Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You'd never been scared of a monster before you met him. 

A little spooked sometimes? Sure, especially at the one that also shopped Saturday morning at your favorite grocery store, the one that looked like a sentient inkblot test. That fellow took a bit of getting used to. 

A little human-ly disturbed? Absolutely, particularly by the ‘liquid horror amalgamation of Dogs that screamed in thirteen voices’ who you often saw with their family members at the park you ran at. After the first few times they'd barreled towards you shrieking a greeting, you'd started to almost get used to them, mostly thanks to their brothers and sisters who came sprinting behind them with horrified expressions to try to intervene. 

All in all, you didn't really understand the societal horror of Monsters that some humans clung to, even after so much time had passed. Sure, they were inhuman… but obviously they were going to be, what else did people expect? And with your lack of fear came business opportunities galore. 

You were proud of your commercial cleaning company, your nine-employee endeavor. What had started as you cleaning houses by yourself right after high school had expanded into a trustworthy, profitable business. Then when Monsters had appeared four years ago, you'd seen an opportunity and, if you were honest, an absolutely thrilling chance that no one else had seemed willing to capitalize on at first. Monsters as a whole were incredibly loyal, empathic people- short of maliciousness or extreme incompetence, they were willing to forgive or allow you to correct almost any mistake, and seemed to work societally off a system of referrals and grapevine connections on a level that put the nosiest human grandmas to shame. You'd scarcely sent your first one hundred fliers some months after their freedom before getting four or five appointments for residential cleaning. Now, save for a handful of locations, nearly all your contracts were commercial- a combination of human and Monster businesses that would reliably keep your business thriving for the foreseeable future.

Were they interesting and unique, a totally different culture? Did some of them look a little…odd? Was there the occasional miscommunication, especially where magical cleaning products or supplies started to get involved? Yes to all. But with tact and forgiveness on every side, you worked through it together, and came out with an appreciation, and daresay, a fondness for Earth's second dominate species.

…

And then you'd received that fateful request.

And now you were frozen in place, staring down a long, dark hallway, where a monster out of nightmares stood staring back at you.

-

“hey, sorry to catch ya on your way out. you got a sec?”

You smiled at the short, stout man. Sans, as he'd introduced himself to you years ago, was a reliable source of entertainment no matter what the situation. You'd met him at karaoke for a friend's birthday, realizing after some conversation that he worked at one of the surface Monster sites that held a long term contract with you, and had kept up an easy, casual friendship ever since. It was rare for you to actually see him at work; usually you weren't on the job sites anymore, too busy with marketing and managing the business itself. But with the recent flu making its way through seemingly the entire city, and four of your six full-time employees out for the past week (and god only knew how much longer), you were filling in wherever you could.

“Sure.” You blew a strand of hair out of your eyes, leaning on the desk beside you. “You're here awfully late.”

He rolled his eyes in agreement. “it's unnatural. i feel my constitution weakening as we speak.” As you grinned, he motioned toward the large supply cart you were pushing. “so of course, i've seen you around here, and seen your ads other places too. but do you still do, like, houses and stuff?

Making a face, you see-sawed your hand in the air. “Occasionally. Most of them are old contracts from before we sort of pivoted into commercial…”

There was an odd glint of concern in his eye, or was it…desperation? “i'd pay whatever you wanted. well…he would.” 

You frowned. “Um, who? Papyrus? What, did the pasta business finally come to life and follow him home like a starchy swamp creature?” It was a silly joke, you were just trying to lighten him and this oddly serious mood that he was in, but he only gave you a weak smile. “nah, he's a pasta-fectionist about that sort of thing.” He glanced away from you, then back again, the pretty little white fairy lights (as you thought of them) in his eyes dimming for a second. 

Sitting down the cloth that you'd been fidgeting with, you stepped away from your work and toward him. “Hey, what's wrong? You seem stressed out, is everything okay?” He'd been good to you, all these years. A quiet supporter in the background, one who had often recommended your company to other businesses- seemingly everybody amongst his people knew him. If this damn flu would go away, you had a couple empty spaces during the week that you could fit a simple residential service if he needed it. Maybe his house had simply gotten away from him, and he was embarrassed to ask anyone else. “Nothing wrong with needing help, especially with how busy you are.”

“...well, it's not for my place. i ain't there enough to make a mess.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “it's, uh, for my brother-”

Your brain scrambled- hadn't he just said…?

“-my other brother.”

Huh. Never once, in four years of casual conversation at bars, or local events, or shared parties between mutual friends, had you ever once heard that there was someone else other than the exuberant Papyrus. 

“O…kay…um, well, is it…” You took a breath, gathering in your errant thoughts. “Is it an emergency one-time thing? Or a repeated, weekly service?”

He scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “weekly. look, i hate to tell his secrets like this. he's a private person, a very private person. but i guess word of your good reputation even got to his sequestered ears, and he said he would consider your company…which is further than i've ever gotten him before.” 

“Alright. Not the first introverted client I've had.” The building was literally empty, there was no one around to eavesdrop. “Can you tell me more about the situation?”

“he's dying-” Sans said it so flatly, so matter of fact, that it took you a moment to realize what he said. A short gasp left you without you meaning it to. “Oh no, Sans I'm so sorry, what-”

He held a hand up. “-and he will be, for the foreseeable future.” 

“I don't…I'm sorry, I don't understand?”

He sighed, looking terribly tired. “he has a…condition. or is under the effect of one, both are kind of true. getting into the details would be telling a story he wouldn't want me to.” There was sad affection in his voice as he laughed softly, mirthlessly. “everything we do here is thanks to him, he's the researcher that started it all. the royal scientist. the royalest of scientists. and something went really, really wrong.”

Biting your lip, you hesitated a moment, then reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. It was as hard as you'd expected, under his clothes; you'd never touched him before. “I'm really sorry to hear that, for you and for him.”

A little flicker of surprise passed over his face, and then he put his hand over yours. “i'm always surprised, though i shouldn't be by now, at how easy you are around us. human mothers cover their baby's eyes when i walk by sometimes, did you know that?” Before you could answer that sad statement, he went on. “ but, yeah. he's dying. like, actively dying, semi-permanently. and when monsters die…”

“Their bodies turn to dust, right?” Then you realized, in combination with the situation he'd just described his brother having, the horror of your words. “Oh god, I-”

“it isn't dangerous, i checked. it can't hurt you in any way.” He sounded terribly sincere- you believed him. “it's not like, asbestos or anything. it's literally inert, a magically-dead substance. it breaks down into nothing, given enough time. no bacteria. no smell. but…it's everywhere, and it's constant. falling like ash that he can't stop and can't get rid of. and i think it's gotten really, really hard for him to manage it himself.”

Privately, you thought to yourself that this was basically like a hospice cleaning situation, though apparently far lower on the physically gross scale. But still just as sad.

“That's terrible. Terrible that he has to deal with that, I can't imagine the mental stress of having to see that, much less…clean it up, god.” Taking a moment to reorganize the schedule in your head, you nodded to yourself. “I could do Saturday mornings, starting at nine. How big of a property?”

“not huge, three bedrooms, two floors. but it's in the underground, is that okay? in the capital, on the outskirts.”

“Not an issue at all if you can get me a permanent driving pass or two. Renewing every week is a nightmare and I have six of them that I keep up.”

Oddly, his phone chimed almost immediately after your words, making you realize he'd held it in one hand all this time- he glanced at it, and nodded. “easy enough.”

“Is there anything I should know? About the situation, about him? When people are sick, sometimes they're more…particular about certain things, or maybe get upset about things more easily.” You'd never heard of a monster with a permanent sort of illness like this, but humans weren't so different, were they? “Is there anything I can do to make my time there less stressful for him?”

He frowned. “wait, your time?”

Smiling gently, you squeezed his shoulder, then let go. “My time, yep. At least for the first few visits. Maybe I'll hand it off to one of my people, maybe not. It's a unique situation, and it sounds like you're asking for privacy above all else. I can ensure that.”

Sans blinked a few times, an interesting illusion of darkening and lightning within his eyes since the bone of his skull didn't really move that way, then talked fast, as if trying to get the information out all at once. “oh, okay yes, perfect actually, thank you. um, no, honestly i doubt you'll even see him. he keeps to himself ever since…well, he'll probably just stay in his office, you don't have to worry about in there.” He began ticking things off on his fingers, his phone still in his hand. “dust is, like i said, completely sterile. and this sounds weird, but it wants to be cleaned up. it wants to cling to itself and be bundled up and put somewhere. so a vacuum, duster, cloth, anything you'd usually use should be completely fine, he has a vacuum and all of course. spray it if you want to with stuff, but i doubt you'll need it. water should work just as well. dump it in the garbage at breakfast time and it'll be vanished by lunch.”

You grabbed a notebook off the cart and began writing things down as he described the work.

“um, so, yeah. oh, right. my brother's name is gaster. doctor w.d. gaster, if we're being fancy about it. he's a researcher and basically like, a scholar? a resume as long as a pharmacy receipt.” His mood had lifted a little, now that you'd said yes. Seemingly, this had been a painful weight on Sans. “he's quiet, like really quiet. like borderline shy. he, uh, doesn't go out much now.” 

“I can't imagine how hard it would be for him to do so. I know Monsters are pretty understanding as a whole, but, the sight of someone with a condition like that…it makes people act weird. I wouldn't want others to look at me a certain way.”

“yeah, yes, see? you get it. i knew you would.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment. “it's not fair. it's absolute dogshit and it's not fair to him. and i can't help at all.” 

Your heart pinched when you realized there were faintly glowing blue tears gathering in his eyes, tears he was trying to hide. Throwing caution to the wind, you stepped forward and hugged him gently, the top of his head coming up to your chin. “I'm so sorry. For all of you, and for whatever happened to him. I've never heard of a Monster having some sort of chronic condition like this, and I'm sure that makes it all the harder for him and you guys.” 

He hugged you back firmly, squeezing for a second in a way that told you he'd needed it. Then he stepped back, turning away for a second to run the heel of one hand under his eyes. “all right, how do you want me to get you the information? address and stuff, ya know.”

“Well, in situations where the person i'm going to doesn't really want to be my point of contact, I need someone I can talk to. So first, let me get your number. And I do need from him, at least in writing, that he wants me there. I'm sorry, it's not that I don't trust you or think you have good intentions at heart. But sometimes family…”

“nah, i get it. i'll tell him, don't worry. i really don't think he'll be against it.”

When all of those particulars were handled, and you'd agreed to meet him at his office that Friday for details and Gaster's agreement signed on some forms, he watched you leave with a smile of relief. Finally, as the building doors clicked shut behind you, he held the phone up to his ear. A phone that had been silently connected all that time.

“you see? i told you, she's not like what you were worried about….so, what do you think bro? you won't let me help, so will you let her help?”

A tired, whispery-weak voice carried through the speaker in answer. 

“Okay, Sans. Okay. Fine.” 

-

You stared at the person…man…thing…and your heart nearly fell out of your chest. 

It had to be Doctor Gaster. The logical part of your brain repeated it again and again- it had to be Doctor Gaster. He looked too…skeletal to be otherwise, too much like Sans and Papyrus…but like a twisted, nightmarish version of them. 

The two brothers were animated. Even though they appeared physically like skeletons at first glance, there were countless things that differentiated them. For one, their faces were expressive. Malleable, able to grin and frown and laugh. They had thin lips, something like a bridge of a nose, and bright, soft white lights in their eyes that served to show where they were looking and even helped express their emotions, getting brighter and dimmer depending on what they were feeling. They breathed, shifted their weight, fidgeted.

The man at the end of the hallway had none of that. 

What gazed back at you was a shirtless, toothless, expressionless corpse, but worse. His skull was bone-white, and as anatomically correct as if you'd dug up a human body years after it was buried, though cracked almost to pieces in several places. His body- your eyes widened even further when you realized how much of him was exposed -was pitch black, only visible thanks to the dim glow of a crystalline nightlight sitting on a small table at the end of the hallway behind him. It back-lit his lanky, skeletal form…your eyes drifted down to see, almost anachronistically, a towel wrapped around his waist that he was clutching like his very life depended on it with an oversized, strikingly white hand. 

