhausted. It was as if he had never truly rested in the first place. Asgore sat down in a chair that had been turned to face Gaster’s current resting place. Now that he was more awake, he looked the monster up and down. “I’ve never known you to be the type for floral button-downs. What happened to the usual purple cloak you wear?” He sat up more, rubbing the circular burn marks left in his palms by a previous experiment. It had charred the bone, permanently staining the areas black. Never mix up blue lasers with orange ones. You get crisped hands. “Oh, dear. I’ve decided to retire that old thing for good. The cape would only be a reminder of… Times better left forgotten.”

Cape? No, no. “Your majesty, it was a cloak.” So it has begun. “It clasped around my neck, that means it was a cape.” The debate of the century. “Sire, cloaks also tend to have that same feature. Capes don’t cover your whole body.” Truly a marvelous conversation. Very important. “I specifically requested a cape from the tailor.” It was never going to end, was it? “That doesn’t mean it is a cape, your majesty. You were lied to.” After a brief moment of silence, Asgore laughed mirthfully. It nearly sounded nostalgic. “You haven’t changed a bit, old friend.” Changed? Why would he change? “Of course I haven’t, I saw you last week.”

“Last week? Wingdings.. Do you not know? It’s been a decade since you went missing.”

And just like that,

his

world

shattered.

Chapter Text

A decade? No. No. That couldn’t be true. Was it April 1st already? He wanted to believe it was some kind of prank. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny that his dear friend had changed significantly since his departure. The Monster appeared older, more rugged compared to Gaster’s recent memories. The tips of his horns were worn down significantly more, as it appeared Asgore hadn’t been sharpening them like he had previously. Dr. Gaster looked himself over briefly.

He… Hadn’t changed whatsoever. How had it been so long? Where had he been? His head filled with questions he couldn’t answer and theories he couldn’t comprehend. He had no idea he’d been hyperventilating until he was wrapped in a remarkably furry embrace. The scientist had missed so much of his friends’ lives, and the weight that rested on his shoulders from that realization was too much for him to bear. Pulling back slightly and looking into the king’s watery heterochromatic eyes, one thought cut through the tangled mess of his mind.

“My sons-” he rasped, “What of my sons?” Asgore gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “They are alright, Wingdings. The Snowdin townsfolk have kept their eyes on your children. They are such wonderful boys.” Despite the king’s comforting words, he felt faint. His sons. His boys. He had just missed ten years of their life. Dr. Gaster couldn’t bear to look the goat Monster in the eyes any longer, avoiding his gaze. His children had grown up without him. Could he even call himself a father anymore? He was a failure. As he wallowed in self pity, Asgore left the room to fetch him some tea. The king himself was still in shock at his royal scientist’s return. For years, he was convinced his closest acquaintance had dusted. As he returned, he noticed the bed empty.

How Gaster managed to stand with two broken legs astounded him. The skeleton had gotten up to look outside, leaning heavily on the windowsill. He watched wordlessly as the clouds in the sky covered the sun. Clouds. Sky. Sun. Gaster was filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Sadness? Relief? Nostalgia? It didn’t matter. Teardrops welled up in his sockets, free falling down his cheekbones and landing on the wood below. The yellow floral-patterned curtains had been pulled back to let light shine into the room. Real light. With shaky hands, he opened the window; the frigid air hitting his face and making the salty water on his cheeks cold.

“The… The surface. Sire, we’re on the surface.” Earlier, he had been in his lab. In Hotland. In the Underground. The small part of him that was in denial about his decade-long time skip broke. He couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. There was no prank. The skeleton held himself up with his elbows, sticking his skull out of the window. Outside. The trees were covered in snow, and frost glittered in the natural lighting. To him, it was one of the most beautiful things he’s seen in a while. A city. He saw a city close by. With people. Monsters. It was a city on the surface full of Monsters.

Now he really might faint. “How long..” Gaster took a moment to compose himself. “How long has the Barrier been broken?” “Two years, old friend. The Humans were apprehensive, but there hasn’t been war. Perhaps this time we can truly remain.” Asgore moved to stand beside him, a hand on Gaster’s back to keep him upright. The king bent over to look with him. “I know you are excited, but perhaps you should lay back down, Wingdings. I will bring you crutches as soon as I have them.” Slowly, he coaxed the scientist back to bed and kept him from falling. Wingdings buried his head in his hands, mourning the time he had lost. “How was the Barrier broken? Did you.. ‘Collect’ the souls necessary, or did a scientist greater than I break it without needing them?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it all, and was quickly becoming overwhelmed. “Six souls were taken. Six children.” Guilt laced the Monster’s words as he admitted to the carnage he had wrought. “The seventh, a child named Frisk, freed the Underground through means I am unsure of.”