The icing on the fearful cake were his eyes. Unlike the soft white lights of his brothers, he had terribly eerie yellow irises with black pupils in the center. Those eyes now flicked over you, the sockets of the skull widening, and you grimaced involuntarily at the movement that showed so much more darkness behind them.

Shamefully, you were seconds away from bolting. It was just…he was so damn frightening, standing stock-still at the end of a dark hallway looking as he did…but the sight of that towel drew your mind up short. 

What was…?

The duster fell from your hand, the handle clattering loudly to the floor and making you both jump. He blinked rapidly- fascinatingly, he seemed to have something like eyelids. And then, in a voice so soft that it took you a moment to understand what he'd said, he asked, “Excuse me…what day is it?”  

Your voice came out higher than you'd ever heard it. “Um…S-Saturday, sir?” 

“...ah.” 

And then both of you went sprinting in opposite directions- you to the garage, slamming the door behind you, and him toward his bedroom. 

You reached your car, locking the doors and putting your face in your hands, panting with adrenaline. Over and over, you berated yourself in your mind- shame, shameful! The poor man was sick, terribly sick, and you were acting like he was some kind of horrible demon! 

Light made you glance up- in a wave, every single window in the house lit up, and several small lamps along the pathway out front.

Ah…oh dear. Seemingly, the man had forgotten you were supposed to come over that day. Despite your pounding heart and sweaty palms, you had to smile a little- the soft yellow lights transformed the building, turning it from the setting of a spooky story into a softly lit, old-fashioned (in a Monster way) manor house, the gardens well-maintained with a variety of Underground plants and zen-like stone displays. The human side of you was always a little creeped out by the oppressive, constant darkness of the Underground, and the addition of these lovely lights made you realize something-

You had to go in and apologize to him. Both for the sake of good manners, but also for your own conscience. What had your mother always taught you? ‘Your first reaction is what you've picked up from the outside. The second one is the person you choose to be.’

After giving him fifteen or so minutes and taking a few deep breaths for yourself, you got back out of your car. The walk back up to his garage drew your eye- the entire front side of the building was lined with pretty little glowstones in the same yellow as the lights. Another steadying breath carried you through the garage door, and a third got you into the house. You let yourself in, as Sans had told you to, but you did knock on the frame.

“Doctor Gaster? I…I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to…god above, look, can I apologize to you please? I feel terrible.” 

A door further in the house opened; as silent as the grave, the man walked out into his kitchen to meet you. His bare feet made not a sound on the carpeted floor, little eddies of silvery sparkling dust following his footsteps like some kind of deranged glitter. He was dressed comfortably for home in dark pants and a dark, long sleeved and high collared sweater, something between a structured turtleneck and a men's dress shirt. Even as you watched, he winced and immediately tried to hide it, as from one huge hand a tiny sparkle of dust materialized and fell to the floor to join the rest. 

In the light, he was eerie and otherworldly, but not quite as flat-out frightening. Sucking up your courage, you held a hand out, introducing yourself by name. “It's nice to meet you. I'm…I'm really sorry. I haven't acted like that since one of the, um, dog-bunches tried to bullrush me at the park four years ago.” 

He hesitated, wiping his palm surreptitiously down the side of his shirt, and you shook your head. “I don't mind. I have a feeling I'll be covered in it anyway by the end of the day when I'm here. I just…wanted to meet you, you know? I don't want you to think I'm one of those humans.” 

At last, his expression shifted the tiniest bit, from wide-eyed unsurety to a hint of amusement. “...I doubt one of ‘those humans’ would have even taken a client such as myself.” His voice was soft and weak, like someone speaking through a terrible lung illness. He took your hand so gingerly and carefully that it seemed like he was afraid to hurt you, giving it the barest of shakes before pulling back. “But I, ah…I appreciate it all the same. There's nothing to apologize for. My own people fear me.” 

That was sad as all hell. “That's unkind of them. I'm really sorry to hear that, too.” His face stayed steady, but as a Skeleton, he couldn't exactly hide his jaw tightening as another tiny glimmer of dust fell, this time from his temple. “Does that…hurt?”

“Not a bit,” he answered smoothly, the liar. “If we are apologizing, then I must as well. I…lose track of days so easily, anymore. I would have had the lights on for you.” 

Huh. “You can see in the dark?”

He nodded, fidgeting with his sleeve. “As if it were day.” 

“Wow, hey that's kind of cool.” You tried for a smile and found a small one to offer him. The more you talked to him, the more you saw him shift and move, the less like a nightmare creature he seemed. Just…a very, very threatening-looking Monster. 

“A side effect of what did this to me.” At your wince, he put up his hands, grimacing. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound dreary. It is, ah, rather ‘cool’, I suppose.” Judging by how carefully he said it, you doubted the man had ever used the word ‘cool’ to refer to something in his life, though his presentation wasn't exactly elderly. Just…ageless. Like his brothers, though perhaps a young ‘fifty’ to Sans’ forty and Papyrus's early twenties. 

Sighing, you ran a finger along the back of the chair near your hip, rubbing it against your thumb and watching the dust fall in tiny, sparkling motes. “My sister had a chronic illness, M.S. People avoided her because it made her look different, even though her mind was completely unaffected. It trapped her in her body, and everyone could see something was wrong about her, especially when she transitioned to an electric wheelchair.” You looked up at him. “I'm not saying I understand, obviously. My experience with magic starts and ends at what friends have shown me and what I've picked up over the years working. But, well. You know. I empathize.” 

“...had?”

“It was severe. She died twelve years ago.” After a moment, he nodded, those eerie golden eyes tracking across your face as sadness at your explanation came into his gaze. They looked so much more ‘real’ than Sans’ little white lights, like two yellow human irises cut out and floating in a sea of black. You also noticed, standing this close to him, that he'd formed teeth, lips, and tongue out of that same soft yellow magic- perhaps to allow him to speak? Sympathy pinched at your heart. “So yeah. I get it. I'm not scared or grossed out.”

“I'm sorry to hear that she's no longer with you. And…I appreciate that, actually.” He motioned around himself. “This drives me mad. I've developed little cantrips, things to pull it off of clothing and hair, but…it's remarkably resistant to magic, which makes no sense to me.” 

“I'm happy to help. It's what I do. I like cleaning, genuinely.” You laughed softly. “Even though this is certainly an unusual situation.” 

“You're…the owner of your company, why not send someone else?” He sounded genuinely curious. “I'm sure you have better things to do.” 

You considered the most honest answer- that you wanted to ensure it wouldn't hurt someone to be here, and to get a feel for him as a client -and then promptly dismissed it for an equally honest, if not quite as primary, one. “Because I wanted to. Sans is my friend, and he reached out to me specifically. I wasn't going to turn my back on that, was I?”

“I guess not.” His eyes softened somehow; it didn't make him approachable, exactly, but it made him slightly less severe-looking. “Well…thank you. I'm sorry, I…I need to sit down. I don't mean to just leave, but-” 

“You're fine. Shoo, you're in my way anyhow.” You flapped a hand at him, turning back toward the garage door and missing the smile that he raised a hand to cover. “Let me go get my things.”

“Yes, ma'am.”  

Gaster collapsed down in his desk chair, his pounding head in his hands. Another sharp little pinch of pain came from his hip- he ignored it, as he did the hot flash of his magic instantly repairing the damage there. After a moment, he cast a weary glance around; his office was as immaculate as ever, every speck of dust gathered and destroyed before it could so much as sit for a moment. He couldn't handle the whole house, but this room at least would show no sign of the horrible sickness.

The sound of another person nearby was odd, but not unwelcome. As the soft noises of bottles and containers -of a woman picking around his living room- echoed back to him, he sighed. No, it wasn't unwelcome at all. He wasn't so clueless of himself to not realize his own crippling loneliness. Monsters were not made to be solitary, yet here he was, living as a recluse without leaving his house for months at a time. Why would he? His own brothers could barely stand to look at him. His people nearly fled the sight of him- he was wrong, unnatural. Monsters either lived or died when mortally injured, not this bizarre half-life that he'd stabilized into. 

He remembered something then, something he'd made an effort to ensure he'd have for when you arrived. Standing on shaking legs, he opened his office door, clearing his throat and calling, “You're welcome to anything from the keurig that you'd like, take your pick. There's more in the cabinet above than what I have sitting out on the holder.” 

Your voice carried back, terribly polite in its refusal. “Oh, thank you, but-” 

“If you are Sans’ friend, then the usual rules of accepting such things from clients surely don't need to apply. Allow me to show gratitude in this small way.” He wanted to do something for somebody , to have this one tiny way of connecting to another person. “Please. If it's a concern about my condition, I-” 

Your footsteps gave away your approach before you turned the corner into the hallway, interrupting him. “Nope, it's not. Do you like hazelnut?”

For some reason, the question surprised him so much that he answered honestly. “Gods no, it's awful.” He felt himself blush a bit at his candidness, but you only grinned. “Mocha it is, then. Everything else is on a shelf taller than I can reach, move them down for me sometime, alright?”

What else could he say? “O-okay.”

He left his office door open to better hear the sound of you in his kitchen, feeling ashamed of himself. But just the noise of you there soothed him, the sounds of another person close by, a distraction from his situation and the constant research he did into repairing it.

Some minutes passed, and then your voice, “Do you add anything? I see creamer in the fridge…?”

“Oh, ah, yes, please.”

“Got it!” 

Wandering back in, you sat the large mug down on his desk after glancing around the room with interest, having hesitated only a moment in the doorway before entering. “Here you go.”

“You didn't have to-” 

“Of course not, but I wasn't raised so impolitely. Sheesh.” You reached out, doubtless to give some sort of gentle tap or something on his shoulder as you admonished him, and he clenched his teeth to stop himself from leaning toward you as you pulled your hand back before it reached him. ‘Enough. Be grateful that she is already so tolerant, stupid fool. Before you send her screaming for the hills.’

Cocking your head, you stared at the many magical devices that spun, scratched, wobbled, or bounced endlessly on shelves and tables around the room…then nodded to yourself. He wondered what inner agreement you'd come to, but you said nothing, only smiled at him and went back to your work.

The moment you finished, Gaster called you back into his office, holding his hand in front of your face, his finger and thumb pinched together. As he took a step back, you shivered- every single speck of dust followed his hand, tickling terribly as they floated away from you and toward him. When you were completely free of it, he clenched that same fist with an angry, disgusted expression, and the swirling cloud disappeared in a flash of yellow light. 

After a moment spent warring with your own courage, and failing, you abandoned the thought of telling him he shouldn't be so angry at himself for something he couldn't help, and instead said, “It really was easy to clean up. I…this is gonna sound crazy, for the record.”  When he waited, cocking a ‘brow' with interest, you went on. “Well…look, I know humans don't have magic and all. But I swear I could have just pointed at a dust bin, and it would have flowed in as politely as anything. Sans was right. All I had to do was run a cloth over it, and everywhere in a foot space around where I was cleaning would come along. It was the strangest thing.”

He frowned; you'd plainly given him something to think about. “I mean, it does magnetize to itself, but not quite as powerfully as you're saying…interesting.”

“Maybe I'm just persuasive!” You turned to look at one little machine, a delicate magical instrument of some kind made of what had to be wrought silver. “I'm a very determined person, after all.” 

(You missed his eyes widening.)

After making your goodbyes, you carried your things out to your car, then got in, your mind buzzing. Finally, you couldn't stand it anymore- you called Sans as you pulled out of Gaster's driveway. He answered on the first ring, anxiety plain in his voice. “hey, is everything okay? how was it? you good?”

“It was perfectly fine.” Closing your eyes for a moment, you steeled yourself. “He was as polite as you could ask for. But…hey, Sans?”

“yeah?”

“You have to spend more time with him.” The words came spilling out of you, sympathy tugging at you with each memory of the place. “That house is like a grave. And I know it's not my business, I know it's not, I just…I feel terrible. He's as lonely as a sinner at a service.”

The other man stayed quiet for so long that you worried you'd angered him, sticking your nose where it didn't belong. Then, softly. “i know. i really do. i…there's so much wrapped around it all, so much shit to unpack, and…i dunno where to start. neither does papyrus. it's been four years and we barely see each other. hardly ever talk.”

‘It's not your business,’ you thought to yourself, over and over as you pulled out into traffic under the Mountain. ‘You shouldn't just stick your nose in places where it wasn't asked for.’

‘…but it kind of was asked for, wasn't it?’ asked a more traitorous part of your brain. ‘He looked like he wanted to keep you there in a cage, just to have someone else to talk to. He's so lonely, it was written all over his creepy, spooky face.’ 

“Then things can only start from the ground up. Rock bottom and all that, right? I know it's not my business. But…I had to say something. Take something over there to do and just be with him in the house, or anything. Don't…don't make the same mistakes I did. Trust me.” You'd told him once, at a housewarming party the two of you were invited to by separate groups of friends, about your sister. How deeply you regretted not spending more time with her while you could. 

“you're right. fuck, i'll…i’ll talk to paps. it's just…why is it so hard? i could literally just text him right now, on the phone with you…”

“Use me as an excuse. Ask how it went, ask if I was a big ol’ weirdo.” You smiled, unable to help it. “God knows what he'll say, the man looked terrified that I was even there.”

“eh, ‘vaguely alarmed’ is sort of his base nature. don't let it get to ya.” A moment of quiet, then, “i texted him. asked him how weird his first human experience was.”

Your foot jumped; thank god no one was right behind you as you accidentally slammed on the brakes, knocking all sorts of shit off your seats onto the floor of your car. “What? Sans, what?! Why wouldn't you tell me that?!”

His answer came, very contritely. “...would you believe me if i said i forgot to mention it?” 

As you threw your blinkers on to grab some stuff off the floor, you rolled your eyes. “Christ dude. Yeah, I believe you. I just…you know. Would have been a good thing for everyone to be on the same page for.”

“i'm sorry. hand to my soul, i didn't even think about it. hey, at least you're a nice one!” 

“You're a damned menace, my guy.” 

-

Time passed. Weeks blurred into months, as winter thawed and spring started to finally show its face. Saturday mornings with Gaster became a regular part of your life, as he transitioned from hiding in his office to sitting at his kitchen table and talking with you as you worked, and you never even considered passing the job off to one of your people. He was good company, though it was evident that the man was unwell . He tired easily, physically and mentally, often losing track of a thought and having to search for it again. But it was also evident that Sans and Papyrus had taken your words to heart. A puzzle showed up one day on the table, one that he said his brother had worked on with him, smiling softly as he spoke of Papyrus. Another morning, Sans was there, cooking something as he told a story from his work, and soon the entire situation shifted from a work responsibility to one of friendship, though they still insisted on paying you for your efforts. All in all, the slow change was good to see, for in your time spent with the man you'd learned something heartbreaking.

Gaster had barely ever seen the surface. Had barely ever seen the sun. 

Sans didn't know why his brother refused to go to the surface, why he wouldn't let them drive him if he didn't feel well enough to drive himself, or even let Sans take him somewhere directly with one of his strange ‘jumps’. You'd become a bit closer to the shorter skeleton, chatting over text throughout your days, and when he told you that particular tidbit one night, you grimaced. 

You knew why he didn't want to go, or at least could make a good guess.

Because you'd learned a little about Gaster, this past month or two. That his illness was due to a horrible accident, that he'd basically been dragged back to life miraculously when the barrier had been broken. You'd learned, as he told you haltingly one morning, that the famous mage child adopted by the Monster royals had pulled him back into existence with the fleeting power of the fading barrier itself. That it had been agonizing, a ripping, rending scar through reality itself.  

You'd teared up as he told you the story, because it explained so much.

Gaster, deep down, was angry with life. He was angry that he'd been killed by nothing more than a faulty weld and a badly-timed fall on a metal catwalk. He was angry that a lifetime of research and breakthroughs was interrupted, and then, worse, that he'd half-recovered into pain and blurry consciousness that made it so much harder to focus on his work. And all of that anger had turned to sadness, and a weariness of life and light itself…because why would he want to see the sun? A reminder of what everyone else had gotten, free and pure, while he had to suffer. 

So one morning, as you dusted his kitchen counter and chattered over your shoulder at him, you made up your mind. It was easy to say no to family. But to an acquaintance? 

“So I was wondering- you, get in there, stop trying to float away (Gaster watched, bemused, as a little trickle of dust slid down obediently into the dustpan on the floor) -if you'd come along with me on an errand?” 

He frowned, his attention broken. “Hm?”  

“So, I have a very pretty crystalarium that a friend got for me as a present, years ago. It needs to be reenchanted but Gaster, look-” you'd gotten on title-less terms with him over a month and a half ago “-I’ve got to be honest with you. I tried to go last week and chickened out. I know Waterfall is supposed to be beautiful and all, but the guy at the front desk of the Enchanter's Guild looked exactly like a lantern fish, and ocean stuff gives me the creeps. Please come be my moral support?” He wavered, a bite of pie halfway to his mouth as he considered it. “Well…I don't know if I'm the best-” 

“Gaster, he had teeth the size of my arm.” You sat your cloth down and turned to him, gesturing to your own appendage for emphasis. “And his eyeballs…dear god.” You even added a shiver- it was only half an act, for the place really had been creepy beyond belief when you'd gotten halfway through the door and struck sudden inspiration. 

He gave you the oddest look then, completely unreadable on his damaged face. “What? I'm serious! I don't want to be scared of them, I don't want to be a bigot. I just don't want to go by myself either this first time!” ‘Distract, distract, don't let him catch on.’ “You're not thinking bad of me, are you?”

As you'd guessed it would, even the slightest hint that he held any bad will toward you distracted him from a suspicious train of thought. “Of course not. I just…I can't lie, it's rather funny.” 

“Oh, so I'm funny now, I see…” You turned on your heel, finishing a final swipe of his counters with a glare at a last little sparkle of dust that was trying to hide there; it clung to your cloth obediently. 

“My dear woman. The first time you met me, I heard your heart stop- did you know that isn't just a human turn of phrase? I sure didn't, until that moment. And now you are asking me to come along and protect you from the big, scary fish person.” He was smirking now. “It is a little funny.” 

“I mean…okay, yes. In a dark house, in a dark hallway, when I was expecting someone who looked like Sans or Papyrus…you were, perhaps, a tiny bit spooky.” The understatement of the century. “And no I didn't know that, can you hear it right now?” He nodded. “Interesting. But hey, it is what it is, right? My simplistic monkey brain has simply added you right into the ‘vaguely humanoid’ club, now I don't even notice anything. Except for the other week when you were doing something with the lights off in your office, your eyes glow you know. It's terrifying in the dark.” You had him chuckling softly now, one of few times you'd ever heard him laugh, though he raised a hand to cover his mouth. “I mean it! Let me take a picture sometime and show it from my perspective, you'll get it then.” 

He sobered a bit at that, and you could have pinched yourself. “They…weren't always as they are. My eyes, my lips for god's sake, everything was shattered off and out of me. They're just the best version I can recreate with magic.” He winced at a particularly hard dusting in his hand, rubbing at the spot…and it niggled something in the back of your mind. A personal theory you'd been pondering for months. 

For when you had Gaster distracted, talking and entertained…you didn't notice that terrible dusting happening. Didn't notice him flinching in pain. Of course it could have just been purely distraction, but surely conversation with you wasn't so all-encompassing that he didn't feel his body going through its terrible cycle of destruction and repair? 

No. You had a feeling, though you hadn't shared it with anyone yet, that it was connected to Gaster’s state of mind. Or rather, his state of Soul. 

Monsters didn't really seem to have things like physical or mental ailments. For better or for worse, they either got better from the things that hurt them, or they keeled over and died. It was a morbid but efficient state of existence. But…Sans had told you, over drinks one night at a bar you both liked, that his work revolved around ‘Determination’. The measurable human drive to survive and work one’s own will, taken to a level that could affect things magically. 

Your personal theory was that, if he and his brothers were Skeletons that originated in some way from humans, then perhaps they had a touch of that power themselves…and maybe that would make all the difference to Gaster. Maybe, as he had more reasons to live and more things to be interested and invested in, he could find the Determination within himself to end the horrible wasting sickness eating away at his body.

That sudden pinch of damage just now, the moment his mind turned to darker things without a solution or comfort in sight, only fueled your belief. 

Praying that a touch of sincerity wouldn't send him screaming for the hills, you sighed, staring down at the counter as you fiddled with a little decorative statue there- he seemed to collect little things like that. Truth was burning at the back of your teeth, an injustice that you'd thought of again and again these past few weeks as you got to know him better. “It just…doesn't seem fair. All that power, all that power in the barrier or whatever, and it couldn't…I don't know, finish the fucking job?” You motioned at him, missing his surprised look. “Every other Monster gets off scot-free , all seven scrillion of them- every weird damn thing and shape and creature and god knows what else -and one single person couldn't be helped like, the whole way? It's just so senseless!” 

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at the table with what you'd have sworn was the faintest, barely visible golden blush in his cheeks…and then he looked up at you. 

“When do you want to go to the Guild?” 

It horrified him to realize that he was nervous to leave his house. That the quiet noise of traffic made him anxious and jumpy, the sight of so many people making his stomach cramp. It wasn't normal, it wasn't him, and he didn't really know how to fix it besides the obvious answer, which equally scared him.

But you were a bright spot beside him, chattering away about this and that- stories of your friends and employees, gossip of the businesses you cleaned that weren't confidential -and it helped. You helped. 

He'd realized, with no small measure of disdain for himself some weeks ago, that he had a fondness for you beyond friendship. That he looked forward to your visits as eagerly as a dog awaiting a gentle hand. When you'd given him your number, accompanied by an invitation to ‘not be a stranger’, his Soul had flipped and flopped in his chest like a cavefish out of water. ‘Not like that, fool,’ he'd thought at himself, over and over…but it hadn't stopped the feeling all night. 

The worst was when he pulled the dust off you after every visit. You invariably squirmed, giggling at the sensation, and he wanted to feel your laughter against his (shattered, broken, nonexistent, destroyed) lips so badly that it choked him sometimes. He missed having a partner, the feeling of a woman in his arms. He missed holding her and kissing her, and feeling her laughter against him and her hands in his.

Were the feelings overinflated by loneliness? Probably, you were one of very few people he saw regularly, save for his brothers and, oddly, the Queen, who had begun inviting herself over weekly as a sort of two-person book club that he didn't dare refuse. But he also couldn't deny that, in his life before, you were exactly his type. Quick with humor, quick to get over anger, dependable, well-mannered…intelligent. Kind. Open-minded and logical, yet still prone to the occasional fancy…

Fine. He'd admit it, staring out the window as you described your new neighbor’s recent escapades. At seventy-eight fucking years old, Gaster had a crush.

“...serious! There I am, drinking my coffee at six o’clock in the damn morning, only to look out my window and see the two of them naked as the day they were born, plastered up against their window and going at it like they were about to die.”

He shook his head a little, trying to figure out how you'd gotten from a story about an annoying supplier to that. You giggled, taking it as a reaction. “Right? Look, all I'm saying is that human men need to watch the hell out. Out of all my girlfriends, literally only one is with a human, and they were married before you all showed up. Now even my neighbor is seemingly shacking up with a, um…some type of vaguely fishy-looking gentleman, look it is a lot to keep track of sometimes.” 

He raised a mollifying hand, grinning. “It's a lot for any of us to keep track of as well. No Monster will claim to understand the nuances of absolutely every single other one. Sometimes a totally new and unique type will just appear, and then they get the honor of naming themselves. But goodness, breakfast and a show?”