A child. A child had done what he had struggled to do for his entire life. A child. The mere implication was insulting. Gaster gave himself time to think about it. No, he shouldn’t be upset. They were freed and that’s all that mattered. Oh, but he wanted to be the Underground’s savior. He had put in years of work. He did. In the end, it was fixed by a Human. A Human. Oh, he resented the concept as a whole. Humans banished them in the first place. What right did some child have to make his efforts pointless? It was driving him mad. “Since Monsterkind moved to the Surface, I have renounced my title as their ruler. I feel as if it isn't necessary to keep the title any more.” The ex-king spoke, wrenching the skeleton from his hateful thoughts. Asgore handed Gaster a teacup and saucer.

“Chamomile,” he explained, “It’s a flower that grows up here. It’s said to have medicinal purposes.” Of course, that part usually only applied to Humans. Wingdings said nothing, quietly sipping the drink he was given without complaint. He didn’t like it much. Of course, their peace was disturbed by a knock at the front door. Going to answer it, Asgore left Gaster alone with his thoughts. He turned out the conversation, which was muffled by the closed door. He didn’t want to know who it was. The skeleton wanted to hide from the world, to pretend he had died so he wouldn’t burden others he cared about with his sudden appearance. After all, wouldn’t it be better off if he had died? Everyone mourned him already and had moved on. It would be unfair to reopen old wounds. He tuned back in just in time to hear, “Yes, thank you for coming. He’s right in there.” Wait. Someone was there to see him? No. Gaster silently pleaded with the universe. Wingdings didn’t want to be seen.

He had just woken up to a future foreign to him he wasn’t ready for- The door opened. A short figure stood in the doorway. He smelled ketchup. His son was there. His son. His son who he had failed, abandoned, and before he could finish the thought, his eldest was standing beside the bed, looking down at him with slight disbelief.

“heya, pops. long time no see, huh?”

Chapter Text

"Sans? Is.. Is that.." He trailed off, disbelief lacing his words. Of course it was him. The scientist knew that lackadaisical smile anywhere. "You look-" "awful. i know. hey, where ya been? been looking for ya for ages," despite his words, Gaster could tell he was equally as shocked.

"I was- I saw you yesterday! You- You had to come home from school early because you cracked your femur!" His hands clutched the comforter over him tightly, trembling. He was borderline hysterical. It couldn't be true. No! No. That means he left his children to fend for themselves. It had started to sink in before, but seeing his son, now an adult, in front of him made the truth ram him like a truck. Gaster's chest hurt as his vision swam. It was too much. He brought his full hands to his face and cried into the blanket clutched in them.

The two other adults in the room glanced at one another. Sans put a hand on his back. "dadster. pops. popsicle. uh, y'know, me and paps missed ya. wasn't your fault, right? so ya don't need to cry about it. you're back now," despite being emotionally constipated 24 hours of the day, his words seemed to help. Even if it was only slightly.

"Papyrus," his voice a ragged gasp, "how is he?" Gaster hoped the boy, his child, didn't resent him for his sudden disappearance. "missed ya. tons. he'll be over the moon when he finds out you're back." Wait, hold the phone. "Papyrus is unaware?" He peeled his gaze from the bed to his eldest son. "yeah. didn't wanna get his hopes up for a false alarm. paps is a good cook. makes spaghetti. hey, you should try some sometime."

The now-ex royal scientist- no, the father of two thought that sounded perfect. The reunion so far was bittersweet, with Gaster consistently being reminded of his failures whenever he looked Sans in the eyelights and Sans being his usual reserved self. "so, ya fucked up your legs?"

"Sans! Language!"

"i ain't a kid anymore, pops." Well, that was embarrassing. "My apologies, this is all so…" "weird?" he supplied, "I was going to say jarring, but weird works as well." Soon enough, Sans was cracking enough bad jokes to fill a comedian's television show. Gaster let himself pretend that things were okay. Normal, even. All he would have to do was close his sockets and imagine that nothing had changed.

After a while of re-bonding, the older skeleton felt himself gradually grow more worn out. The light streaming through the curtains faded faster than he had anticipated, and the darkness made it even easier for him to doze off.

Waking up was harder than falling asleep. Every time his eye sockets opened, they fluttered shut once more. His body took all the rest it could get. Who knew going missing for an extended period of time could wear you out so much?