“You know what Sans said, when I texted him? ‘free showing of shape of water and you didn't even record it for me?’ like MAN NO NOT MY NEIGHBOR, you PERV!”

Snickering, Gaster shrugged . “Del Toro would never.”

“I dunno. The one in that movie is pretty damn inhuman. Hot, but like, you know. In a watery way. Oh look, we're here…god help me, wait, Gaster what if he works here?!” You turned to him, half joking and half serious, your eyes dancing. “How can I possibly stand there and act normal after what I saw this morning?! It was explicit.”

“Ah, such a small-minded human, to assume an aquatic Monster would work at a location in Waterfall.” He knew you well enough to risk a gentle tease- in return, you stuck your tongue out. 

As you stated to get out, he held a finger up. “A moment.” Then he focused, casting the spell from the top of his head to the soles of his feet in his shoes, seeing the bright flashes of the runes through his closed eyes. 

“Hmm? What was that?”

“A containment spell. I cannot hold it for very long; I told you once, some time ago, that the damn stuff doesn't listen to magic easily. But it should be enough to not scare people beyond…well, you know. How I look.” 

You scoffed, making him glance at you. “What?” 

“Oh just the idea that any Monster would cast some sort of look on another, when to my eye, at least, you're one of the most normal ones. Weird black bones and head cracks and all. After all, at least we were made in god’s own image, right?” 

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop his grin- he knew you were trying to get him to laugh. “Damned racist.” 

And then he nearly did laugh aloud, for once the two of you got inside, you did a double take at one of the guild members within and nearly dropped the crystal bowl you held in your arms. He looked where you did- a tall, well-built aquatic Kelpie monster stood there, talking easily with one of the other guild members. Before his very eyes, you flushed from your chest to your hairline, looking anywhere but at the other man…and something rotten and fun took hold of him in a way it hadn't in years.

“Guildsman? My friend could use your assistance.”

As you made a tiny, choked noise of horror, the other man looked up and immediately realized who he was. Tripping over himself in his rush, he skidded to a stop in front of Gaster, bowed with wide eyes to the Royal Scientist, then turned to you and did the same. All Gaster could do then was stand back and pinch himself through his pants leg to keep from laughing; you were a stuttering, blushing mess, and no doubt the man thought you were terribly interested in him. Of course, he made it worse when he turned to you and murmured just a bit too loudly, “I say, didn't you tell me you recognized him?”  

That led into another fifteen minutes of conversation, once the Kelpie had realized that you were his girlfriend's neighbor.

By the time the two of you reached your car again, clutching your newly-enchanted crystalarium like a life jacket, he'd barely gotten his door closed before you turned on him.

“Rotten, evil wretch of a man! Nasty shithead Skeleton!” You poked him in the arm as you berated him, and Gaster could hardly breathe through his laughter! Never would he have expected to see you so flustered. “Terrible! Terrible terrible terrible! You're so bad, oh my god!” 

“Oh the look on your face-” he lost what he'd been saying, putting his face in his hands and nearly crying laughing as you swatted at him in outrage. 

Finally, when he'd caught his breath and you'd resorted to pouting against the window, he snuck a peek at you, and nearly began to cackle again at your glare. “You are every bit as bad as Sans. Every single bit, I will never believe anybody that tells me that you are the big, responsible, important science person. You are an awful shithead, and just for this, you owe me lunch.”

He stuttered, some of the amusement leaving him, but you put a hand on his arm, gently this time, and it distracted him as thoroughly as anything in his life ever had. “Don't worry, we'll get takeout. I'm sure you're tired after everything today. And thank you for coming along with me, despite other evil ideas. You made it much easier to be there.”

“Well…alright. That's only fair, I suppose. And it was funny. Where do you want to go?” 

“Oh, a cafe right near the entrance to the mountain. She does amazing paninis, is that okay with you?” Your face was bright with silliness and happiness as you asked it, wiggling your phone with some random human restaurant website pulled up, and any anxiety he felt at leaving the Underground fell away, if only for that moment.

“Here, let me see the menu.”

As the two of you sat in the sun in a random parking lot, you picking mushrooms out of your sandwich and him eating them as you discovered them, he realized he was happier than he'd been in a long, long time. It became a regular thing for him to look forward to. Every Saturday morning, you would finish removing the week's traces of dust from his house, and then the two of you would go get takeout at some human restaurant or another and eat it in your car…and it was wonderful. 

When Sans called you before seven some weeks later, you knew something was wrong. The man barely got up before noon if he could help it, and that was no exaggeration at all. On a Saturday morning? It was unheard of.

“Hey, good mornin’-” you yawned, rubbing your eyes “-what's up?” 

“hey, today won't be a good day. don't worry about going over to his place at all.”

“What?” You sat up in bed, the tiredness leaving you. Just the night before, Gaster had been shyly texting you about how excited he was for something he'd been working on the past few months, a potential aid to help stop the cycle of damage and restoration in his body that he was going to test overnight.

So why did Sans sound so upset?

“whatever he was working on, i guess it didn't go well. he barely got the words out before he hung up on me. wanted me to tell you not to come too. i was gonna make us all breakfast this morning. so yeah, just…give him time. he sounded pretty angry.”

You frowned. That didn't sound like the man you knew at all, soft-spoken and soft-mannered as he was. Even as you thanked Sans and hung up, you got out of bed and headed toward the shower, berating yourself half the time for yet another bout of nosiness and encouraging yourself for the other. 

You'd learned by now that Sans and Papyrus wouldn't push back on their older brother. Respect, nerves, and a long separation had left too much of a canyon there to cross. 

Luckily, you were feeling bold that morning.

-

He didn't answer your text around nine, nor did he answer your knock at the garage door. When you let yourself in, calling for him, his voice was tight. Clipped. “Today isn't the best time, I do apologize. Please go home, we can resched-” 

“I didn't come to see your house, I came to see you, dummy. What's wrong? Sans said something bad happened, but wouldn't say what.” As you got closer, you heard him scoff quietly. “Don't give me that, you're my friend for God's sake. If something is wrong, I want to help!”

He didn't answer, and you turned the corner into his office to a horrible sight. 

The room, usually immaculate, literally glittered with dust in the low lamplight, scattered from one side of the room to the other.  And while you watched, Gaster, posed halfway to standing as if to get up and stop you, or maybe to shut the door entirely, flinched hard as an entire visible part of his skull sheared off, falling to the ground in a shimmering pile even as the bone instantly repaired itself. 

It was the worst you’d ever seen his condition. He had a small open bottle of glimmering gold liquid on the desk in front of him amongst multiple other supplies, some human medical things and some esoteric monster tools that you didn't understand. He was shirtless, and by the look of him, had plainly been trying to apply the liquid in the bottle to places on his upper body when you walked in.

“Oh my god, oh my god! Gaster, what happened?!”

He set his jaw. “Nothing. Go. I'll talk to you another time.” His hands were shaking; there were drops of the medicine spilled all over the desktop, and more on his lap. It was obvious that he couldn't get it onto himself in his current state.

You took a step closer. “What? No, come on, let me help you-”

“Why would you even want to?!” You'd never heard him angry before. Hell, you'd never even heard him raise his voice. “Why bother?!”

Fear for the man mixed with irritation at his self-depreciation, making you more truthful than you'd meant to be. It wasn't a measured, calm response that left you as you covered the room in three steps, grabbed one of his large hands in your own, and a piece of gauze with the other. “Because I care about you! Because you've been nothing but kind to me, and you're my friend, and because it isn't right, and because it's not fair-” 

Your own voice was rising, but then you saw it- a part of the bone of his arm began to glimmer, literally a split second from turning to dust and falling, and tears of frustration and pain welled up in his eyes at the sensation. You glared at the spot, all the anger and worry in your heart combining together into what was, objectively, a stupid thing to say. “-and would you KNOCK THAT OFF?! Stay where you fucking BELONG!”

…

…but perhaps there was a small miracle left in the tired world that day. For as you both stared at the long wound, the dust paused…and solidified, slowly. Sulkily. As if it didn't really want to, but would because you'd yelled at it so loudly, and it wanted to shut you up. 

Gaster's jaw dropped open. 

You felt faintly nauseous yourself, scared and upset and worried and terribly fond of the man before you, as if every bit of affection for him that you'd felt faint hints of during your time togther was suddenly rushing back into you in that very moment…but you swallowed it all down and took a deep breath. 

There'd be time for that. 

Maybe. 

Possibly.

Now that you looked, you could see them, spread out like lesions up his arms, ribs, neck, and even onto his head. Glimmering sores- places where no doubt his body was trying to turn to dust, places where he'd been trying to apply that golden liquid metal but was shaking too hard to do so. He'd only gotten two or three, and there were dozens. “Now,” -god above, your voice sounded as weak as old wine- “Now. Let me help you. Please.” 

The back of his other hand hit the table with a dull ‘thud’. The one in your grasp went limp. 

As you carefully, carefully put a few drops of the medicine onto a piece of gauze at a time, you felt oddly…light. Floaty. You didn't know what was happening, what strange power had taken hold between the two of you- the air felt charged, heated and exciting. Each time one of those awful lesions started to shine, you'd put medicine on it as gently as you could (the man hissed at each touch like it was a blade), then move onto the next one you saw. It might have taken half an hour, maybe longer. There weren't as many as they had initially seemed, just several spots that were larger than you were used to ever seeing on him. 

As the morning slowly passed, and you'd applied more and more of the medicine, it occurred to you distantly (perhaps even a little hysterically) that in the right light, in the right setting, without the pain and suffering attached…there was something bizarrely artistic-looking about it all. The liquid truly appeared to be room-temperature molten gold, clinging in a solid layer to his ink-black bones and leaving what almost looked like brush marks of metallic paint behind. 

It surprised you, though you didn't know why, for you'd shook he and his brother's hands before and had even hugged Sans a few times in a friendly way, to feel just how warm he was to the touch. Almost hot, like the side of a furnace. This close, the magic forming the lost parts of his body was plainly visible. You could see the facial features that he'd lost to the accident, overlaid on his bone with golden magic that was perhaps over-bright from the heightened emotion of the moment. 

And then you saw something else. Something that shouldn't have affected you at all if you were thinking with your brain instead of your heart…as it was, you had to sit the bottle down for a second lest it slip from your fingers. 

The liquid within was the exact same color as his eyes. 

Or rather, up close, his eyes looked like liquid gold themselves, the irises literally swirling as if they really were liquid within. You'd thought they were frightening- they still could be, from a distance in the dark. But up close like this?

“You have beautiful eyes.” It was half impulse and half a desire to give him something else to think about besides the pain of whatever had happened, and the compliment plainly staggered him. Blushing, you shrugged one shoulder. “I know I've said they can be spooky, and I know you don't like them, but…the gold is really pretty, up close. I never realized that's what they really were until now.”

You stared at him for a moment longer as he stared back at you, dumbfounded, before shaking yourself out of your fascination and focusing back on the task at hand, doing your best to ignore how his breath had caught at your words. 

One particularly long sore that stretched over four entire vertebrae behind his ribs was so painful that Gaster tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling rather than let you see him tear up as you touched a medicated piece of gauze to it. The sight almost made you tear up in sympathy yourself; hadn't you seen his brother do the exact same thing, all that time ago when he'd first approached you about cleaning for Gaster?

“Hey…I'm not going to judge you or anything. I can't even imagine what this feels like, but I'm sure it's horrible.”

It took him a moment to find his voice, once the medicine was applied. “...it's not great.”

After a little while passed, you couldn't help but ask, “Why not let one of your brothers do this? Why try and suffer through it by yourself?”

When he wouldn't answer, you shook your head. “Ahhh…because you're used to being the powerful person in charge, right? The W.D. Gaster, director and head researcher…but none of those things make it immoral for you to need help.” He looked down, staring at his hands in his lap rather than meeting your eye, and you knew you were right. “No one can be the untouchable, unshakable family member every second of their life. We all have to depend on each other. Wouldn't it make you happy if one of them reached out to you for help with something like this? Wouldn't it make you feel like they trusted you?”

He didn't say anything aloud…but he did nod, at least. You moved to a new area, one of the last you could see. “Then you should give them the same opportunity. Let them love you. I know they want to.”

“...I hate this.” His voice came out of a cracked whisper. “That I can't control it, that I can't fix it. That I can't figure out why it's happening, and they have to see me hurt after being gone for so long. I want to be with them, and I can't even bring myself to leave the fucking house.” 

Oh, fuck it. You carefully put medicine on the last few places, closed the bottle carefully, then sat it aside, leaned down, and hugged him as gently as you possibly could. He'd hoarsely assured you earlier that there were none on his back, but you took no chances, running your fingertips very carefully over the bones there in search of any rough places. Just in case. 

In answer, he hesitated for a moment, then gave in, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, breathing in deeply like he was breathing in your perfume. He was tall enough while seated that he could do so, his entire torso going limp against you like he was starved for the contact while he pressed the hard bones of his face to your skin. His breath was warm, his hands desperate where they clutched your shirt, as if afraid to let go of you- you'd expected them to feel sharp, his fingertips coming to pretty severe points, but a quick glance showed you a veneer of magic over them, just like what he had over his face. That touched you. Even as upset as he was, he was trying his best not to hurt you.

This close, you noticed, under the faintly incense-like scent of the golden medicine, that he smelled rather nice. Like the lingering remnants of yesterday's cologne, or perhaps just a well-chosen body wash of some kind. After a few moments you shifted a little, and he instantly started to withdraw…but you held onto him. “Just getting comfortable,” you murmured into the side of his head. “I tweaked my hip this morning, trying to get something off the floor. Isn't that the stupidest thing?” 

His laugh was a bit weak but it was still a laugh, and it carried through to his gentle admonishment. “Be careful. What shall I do without you?” 

You thought to yourself, not for the first time, that the man had a wonderfully handsome voice. Tired, yes. Always. But warm and smooth, easy to listen to. A half-step to the left let you sit down on the edge of his desk, pulling his head in against the front of your shoulder as he shifted to sit between your legs, leaning in to hold you as tightly as he could…and you couldn't help but realize how enormously screwed you were.

Because you didn't want to let go of him. Not now…and maybe, whispered a romantic voice in your mind, not ever. 

But was it even possible for him to feel the same way about you?

Chapter Text

Something changed between the two of you after that horrible Saturday morning. A feeling of…waiting. Of expectation.

You'd spent the rest of the day there, making lunch and watching trashy dating shows next to him on the couch, helping him when the side effects of the magical substance he'd imbibed the night before flared up again.

“I don't understand,” he'd murmured, wincing as another lesion flared up on his palm, circling around the sharp-edged hole there, then another on his highest vertebrae. “The decoction was for stability, for the restoration of strength. Why would it ever react this way?” 

Sitting cross legged on the coffee table, you’d shrugged, pulling him down so you could reach the spot on his neck as he pulled his shirt out of the way. “I dunno. Devil's advocate says it's working exactly as described. It stabilized all these potential spots into existence, and made them much stronger and worse than they've ever been before. Let's just hope it wears off, eh?” 

That had left him so perturbed that he'd said nothing for the next hour or so, lost in thought but still gagging along with you as two of the contestants on the love island fucked each other atop the shared coffee bar. 

Luckily, it had worn off eventually, though after a day of trying to deal with it himself once you'd gone home, Gaster had relented and called Papyrus. You’d have happily gone over to help him again, but soon were glad that you hadn't- he’d texted you a scant hour after Papyrus’s arrival bitching about his brother’s helicopter-style caretaking. You could only grin, telling him to suck it up and deal with it. The young man had four years of concern built up inside himself, and Gaster would just have to tolerate the familial love and care. By that night, the effect of whatever he'd taken had ended, leaving him no better and no worse than before.

When the following Saturday morning arrived, you awoke to a text asking if you would mind accompanying him to pick up a box set of books. On the surface. One that, you realized, he would have to get out of the car to walk in and get. You were so excited that you nearly fell out of bed, doing your best to play it cool over the phone. 

So maybe you put a little more effort into your appearance that morning than you usually did when you went over. You'd stopped wearing your work uniform weeks ago, once it was clear that the two of you had become friends. He was a texture person, from the incredibly soft spider silk duvet on his bed (that made you disgustingly jealous) to the thin, velvety sweaters he liked to wear over his other clothing, sweaters that, for your life, you couldn't figure out the material of. So perhaps you went into your closet and found the softest, drapiest top that you owned, wearing your hair in a loose style rather than its usual high, tight work bun. 

He was waiting for you at the door when you arrived, the first time he'd ever done so- and were the lights outside just a little brighter? There was a quiche in the fridge courtesy of Sans, apparently, and you served the two of you each a slice while Gaster sat at the kitchen table, one hand under an odd, pendulum-like magical device as he took quick notes with the other. You hummed under your breath, impressed, when he switched hands and continued writing easily. 

Once everything was done in the kitchen and living room besides vacuuming the floor, you went over to him, gazing over his shoulder; he smiled up and back at you for a moment. It was a trick of magic, the illusion of features over his face moving with the bone underneath to reflect what he once would have been able to do normally. It would have scared the bejesus out of you four months ago. Now, it only made you feel warm and fuzzy and silly inside. “Whatcha got there?”

“Auditing my body thetans out.” He said it so smoothly and nonchalantly that it took you a moment to realize he was smirking at you from the corner of his eye- you buffeted his shoulder lightly with a snort, earning a regal look of disdain. “Humph, abuse, when all I'm expressing is a fascination with human cults.” 

“You know the weirdest shit, I swear. Well forgive me, warlord xenu, but I'd like to vacuum if it won't interrupt your lordship too badly.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. And honestly, I'm simply measuring the magical resistance in all of the hundreds of pressure points in my hands. It's slow, tedious work, trying to map the dissolution and predict its pathway based on spikes in ambient power. You won't bother me.” 

“Could I help at all?” 

He shook his head. “I appreciate it, no. I'd need a second device, and you would need to have magical capabilities.”

Huh. There was the beginning of an idea forming in the back of your mind, ever since the accident with the magical decoction he'd made. “So, maybe a dumb question, can't Sans help? I'm pretty sure he would.” 

He hesitated only the barest second before answering, his voice smooth, “Unfortunately, no. This isn't something his abilities would lend themselves well to, and he would get upset that he couldn't do more.”

You narrowed your eyes as he went back to writing; he was lying to you. Or at least, he was omitting something. Something important.

After you finished, the two of you drove up to the bookstore he'd found. Soon, he was happily thumbing through the first pages of one of the books as you both sat in your car and ate burgers at a local park. A stray acorn bouncing down onto your windshield made you jump, interrupting you as you watched a video on your phone. He reached over without looking up, smoothing a hand over your arm to calm you, then, mindlessly, tangling his fingers in your own. Your heart flipped in your chest, both at the touch, and at the way you could see him fighting back a smile from the corner of your eye. 

Maybe…maybe those feelings you'd been trying to ignore weren't as unrequited as you'd thought, if he was making such a sweet little first move. After a few minutes, you shifted, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder as you paused your video. Almost immediately, he rested his down against yours. 

“I'm glad I met you.” You said it quietly, not wanting to disturb the little bubble of peace surrounding the two of you. The early spring sun was warm through your windshield; bird song came through the windows that you'd lowered a little when you'd parked. His hand tightened around yours. “I really am.” 

“...so am I.” His voice rumbled under your ear, low and happy. “I never thought…well. I'm a foolish man. You could fill a library with the things I've never thought of.” 

Some other time, you knew, there'd be worries for the future, big and small ones. What a relationship with a Monster looked like. What a future together could look like.

…if Gaster had a future at all.

But those things could wait, for the time being. 

A week later, Sans invited you out for a drink. It was obvious that he had something he wanted to say- he started to, over and over, cutting himself off each time -but when you'd finally questioned him, he only hesitated…and shook his head. 

“i dunno. just, well…” He drained his drink, then looked up at you. “my brother has a lot of people that still care about him. i just…thought you should know that.”

Then he'd immediately changed the subject, getting the bartender involved in a funny story about something that had happened at his work, and you'd spent hours that night laying in bed, fairly certain that you knew what he'd been hinting at. 

His life felt like a dream. Gaster flitted from thing to thing, daring the occasional, aimless drive by himself- short, he didn't have the stamina for longer than that -or just sitting and thinking. He tinkered, trying this and that idea to repair his painful, constant condition…but he just couldn't seem to summon the focus for all of it anymore. 

No, his Soul was rapt on you. 

When the two of you weren't together, you were texting each other, and he cherished each one. Especially the occasional time that you called him something sweet- sweetheart, dear, sweetie. You called him one night, yelling to be heard over the noise of a bar in the background and asking for an answer to a science trivia question. He'd given it, bemused, and it sounded like the entire room erupted into cheers behind you. A random woman shouted, “Thank you, mysterious science boyfriend!” and he’d smiled the rest of the night over it.

Each time the Queen showed up for her weekly quiet reading times with him in his backyard the past few weeks, she’d started bringing company- one or two elder members of her court each visit. Monsters who'd seen it all and weren't impressed. At first, he’d balked at the uninvited guests, especially as they helped themselves to his hospitality as thoroughly as locusts. Yet where did he find himself, one Tuesday morning, but surrounded by a group of three stately old women- a Goose, a Wispurr, and a Lumimoth -as he nervously told them about another of your visits. The first time you'd come on a day other than a Saturday…it felt important, somehow, even though the two of you had just spent the day reading and watching nonsense on youtube.

The Wispurr, Lady Amelia, cackled, her whiskers quivering. “Good gods above, he invites a woman to nest at his home for months, and is surprised when she starts moving in?” The others joined her laughter. “Just you wait. Soon, she'll be bringing you little presents, things that she just ‘happened to find’, but they make your house more comfortable for her, not for you. Then you'll know you're stuck with her. This is the danger of letting women clean for you, we get terribly territorial.” 

The Goose, he hadn't caught her name, brushed a bit of dust off her knee without so much as glancing at it- he wasn't sure what to make of that. “Annnnnd no doubt she'll start to dress you. It's that first piece of clothing that gives young girls away!”

“Ah, but surely there is some difference, she is human-” 

“Fa!” The Lumimoth, a duchess of some old holdings in Home, gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I'll bet lady rats bring home fine cheeses and pillow stuffing to their boy rats, women are all the same. Take it from an old, miserable one.” They'd all tittered at that, as if she’d said something terribly funny, and Gaster could only sip his coffee in vague confusion. Then the Queen had joined them, and talk turned to matters of the kingdom. 

He'd realized, late that night as he lay in bed, that Toriel had efficiently forced him back into politics as neatly as a cornered rabbit. He couldn't refuse her arrival, nor could he turn away her ever-changing entourage of guests- guests from the older circles of Monster politics, who might not be so fearful of a condition like his. By forcing him to host those weekly gatherings, disguised as a chance to read and sip tea, he'd been caught back up on most major developments as thoroughly as if he still attended high council meetings. 

When he questioned her on it during her next visit, feeling particularly bitchy with pain (despite her own body and magic being the source of the golden medicine that helped soothe him each time an experiment failed), she'd faced his ire with a serene smile, her hands crossed demurely on her lap. 

“A ship cannot fight the wind, my child, nor the currents of life around her. She can only follow the path being laid, and pray for sunlight at the end of the storm.”

Then she'd gone back to sipping her tea, turning a page in her book and leaving Gaster there thoroughly confused and as deflated as a forgotten balloon. A moment later, a voice rang out from inside his house.

“Gaster? Are you in?” 

That had led to introductions between you and the Queen, who greeted you graciously and asked polite questions about your business. Then she'd cast an interested eye at the bag in your hand. 