He finally faded into true consciousness, an uncomfortably wet pressure on his forehead dragging him from his thoughts. Gaster shuddered, freezing cold. Reaching for the strange object- no, it was a damp rag -on his head, a droplet of water ran down his skull. It seemed to be soaked rather than damp.

A furry hand stopped him from pulling it off, rough paw pads gently scraping against his phalanges. "I am sorry my friend, but you're quite feverish. It's helping keep you cool,"the ex-king explained, looking down upon him with such gentle eyes, but he noticed a certain despair behind his gaze. A permanent guilt scarring his features.

Feverish? He didn't feel hot. Gaster sat up suddenly and the world spun for a second before he was urged back down, the rag having slid down his face onto his lap. The ever-so intelligent and definitely not sick skeleton scoffed indignantly, "This is preposterous. I feel perfectly cold. Perhaps too cold."

Rattling could be heard as he spoke.

Despite how hard he looked to find the source, he couldn't find it. That was, until he looked down. It was him. Well, of course it was! Sans had left. Wait- "Sans.. left?" Gaster strained his neck trying to look through the doorway past Asgore's massive Boss Monster physique. "Ah, yes, Papyrus requested he return home to have dinner."

Gaster rubbed his face, the scrape of bones against each other caused a noise that made Asgore crinkle his snout slightly in disdain. "I suspect you may have an infection. Would you mind if a healer came by to check on you?" Before he had even considered it, his automatic response was a quick, "no, no healers," as he shook his head slowly.

His holed, chipped hands clasped at the shirt he wore. It was only as he studied his bones with his eyelights he noticed his bones were a sickly grey hue, which did indicate true illness. Of course he was sick. Hadn't he suffered enough? Apparently not.

"Does anyone else know? About me," he questioned, feeling a stomach that he didn't have churn. "No, I did not want to startle you with any more guests. I informed Sans since he was your next of kin," there it was again, that grief in his eyes. Had it ever left? No. No it hadn't. "I'm an awful father," Gaster let out a bitter, scratchy laugh that devolved into short sobs. He didn't know why he felt so- so- unstable! Actually, yes he did. He was sick.

The reason didn't help much. If anything, it made him assume his emotions "weren't real" because his magic was on the fritz. Asgore continuously supplied him with soft, comforting words that Gaster felt were undeserved. Once the skeleton had calmed down, the ex-king swiftly moved to fetch him some soup.

Thankfully, it was easy to eat. The liquids were light, and didn't settle awkwardly in his soul and cause him discomfort like most foods would have at the moment. Asgore had completely disregarded his previous Royal Scientist's complaints, contacting a healer. "For the last time, Wingdings. Your life is non-negotiable."

Chapter Text

Drumming his fingers against the worn oak wood of the nightstand beside him, Gaster anxiously awaited the arrival of the healer had contacted two days prior. How long had he been there, in that bed? Too long. Painstakingly long. Awfully, dreadfully, horribly long. Around a week? He didn't know. Time slipped through his fingers like sand, and he struggled to hold it close. There he was, selfishly taking advantage of his dear friend's hospitality.

He didn't even have a fever anymore! There was no point. The man pouted to himself like a child, crossing his arms as if that would somehow help. Thankfully, Asgore was busy pouring salt on his driveway. The snow had frozen into solid ice, which needed to be removed. His hand slid across the smoothness of his skull, the movement akin to someone running their fingers through their hair.

When was that woman going to get there? Wingdings huffed to himself, thinking bitterly about her tardiness. Asgore said she was a nice, experienced Bear Monster. More like experienced in being late!

The anticipation was killing him. Just as he made up his mind to leave bed, Asgore cracked the door open. "Ah, I see you are getting antsy! You have never been the type to wait. I am glad to see you haven't changed," the corner of his eyes wrinkled in nostalgic mirth as he smiled. Gaster pulled a face much like a child that had gotten caught taking cookies from a jar without permission. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Claws had an urgent family issue she had to attend to." Contradicting the ex-king's words, there were a few loud, swift knocks on the door.

"I have invited someone I am sure you will be pleased to see," and with that, the Boss Monster slipped out of the room to answer it.

"DAD! IT IS ME, YOUR SON, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

His voice echoed in the near-empty living room as he bounded towards the guest room his father currently resided in. Papyrus's arms were filled with containers full of….. Especially crisped pasta as well as an entire gallon of milk, a rubiks cube, a notebook, and a pair of crutches. It was an odd sight, that was for sure. He opened his mouth to speak, but his son interrupted him, "YOUR LEGS SHOULD BE MOSTLY HEALED BY NOW! SKELETON BONES ARE VERY REGENERATIVE!" His father looked at him, liquid magic pooling in his sockets as they made eye contact.