“Oh, this?” You reached in, pulling out a pretty little diffuser in a box, the kind that made a fine mist and could have scent added to it. “Well, I was already in the store, and it's just so dry inside his house, so I thought perhaps we- he would…” 

He blinked slowly as you prattled away with your explanation. Moments later, you reached down to take something from your purse, explaining how you'd just so happened to see it on the shelf while you'd been out shopping for something else, and so here was a little crystal cat you’d found that so perfectly matched his other cut crystal statues…

Toriel gave him the most smug, knowing smile he'd ever seen when you weren't looking.

Once you'd left some time later, after an evening spent snuggled into his side on the couch in a way that left him warm all over, he'd noticed a little piece of paper that had fallen from your purse. It was a receipt...the diffuser and the cat statuette were the only two things on it. He crumpled it in his hand, feeling terribly flattered.

Then you showed up on a Friday night with a bottle of wine, a pizza, and a men's cashmere sweater that you'd ‘just so happened to find, so rare these days to find genuine cashmere so of course you had to get it’...and Gaster almost didn't know what to do with himself. He'd never been courted like this, slow and sweet. Monsters were straight forward and outspoken- if you'd asked, he'd have said yes until he ran out of breath.

But you didn't ask aloud. Instead, you draped the sweater over his hands, commenting shyly that the deep emerald green shot through with the occasional thread of soft yellow had reminded you of him.

He put it on immediately, smoothing his hands again and again over the incredibly soft weave…the diffuser sat on the coffee table in his living room, misting away as you handed him a slice of pizza and a glass of chardonnay. 

It was a terrible combination.

He wanted to kiss it from your lips. 

-

“Why does it stay around your house…but disappears when it's cleaned up?”

“Hm?” He was sitting next to you on a wicker bench in his backyard, admiring the twinkling crystals of the Capital's distant cavern roof. Tomorrow would be the Spring Equinox, a day of power…if he’d had any left. Nowadays, nearly all of his magic was being used by his body to repair the damage the dusting did. He doubted he could even light one of the needfires that began such rituals, now. 

“The dust. Why does it stay around until I clean it up, but disappears so soon afterward?” You were cracking apart sugar cookies, tossing the crumbs to the tunnel mice gathered around your feet, smiling at their blind eyes and huge, glowing ears. “Sans had said it would, from the very beginning, but I've never understood why.”

“No one really does. Some believe that it acts as a marker, so the family and friends of the one who fell may find the place and remember them there.” He used his toe to nudge a large crumb toward a particularly thin little creature. 

“Huh.” Some minutes passed, and you'd moved on to a chocolate chip, earning squeaks of eagerness from the tunnel mice, before you spoke again. “It's beautiful here. I've never really gotten to enjoy the underground, I usually just come down for work. Sure, I've seen the museum in the capital. But I've never just…sat. It's peaceful.”

Smiling, he marked his page with a finger, putting an arm around your shoulders and inwardly grinning with happiness as you leaned into his touch. He'd been so nervous that afternoon in your car. Now, he barely had to reach for you and you came to him, hugging him close like he was something dear and precious to you. 

“It is peaceful. Quiet, compared to the surface. Not that I'm ungrateful. I'm just glad to have both options.”

“You'd like my place, I think. I'm off in the woods a ways, in the hills north of the city. Just me and my cat. You should come over sometime.”

…

The next morning, he woke to a frantic series of texts that had come through around three the night before.

‘Gaster dear god in heaven, I swear I didn't know the whole Monster thing with women inviting men over to their houses when they’re together’

‘I mean, I'm not like, upset because I don't like you or anything, of course not, I like you very much’

‘But Sans nearly spit his beer out on me earlier after I told him, and the whole table was laughing at me, and then his jeweler friend Jaqlyn asked if she should start working on the rings, and why didn't you say anything????’

He smirked, sitting down the device he'd been calibrating and picking up his phone 

‘Ah, good morning. Because I was fairly certain you didn't mean it that way. Unless you did, in which case there's an awful lot of discussions on traditions and customs to be had. I haven't even received a pebble from your home garden yet, you hussy. I'm offended. How shall I know your intention?’

When you called moments later, berating him through giggles and moaning about embarrassment, he put his chin in his hand, grinning, and let his mind wander. 

Did you have any more serious intentions with him? Surely you did. For the past few weeks, ever since that afternoon in your car, the two of you had grown closer, going from the occasional shy touch to regularly sitting curled against each other. Just the night before, he'd fallen asleep beside you on the couch after going inside, and woken with his head pillowed in your lap while you traced his features. Sleepy and thoughtless with it, he'd focused enough on his lips to make them tangible, pressing a kiss to your fingertip. He'd felt your quick little inhale against the top of his head before you'd cupped his cheek, running your thumb under his eye. 

“You terribly sweet thing…” you'd murmured, your voice affectionate. “I bet you went through women like water.” 

He'd grinned sleepily, not denying your statement as he nestled down into your thighs, and your soft laugh jostled him comfortably. You weren't wrong, but it hadn't been malicious. He'd just never found the right one. 

He'd thought he had, once, dating her for a year. But it had always felt that she liked the royal scientist more than she liked the man behind him. Walking in on her one day with a newly promoted magistrate had confirmed it- she'd been hunting for notoriety and titles, not love. That had been just a few months before he'd fallen. 

The sound of his name drew him back to the present- you were asking him something.

“Sorry?” 

“I said , would you want to come over, in a non-proposal way? Like, for dinner? Call it a Spring Equinox celebration.” 

He hesitated. “ ...your house will look like it's covered in glitter in barely an hour.” 

“So be it. That doesn't sound like a no to me.” A pause. “I'll make stuffed mushrooms for youuu. Even got the nastiest, stinkiest blue cheese that the deli had.”

Grinning, he sat back, staring at the ceiling. “You know me terribly well, it's an unfair advantage. Yes, I would love to come over. In an un-marriage-y way, wow, how scandalous.” 

“Ah, don't make promises you might not be able to keep, I have multiple friends that demand this recipe at every holiday party they invite me to. You might find yourself dreaming of rings and roses.” You were giggling, doing something in the background as you talked, and Gaster bit his lip. 

‘Would you guess that I already have? Several times, in fact.’ “I take it you're hinting at this evening?”

“Yup.” 

“...well, alright. Sure. I would love to.”

The address you gave was surprisingly close, just a few miles east of the entrance to the Mountain, skirting the edge of the state park that made up the surface of the Monster kingdom. Even for his weary bones, it wasn't too strenuous of a drive. 

He turned down your offer of a ride, then, once you'd hung up, covered his face with his hands and laughed like a mad thing, giddy from his head to his toes. Oh it was so scandalous. Perhaps Monsters who had immediately moved to the surface were more cosmopolitan about such things, but he was an old-fashioned creature. It was one of his favorite tropes in Monster romance stories, the woman becoming so overwhelmed with passion that she would somehow trick or force the man into her home long before propriety said such things should be done, sometimes resorting to kidnapping or convoluted schemes to get her lover into her bed. And of course said lover was always nearly starving to be there, bound only by custom and propriety never to step foot over her threshold once they were more than friends…

He doubted the evening would end in such a way, the two of you had never done so much as kiss…but it was fun to imagine. 

He wondered, too, how heart pounding fear of his appearance had turned into romantic feelings. Perhaps it was as you'd said, once; human women just seemed to have a thing for Monsters. He knew what he liked about you, physically. The taut smoothness of your skin, feeling somehow stretched yet soft. The interesting texture of your hair, bouncy and fun on the rare times that you let it curl after washing it. The curve of your body, tempting in how it invited the eye to glide over it, so much like his own form but smooth and rounded with fat and muscle. The bounce of your breasts, the lovely roundness of your ass. His previous partners had never been so near to him in shape. 

It must have been a very strange sensation, to just have every body part all the time, constrained only by clothing- he’d often wondered how more corporeal Monsters and humans could stand it. Personally, his preference for his own translucent yellow, magically-overlaid appearance changed depending on his mood and his partner. Some women liked to play with a man's stones while they held his length, some liked to run their tongue over his nipples as they rode him, some wanted an ass to squeeze…

He realized the direction of his own mind and rolled his eyes to himself- he didn't even know if he had the magical power to do such things anymore. So much of it was being used just to keep him alive… stars above, he hadn't even thought of sharing a bed with another for so long. Just the effort of reforming his facial features could be tiring after a few hours, though you'd previously told him to stop doing so for only your own sake.

(“It doesn't bother me. I mean yes, I like talking to you. But if we're just sitting here? Relax, ooky-spooky Skeleton.”)

Well…so be it. Life had foiled him every time he'd tried to walk into the future with a plan before. He'd go to your home with no expectations, and whatever happened, happened. 

…the thought still thrilled him.

The moment he arrived at your door, you pulled him in and shoved him down into a chair in your living room, depositing a long-haired black cat in his arms. “Here, this is Loofa. Pet her so she stays off the counter while I cook.”

He grinned, stroking a hand over the little creature,  touched by how she immediately bunted her head up into his palm. “I thought cats were supposedly standoffish?” 

“All but that defective one.” You smiled, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen for a moment as you gazed at him. “What?” 

“Oh, nothing.” 

He looked around the room when you disappeared. It was made for comfort- a plush couch, a tempting daybed in the corner under the window, two cozy chairs. You had music playing softly, and the warm lamps made the room feel private and inviting. The packed floor to ceiling bookshelf to his right next to the daybed made his fingers itch, but he'd have to wait to explore it; the creature in his lap had begun kneading his legs with her claws, somehow perfectly finding his femurs and pricking him through the fabric of his pants. He didn't have the heart to stop her - the silly thing was already drooling with happiness at his attention. 

You flitted in and out of the room several times, bringing with you a little something each time you did. First was a mixed drink, something light and carbonated, with a taste he didn't recognize. When he questioned you, your eyes lit up. “Coconut, it's a tropical human fruit. Oh we're going to have so much fun , I bet there's so many things you haven't gotten to try. ” 

The next few times you came with little plates, each bearing something interesting- a chicken and cheese empanada, a little square of focaccia soaked in olive oil and garlic, layers of cured meats and cheeses with some kind of olive spread in between- but after the third unique little snack, he had to raise an eyebrow in question at you. 

You blushed, realizing what he meant and wringing your hands. “I… I couldn't decide what to make you. I didn't want it to be just some boring run of the mill dinner, but then I started getting in my own head, and well…my kitchen looks like a madman went through it. But I hope you like everything. I'll be drowning in appetizers for days. I did make stuffed mushrooms and braised beef, but it has another hour or so on it.”

The realization that you were nervous , that you were trying to show off to him in this small way, filled his belly like hot cider. He couldn't hide his smile, but he did reach out despite his companion's protesting mew to take your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it softly. “I don't think you can do anything poorly. It's all been wonderful so far. More than wonderful.” He hoped that you knew he meant more than the food. 

Seemingly you did, for your gaze warmed, your eye flicking down to his lips (spectral, translucent, how you could possibly find him attractive in this state he didn't understand)...and he realized with some giddiness that you wanted to kiss him. 

As if reading his mind, you leaned down, cupping his cheek in your warm hand. “How did I find such a sweet fellow, hmm?” 

His eyes had nearly fallen closed when a timer went off; you jumped. “The mushrooms! Hold on a second-”

Gaster sighed, rolling his eyes with a grin as you trotted away. “Damn the mushrooms,” He murmured to the cat, who was laying on her back and making biscuits with all four feet in the air. “Don't you agree?” 

She blinked up at him, which he took for a yes. 

Gods, it felt good just to be in your home. It looked like you, felt like you. He swore he could pick up the smell of your shampoo faintly. Honestly it made him a little sleepy, too relaxed and comfortable. He was saved from dozing off when you came out to join him, sitting on the couch across from where he was and turning on a movie. The two of you ate like that then, balancing your plates on your knees or the coffee table and giggling like dipshits at a Gene Wilder classic while you worked through more drinks together. 