"Papyrus, you…" His son wore a… costume of sorts? Padded shoulder blades and chestplate, red scarf and red combat boots.. He was tall and lanky, but his bones were a healthy width. Clearly the boy ate his vegetables. Sans was more of a natural round, much like his mother was."I SEE YOU ARE IN AWE OF MY MAGNIFICENT PHYSIQUE. WITH THE HELP OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS, YOU CAN BECOME ALMOST AS HEALTHY AND LOVELY AS ME." Papyrus flexed muscles he didn't have. Grief. At first, he felt grief. He mourned not being able to watch his son grow into this amazing young man.

Another feeling took over, pride. Gaster was proud of his sons. Both of them. Papyrus, who was so thoughtful and full of kindness. Sans, who always seemed to know what to say and forgave him despite his knack for holding grudges.

Tears rolled freely down his face as his son placed the items he had brought on any counter with spare space. He couldn't stop them, and he didn't move to wipe them away. "You truly are great, Papyrus." In a blur of motion, Gaster was picked up in a bone-crushing hug. "I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I AM CALLED THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

The fact his ribs were still intact afterwards was a testament to his bones' durability. Winded, he listened as Papyrus asked at least a hundred questions, most unrelated to his absence. Most.

Gaster answered them to the best of his ability. "My favorite color is olive green, I enjoy the smell of pine needles, yes this is the same lab coat, yes I have been in the same clothes for at least a week, no l was not necromancer, no I was not dead, yes my disappearance was an accident, yes I like milk and spaghetti, though usually separately." Words tumbled from him like a waterfall as he tried to address each question as fast as he was being asked them.

The scribble of a pen against paper got him to glance towards Papyrus's hands, "you are.. Taking notes?" His son flashed him a grin, "I LEARNED FROM SOMEONE THAT TAKING NOTES HELPS YOU REMEMBER THINGS LATER! I DO WONDER WHO TAUGHT ME THAT." The boisterous skeleton shot him a knowing look that had him stifle a laugh behind his metacarpals. "NOW I REMEMBER! BECAUSE I WROTE IT DOWN. IT WAS YOU," Papyrus winked, "NOW, NO MORE LOLLYGAGGING! BECAUSE I AM SO GREAT, I HAVE BROUGHT YOU GIFTS THAT WILL ASSIST IN YOUR HEALING JOURNEY!" A pasta container was opened, and thankfully it didn't seem as burnt as he thought it was.

Papyrus fetched a fork from his inventory, handing it to his father. "NOW TASTE MY MASTERFULLY CRAFTED SPAGHETTI! PAPYRUS-ORIGINAL RECIPE," he waited giddily for his father to taste his cooking. Gaster twirled the sauce-covered noodles around his fork, bringing it to his mouth with only minor sauce spillage. "I can taste the effort you put in, son," the flavor was… indescribable. The noodles were undercooked and burnt simultaneously, while the sauce was too sweet and oddly grainy. It was all cold, too. Despite not liking the food, he ate it all to please his youngest child.

Feeling slightly nauseous, he slid the empty container away from himself. "That was delicious. Thank you-" he was cut off, "AH, BUT YOU ARE NOT DONE! YOU NEED TO POLISH OFF SUCH A GLORIOUS MEAL WITH A GLASS OF EXTRA-CALCIUM MILK!" Papyrus deposited a glass of cold milk onto the nightstand, watching him as he took a tentative sip. His father wasn't a huge fan of milk, but he drank it anyway.

Asgore watched the pair as they chatted. It was mostly Papyrus talking, but Gaster hung onto every word and praised him for accomplishments he hadn't been present for. Both seemed overjoyed to reunite with one another.

Maybe things would be okay for the Gaster family.

Chapter Text

Push came to shove, and suddenly he was faced with a proposition; his sons asked him to move in. Why? Why would they still want him in their lives after all this time? Gaster had no more purpose in life. He had failed to break the barrier, and the task was done by a single human child. No, no. His sons were his purpose. They had missed him. He knew they had. A small, bitter voice echoed through his skull.

They don’t need him anymore.

His boys were adults. They had jobs. Lives. He didn’t want to disrupt what they had worked so hard for. Gaster couldn’t bring himself to stay with Asgore, though. Leeching off of a friend’s kindness was something he wouldn’t- no, couldn’t do. It wouldn’t be fair to any of them. He couldn’t remain a burden, but what else was there to do?

Gaster knew the choice he had to make. It was impossible to say no to his sons, the ones he could never refuse. The ex-royal scientist was a weak man when it came to his children. All the skeleton wanted to do was to keep Sans and Papyrus happy. He sat up in bed, crutches leaning against the side table. Remembering Asgore’s promise to get them for him, he smiled faintly. At the time his friend had offered them, he wouldn’t have been able to use them. Someone with two fractured legs probably needed a wheelchair. The one with lesser issues had healed enough to walk on safely, and the other neared that point.

Asgore stood in the doorway, something Gaster had become accustomed to. “I will not be upset if you leave, Wingdings.” He had noticed his dilemma, then. Unfortunately, Asgore had gotten it wrong. “You know I can’t continue intruding like this.” Gaster took a hold of a crutch, pushing himself off the bed. The pajama set Papyrus had dropped off for him his second visit were appreciated, but the length of the pant legs were an issue. He stepped on the back of them whenever he walked, occasionally tripping him up when his crutches caught them. The skeleton was fond of the red-orange fire pattern against the black of the fabric. It reminded him of the vehicles he saw in human magazines scavenged from the dump, of other flames he happened to miss dearly. “-ver bother. Wingdings?”

Flames he used as a light source so he could read his books. “Wingdings.” Ones that made the most delicious fri- “Wingdings!” He snapped to attention, “golly, I thought you’d fallen asleep with your sockets open. You had me worried there for a moment.” Asgore had been talking to him, which he’d unintentionally tuned out. “My apologize,” he averted his gaze, “I didn’t mean to ignore you. What did you say?” Gaster felt a fuzzy paw clap onto his shoulder. “I will always care for you, my friend. Go be with your children,” a glossy film filled his eyes, “you never know when you’ll see them the last time until it’s too late.” Wingdings’s soul felt heavy in his ribcage. Asgore was right.

Despite his reservations, Gaster had agreed to move in with his sons. He would give them the world if they asked, but all they wanted was for him to be there. Papyrus was supposed to come over that day to help him gather his things. Of course, there weren’t many items to grab, but the help was appreciated. Sans claimed to have prepared him a room, but he had a sneaking suspicion he just put a blanket over the couch and called it a day.

Gaster was having a nice cup of tea with Asgore. This flavor, strawberry nettle, he enjoyed a lot more than the chamomile. The taste was sweeter, less floral than he was used to. It was refreshing and new. With each sip, his soul warmed. As time ticked forward, he anticipated his son’s arrival. Right as he was about to question Papyrus’s tardiness, he burst through the front door without invitation. “NO NEED TO FRET, DEAR FATHER, FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS ARRIVED TO ASSIST YOU IN YOUR TIME OF NEED!” The man was covered head to toe in thick layers of snow. How was that possible? The downfall of snow had decreased since early that morning, lessening to a sprinkle by the afternoon and eventually stopping an hour into the evening. “Papyrus, y-” “THERE’S NO TIME FOR SMALL TALK, DAD! IT IS GETTING LATE!”

Papyrus was stronger than he looked. Before, Gaster had gotten a taste of that when Papyrus had hugged him during their reunion. But now? Now he really saw it. His son carried everything in one trip, which included him. The skeleton considered himself rather lightweight, sure, but the items balanced dangerously into a stack were less so. The amount of muscle control needed to keep the tower standing was nothing short of impressive, especially for someone with no muscles to speak of. Papyrus ever so carefully set Gaster in the seat before tossing the objects in the back seat. Somehow, they all landed perfectly safely. The scene was extraordinary.

He was buckled in the human-made contraption before his son squeezed into his own seat. The sleek, crimson-wrapped car let out a low rumble as it started, the vehicle seemingly coming to life. Gaster fiddled with the strap fastened around him, the texture uncomfortable. There was a small pause of peace before the car lurched forward, suddenly speeding down the road. The older skeleton gripped the seat for dear life, his head reeling from the violent change of atmosphere.

Papyrus laughed sharply, his uppercase filling the convertible with the sound. Their speed slowed, and his son looked awfully smug. “YOU HAVE BEEN TRICKED, BAMBOOZLED BY THE GREAT PAPYRUS! NYEH HEH HEH! I AM ACTUALLY A DASTARDLY SAFE DRIVER.” His son turned left, the steering surprisingly smooth.

It was around a twelve minute drive. Throughout it, Papyrus jested once or twice when things got too quiet. Both of his sons told jokes, Papyrus just had standards as to what qualifies as a good one. Gaster noted how well-decorated the outside was. Twinkling lights and an exuberant amount of tinsel across the trim of the roof.

“WELCOME TO OUR HUMBLE ABODE!”