His eyes nearly rolled back when he tasted the mushrooms. “Fuck, I love cheese. So much. The surface is worth it for cheese.” 

For some reason you found that hysterically funny, choking on your old fashioned and whining when it went up your nose, and your red-faced hacking set Gaster off into giggles. That's when he realized that after four years of sobriety, he'd spent the night steadily drinking and asking for refills…and damn well might not be able to drive himself home. 

Oh well. There was at least one bedroom in the house right? 

One thing led to another, and soon the two of you were snuggled up on the daybed, him with an interesting book he'd found on your shelf, and you absolutely fascinated for some reason by the articulation of his hands. Another movie played on in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention- he could barely pay attention to the book. You were curled around him, his head resting against the crook of your shoulder, but he was slowly sinking as he relaxed into a happy, snuggly, moderately drunk heap.

You could have cried, you were so happy. You'd missed this terribly- your last serious relationship had been years ago, with only a few flings since. You'd missed someone to snuggle and nuzzle on, to press a kiss to the top of their head and hear them make a happy sound in reply. And for some reason, the night felt a little thrilling, full of potential. Maybe you'd been spending so much time Underground that the Monster excitement for the Equinox had rubbed off on you. You didn't have a fireplace to light the traditional fire on, but you'd lit a dozen candles around the room. And now you were drunk, and the man was practically a puddle in your arms, and god you liked him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself. 

He cocked his head, running his hands firmly down your arm, your wrist, and then carefully over each finger, squeezing and feeling gently. “I know, consciously, that human beings have skeletons within them. A scaffolding to support the tissues and ligaments, of course I knew. But…I cannot deny that it's fascinating to feel it under my own two hands.”

You smiled, letting him glide a hand across your shoulder blades as he reached behind you and humming at the almost-massage. “I know, it's kind of crazy, isn't it? We're so similar that way. Mmm, that feels nice.”

“Does it?” He repeated the motion, sliding his hand up your spine as best as he could from that angle; you could feel his soft huff of a laugh when you melted into him. “For Skeletons, it's more of a compress-release that feels good. Squeezing the bone, then slowly letting go.”

“That's not so different, then. We do that too.” You turned your head to look closer at one of the yawning cracks above his eyes. “I swear these are looking a little better. A little less severe.”

“...I'm trying my damnedest to fix them. Progress is infinitesimal, and can be so easily reverted by the random attacks of dissolution. But I'm trying. Lately, I've been using human chemistry combined with Monster alchemy to create stabilizing ungents. Scaffolding elixirs. Anything.”

You had to ask. You had to, even though it was without a doubt an incredibly upsetting topic…but you'd give him the chance to decline. It was the right thing to do. “So…I have a question, or, well, a series of questions, about all of this. And I don't want to upset you or make you think of bad things if you're not in the mood to-”

“I can think of no better time or place to discuss something upsetting than where I am right now.” His voice was bemused, even as he turned his face into your ribs to muffle it against your shirt. “Ask. Don't tiptoe around me like the others do. You won't kill me faster.” 

The reminder made your belly cramp; you pulled him closer against your side. “Alright. Okay.” He waited patiently as you tried to gather your thoughts into a sensible thread, the alcohol working against you. “So…let me just make sure I understand some basics, first.” 

“Sure.” 

“When Monsters ‘die’, what that really means, is that their ‘will’ to live has been overwhelmed by something so bad or negative that the bad thing outweighs their will. It stops feeling ‘worth it’ to hold on to living in the face of that bad thing- pain, emotion, betrayal…and so their Soul sort of releases all of the dust it holds onto to give them shape, and dissolves back into the, I dunno, the ether?”

He nodded. “Basically. You have the idea.”  

“So being alive, for Monsters, is literally a question of happiness, or at least resilience. If life still feels worth living, they can walk away from injuries that humans can't even imagine.”

“And have, many times. It is extremely hard to kill a Monster by accident. If you bumped a Bunny off the top of a skyscraper by accident, they could very well still be alive by the time you reached the bottom floor, especially if a crowd tried to call for help and showed that they were upset and worried for them. If you apologized sincerely and tried to help them up? They would most likely be on their own feet in minutes.”

It was one thing to know, and one thing to know, to have their most lauded researcher tell you something so astounding. “Amazing. That's…that's amazing. Okay. So…now for the morbid stuff, I guess.” 

He shrugged, very slowly rubbing his face back and forth against your shirt, a gentle nuzzling that made you want to squeeze his sweet, silly person. Who'd have guessed someone so reserved had such a cuddly streak in him?

…you. You'd have guessed. Any woman would have guessed, given five minutes alone with him. The man was starving for affection, sick for want of it. And he wanted to give it too. 

“ How did Frisk bring you back to life? Is that…is that actually, truly possible? To rebuild the Soul of a person you never knew? How did they even know to look for you?” 

He was quiet for a moment, but a glance down told you he wasn't upset. Just thinking. “Well…the way they explained it to me, a few weeks afterward, was that they could feel a gap. Something missing that was supposed to be there, some foundational piece of the ‘story’, as they put it. So, and I'm quoting them directly here, they ‘gathered up the barrier, and tossed it out like you catch minnows with a net, and fished up all the broken pieces.’ Once they were all together, they said they snapped into place like building blocks, and my Soul reformed.”

“But why did those pieces still exist? Where did Frisk pull them from? Does that mean every Monster is technically immortal, waiting to be revived with enough power?” And then, before he could answer, you murmured almost to yourself, “Did you want to die sweetheart, that night in the core?”

“Absolutely not. I didn't even feel fear as I fell. Only anger. Frustration. It was so stupid .” 

You stroked your hand over his head, down his neck, and then gently over each rib you could reach through his shirt. “Then how did you?”

Silence, interrupted only by the movie playing softly in the background. When he didn't answer for almost a minute, you craned your neck to peek down at him, and froze- his eyes were wide, the ridge of his brows raised. “Gaster?”

“How did I die?” He asked it slowly, but it wasn't a question meant for you. “How did…no, I was happy. We had just discovered a new interaction between…between something, I can't remember what now…there was an event, something that night I was excited for. So how did I die?” He looked up at you, blinking fast. “Why haven't I thought of that? I…it doesn't make any sense.” 

You shook your head. “I don't think so either. Ever since you told me what had happened, that you had a freak accident and were killed by it…I don't know what kind of wild stuff you all do down in the Core or whatever. Maybe you were testing some insanely destructive magic or whatever that I don't understand-” “No, we were testing something, but…but what? I can't…I can't remember…what in the name of the gods is wrong with me, why didn't I think about this?” 

You sat up a little, the better to see his face. “Doesn't it all seem related, somehow? Because none of it fits together. Monsters can't die by accident, but you died FROM an accident, spitting mad and trying to fight it. Monsters don't turn to dust unless their Soul has lost the will to live and exist, yet you're near-constantly falling to dust despite, at least to my eye here, very much trying to live and fix this. Everything relates back to that fall. Something happened to you there that broke the rules, that made the impossible, possible. What was it?” 

When he didn't answer you for a moment, you voiced the final thought, the one that had chewed at you for days. The one that made you angry in a low, ugly way, and you didn't want to scare him away by prying into his life, but you couldn't stand it anymore. “And why haven't any of the other researchers there, any of the other smart, talented people that you worked with, asked these same questions? Why hasn't anyone fucking helped you? Why are you handling this all by yourself? ”

He didn't answer, only buried his face in your shirt…but not fast enough. You saw his expression pinch- at last, you'd found a subject that pained him to discuss. Sympathy twisted your gut, but…there was still a feeling of things unfinished. One last piece missing. Maybe this hurt because it was important.  

You couldn't forget what Sans had said at the bar. He'd been trying to tell you something- but what?

“Sweetheart…Gaster. Look at me.” He did, reluctantly, raising his head and clearing his throat. “Why haven't any of your people worked alongside you on this? Even at a distance, even just theoretically? People who helped you change the world are too afraid to face an unknown? No. I don't believe it. Please, please be honest with me. Why hasn't anyone tried to help you?”

When the answer finally came, it was barely a whisper. “...because I made them swear not to.” 

And there it was. 

“...help me understand why.” You could feel your temper rising, though you tried to keep it cool. “Help me understand why you would do that to yourself. Because I can't think of a single good reason.” 

He pulled back to glare at you, but there was no strength behind it. You helped him sit up until the two of you were at the same level, as he searched for the right words. “I…I am ashamed of this. Of what I've become. I feel disgusting, I didn't want people to see it, to see me. I didn't want to risk it spreading or catching. I didn't want them to know me as such a...a pathetic thing, when once I was…fuck. It's all jumbled…there's no one reason. It's a thousand little ones.” 

You waited; the truth was slow, but it was finally coming. “I was so important, so independent, self-made and self-reliant…and I didn't want people to see me this way, to confirm the rumors. So I made all of them swear, by crown and oath. Phrased it like there was a risk to all of them, in case anyone got ideas. That was four years ago…I was so much angrier then, so much more ashamed. Now I'm just…tired. It's worn me down. But I've burnt my bridges, and I don't know how to build them again, and until recently I'd…I'd just stopped caring. I'd given up.” 

For a moment, you didn't know what to say…and then frustration and anger and affection and terrible, terrible fondness all crystallized and solidified into something that felt as hard and immovable as bedrock. All your worries for him, all the concerns that you tried to keep to yourself for fear of spooking this private, prideful man, overflowed out of you.  

He could have stopped you if he wanted to, but it was obvious that he didn't want to; Gaster stared up at you with enormously wide eyes as you wrenched yourself upright to kneel over him, straddling his hips and staring down into his stupid, prideful, self-sacrificing face. Holding him down with your body.

“So that's it, huh? ” Your voice came out low, even, though each word was as sharp as a blade. “You hurt some feelings, and alienated some people…and that's it? The end, game over?” 

He tried to stutter out a rebuttal; you ignored it. “You absolutely moronic man. You're just going to let yourself die, or be tortured forever? To waste a miracle, a second chance at life, all to stay in that house and fall apart?” You jabbed him in the sternum. “You've said it yourself before, several times- you think it's degenerative. How much longer do you have before everything up here-” A second jab in the forehead; he winced. Good. Maybe the pain would teach him a lesson. “-is gone? Before one of the kindest, smartest men I've ever met is nothing more than some gibbering idiot, all because he wouldn't suck it up and accept help from the people who care about him? It's obvious now that this-” you waved your hand, taking in his damaged body “-doesn't spread, isn't catching like some sort of disease. We both know it, I bet you've known it for years. So your only reason now is because, I don't know, it'll feel really gross and embarrassing to go back to them and ask for help?”

He didn't answer, staring up at you with the oddest expression you'd ever seen on his face…so you took him by the shoulders, shaking him, though not nearly as hard as you wanted to. “Wake up, Gaster! Wake the fuck up! This is a suicide, a slow suicide! It's been four years!” Tears started to come into your eyes as you realized the truth of your words- how much longer could he survive like this? “Haven't you realized it by now? You can't fix it yourself, you don't have the ability, and you're going to die all for some misplaced sense of pride and self-sacrifice, because you think it's ugly, or gross, and it would shatter my fucking heart to lose you-”

He slid his hands into your hair and kissed you like he loved you, cutting you off neatly.

Chapter Text

You gasped against his lips, stuttering for a moment as outrage flipped to her twin-sister passion, then fisted your hands in his shirt and kissed him back like you were starving. 

It was deranged, graceless and delicious- he licked into your mouth with a groan and the noise shot straight down to the apex of your thighs. The man kissed like he did everything else in life- with complete focus -catching your lips again and again between rough gasps for air that made your belly clench with need for how authentic they were. Soon, you had to tear yourself away, panting like you'd been sprinting while you dragged your lips down his neck, sucking the little curves of bone there and making his hips jump underneath you with each touch. “Stupid! Idiot!” You pressed the words into him with kisses; in return, he gripped you by the hair in a way that made your knees go weak and dragged your mouth back to his. The slide of his tongue against yours was so erotic, so sensual, that you flattened your palms on his chest to try and brace yourself. Then he drug his mouth from yours and down to your jaw, nipping there and murmuring, “I'm so glad humans kiss…some Monsters don't, did you know that?” 

You laughed lowly, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, curious about his body but knowing he was painfully self-conscious of his appearance since his corrupted revival; he'd confessed to you some days ago, during a quiet conversation about his condition, that it was one of the things that bothered him the most. He'd called himself foolish for the vanity, but it made perfect sense- who wouldn't be upset if almost their entire appearance was changed? Still, the inhuman allure drew you- you slid your hands under his shirt, and shook your head when he jerked to stop you. “I'm not looking”, you murmured, brushing a gentle kiss between his eyes. “I just want to touch you.” 

Bizarrely, every candle in the room flared for just a second; maybe there was a draft? You couldn't spare even a thought for it. He’d started sweeping his hands up and down your body, gripping and squeezing, as he leaned forward and sucked on your lower lip as if in response to your words, leaving a little nip there that sent a shiver from your head to your toes. He felt it, smiling as he leaned back. 

“So sensitive…humans are a homogenous species, I'm surprised you don't mind the difference between us.”

You shrugged, covering his hands with yours and using them to squeeze your breasts through your thin shirt. “If you'd asked me a year ago? I wouldn't have known what to think…but I hadn't met you yet.” That thought lead to other, sadder ones- you couldn't let it go, couldn't escape the knowledge that he was dying, even while your body and heart sang for him. Couldn't forget that he'd isolated himself from any support or help. He stroked his fingers over the soft flesh, circling your nipples gently as you took his face in your hands. “Gaster please. Please. I…I can't do this, knowing I might not even have much time with you when someone else might have helped. I'm already so…I already care so much about you, I can't keep this casual. I can't.” 

He stared at you with those otherworldly eyes, searching your face for something. His voice was low, rasping with want when he leaned in and spoke against your lips. The sensation made your eyes flutter closed for a moment, but still he watched you. “I don't want you to. I want you in my life, and not for some single night of empty promises. So…what would you have me do, then? Reach out to them, the people I spurned and threatened, and tell them that I fucked everything up?” 

“Yes.” You breathed the word into his mouth, dizzy with drink and desire and frustration and something damn close to love if it wasn't already. “Yes, you stupid, brilliant fool. I want you to save your own fucking life, whatever it takes. I can't stand to see you waste another day of it.” It felt like every moment of your time together had been leaning up to this in the most beautifully inevitable of ways; you could have never stayed ‘just friends’ with him. Not when he hummed Monster folk songs under his breath thoughtlessly while he worked, and taught you the words when you asked. Not when he'd started buying your favorite snacks just to have them in the house for you the instant he learned what they were. Not when he insisted on walking you out to your car every time you'd left since that very first visit, opening the car door for you and closing it once you were safely in. 

You'd been charmed by him since the moment he'd turned the lights on and walked into his kitchen, barefoot and nervous, to accept your apology and offer one of his own. 

He was petting his hands over your face, your neck, down your chest; it made you hum when he reached down to cup your ass. The man looked like sex and defeat, completely open to you, his chest heaving and his Soul flaring weakly beneath his shirt. When he found whatever it was he'd been looking for in your expression, something like finality came into his.

“...fuck, fine. Fine!” Holding your gaze, he fumbled for his phone where it lay forgotten beside the two of you, looking away only to unlock the screen and start searching for something, his other hand clutching your hip like he was afraid you'd fly away. The intensity of him made you weak in the knees- gods all bless, after four damned years, Doctor W.D. Gaster was finally waking the fuck up. While you watched, he scrolled the whole way to the bottom of his texts, to a group chat he obviously hadn't messaged in years. What he typed was simple, effective.

‘I made a mistake. I can't fix this. I need your help…and I'm sorry.’

Staring up at you, he turned the phone so you could read what he said, then pressed send without looking…in answer, you took the phone from his hand, tossed it onto the couch across the room incase Monster phones could undo such an action, and pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion. You were too hot, too constrained; you needed to feel his hands on your skin before you burned to ash atop him. 

His gaze went as dark as sin- you hadn't particularly expected the night to go like this save for vague fantasies, but a cute bra made anyone feel more confident. Now you were glad beyond belief that you'd worn it, for he ran his huge hands up your waist, your ribs- god, he could nearly close his fingers around you and have them meet -and up to squeeze the covered flesh of your breasts greedily, taking in the black lace. “They could just deny me. Say no.” 

You arched into his touch, shivering with desire; something hard and insistent was pressing against the inside of your thigh, answering a curiosity that had burned in the back of your mind for weeks and making you feel needy and desperate. “Then at least you tried.”

He rolled both your nipples between his thumb and forefinger through the thin lace, tilting his head back in the most obvious subconscious invitation you'd ever seen when your lips dropped open. “They could hate me. They should. I was so fucking hateful to all of them.” 

“Then at least you tried.” You couldn't help it, you had to move, so wildly inflamed with want, empty and hungry. The first rock of your pussy along his cock, through all the layers of damnedable clothing separating you, made him moan. The second, and he leaned forward, yanking down a cup of your bra to take a diamond-hard nipple into his mouth- you cried out, clutching his head as he sucked it hard and fast. The magic of his lips and tongue felt so good, heady and desperate, like heat being poured straight down to your core. The third, and he dropped a hand down to the crease of your thigh, his thumb fitting there like it was made to as he helped you find a rhythm atop him. 

“I was cruel. Harsh, ugly- they didn't deserve any word of it. Some of them worked under me for years, they helped Sans and Papyrus organize a funeral for me for god's sake, and how did I repay them?” He closed his eyes a moment, pressing his forehead to your heart as you clutched his shoulders for better leverage. “Screamed at them, insulted them, used every private thing I'd ever learned about all of them to try and hurt them enough that they'd run from me…and they did. My employees, my brother, my best friend. And then I cried on that fucking floor and tried to hold my arms together.” 

He was bleeding poison off a wound that had festered for four long years, and you tried your best to listen, but then he caught the perfect angle between your legs with his cock and you whined his name when pleasure arced from your clit to your pussy and back again, making you clench down on nothing as he bit the skin between your breasts like he needed something in his teeth. You felt drugged, insane- you wanted to hold him down and ride him until he cried, or to have him turn you over and fuck you stupid.  

“How are you doing it?” His voice was muffled into your breast; he turned and ran his tongue over it so luxuriously, so salaciously, that you whimpered . “My house, my body, my standing, my life-” he worked his hand under your waist band and hissed as he slid his fingers between your lips; you could feel how soaking wet you were. “You're somehow willing it all back into being, back to how it should be- how? How?!” 

“Gaster, please-” You were dying, starving; you needed him so badly that you thought you might cry. Never had you wanted anyone like this, it was painful. “Please, I-”, 

He thrust two fingers into you without preamble, wrapping his other arm behind your back and closing his teeth very gently on the peak of your breast, and the noise that tore from your chest was ungodly. The pace he set was brutal, sweetly punishing- it barely took him a minute with your murmured instructions to figure out what felt best for you, alternating between quick thrusts and a curling motion that left you shaking in his arms, the heel of his palm pressing and grinding against your clit. When he added a third finger, you felt a warning race from your pussy to your toes. 

“Oh please don't stop, please don't stop, oh my fucking god, yes-” 

Then the fucker pulled his hand away, and you really did tear up with desperation, about to curse him-

“On me. Around me, come on.” 

The sound of his belt jingling hit you like a slap; you shoved his hands away to do it faster, kissing him madly and licking into his mouth, over his teeth, all while you wrenched the leather loose. You threw it aside and pulled his cock free, softly glowing golden like every other part of him that wasn't solid bone, with hands that shook with desire. Then you stumbled to your feet just long enough to fight off your pants and underwear as one piece, crawling back into his arms and sighing at the warmth there as soon as you were free of the clothing- he whispered your name, touching you everywhere he could reach. The eroticism of it all was amazing- him, fully dressed, while you were almost completely bare atop him save for your bra. He remedied that quickly, flicking the catches free and sliding it down off your arms, then held you at arm's length just a second, heated approval in his gaze as he admired you. 

“This is beautiful. You're beautiful. So much like me, so much not, I…fucking hell, please. I'll beg if you want me to.”

He sounded as desperate as you felt, and something feminine inside you purred in pleasure at that, at the idea of him asking so very handsomely sometime, at the fantasy of how tightly you could draw desperation into that deep voice. But not now, you couldn't stand waiting another second now. Maybe it was the good food and happy atmosphere….maybe the drinks…maybe the holiday of power, old power. Maybe all three. Something was driving you like a shepherdess drove her flock; you had to feel him inside you, you had to, and thanked God in heaven that the man had a cock for you to ride. He was always bemoaning how tired he was, how little energy he had- he didn't need it. In fact, you wanted nothing more than to see him lay back and take it.  

He was thick, delicious- you took him in hand and sank down on him, hiding your face in his shoulder as you lay against his chest, and it felt like coming home. The noise that left him was beautiful, somewhere between a shock and awe. “Fuck yes. Who fucking knew?” Panting, whispering his name like a spell, you lifted your hips and dropped them back down again, taking him to the root- he used your hair to pull your head up, staring at you greedily while you did it again, and your face crumpled with pleasure. God he felt so fucking good. “Who knew you pretty little human girls were so sensitive, no wonder every Monster is enchanted…” You did it again, and again, building speed and watching as his expression went slack, his hand coming loose from your breast to cup the side of your head. “You're so handsome…sex is a good look on you.” He grinned, blushing; when he slid his thumb between your lips, your eyes rolled back. You reached down, rubbing your clit fast as you started to ride him earnestly, sucking on the digit in your mouth and holding onto the high back of the bed one-handed to get the leverage you needed until you were bouncing on him deliciously- the smile fell from his face, replaced with rapt pleasure. Each time his hips rocked up to meet you weakly, each time he bottomed out so perfectly, you could see his expression draw tighter and tighter- he was close.

Already your toes were curling again, your pulse racing- “Yessss, I can feel that, I can feel you...come on, let me see it-”

You felt your orgasm's approach like the tide, sweeping up through your body in warning, and you tossed your head like a bronco, escaping his hand so you could speak. “You have to live-” oh god you were close, burning with it. “I don't want to lose you, Gaster, please…oh fuck, I'm-!”

You reached around the back of his skull, pressed his forehead to yours, and stared into his eerily beautiful gold eyes as you fell apart sobbing in his arms- in answer, a sound like a wild thing escaped his clenched teeth, and every single candle in the room went out. His eyes squeezed shut, both hands dropping to hold you down as you came so hard your ears roared and you felt his cock start to jump inside you. God, it went on until you were in tears, your hips twitching in his grasp; so stunningly good that you tried to twist free, to get away from it, tormenting yourself with your own fingers on your pulsing clit in little taps and quick bursts. But escape was impossible, for he had thrown his head back against the pillows, staring blindly at the ceiling, and his shaking grip was iron as he held you down and forced you to cum around his cock. “Fuck! Fuck!” 

Barely a minute had passed, and you were just coming down, when you saw his magic flicker and fail on his face like a bad light bulb. The feeling of his cock inside you faded abruptly, and he grimaced, panting madly- on his hand, in full view of both of you, a tiny patch turned to dust and fell, then healed itself. “I'm sorry, I can't-shit, I c-couldn't hold the spell, I-”

You shook your head, shifting on shaking thighs until you had your legs crossed behind him, fully sitting down into his lap and wrapped around him completely. Once there, you threw your arms over his shoulders, and cried your damn eyes out. 

Gaster stroked a shaking hand down your back, soothing you as you wept and his own eyes welled up, but didn't overflow.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured into your temple, after you'd both calmed down a bit, and he was sure his voice would stay steady. “That I've worried you. That I've made you upset.” 

“I don't want to lose you.” Your eyes were red, your lips flushed still dark from kisses. His shirt was wet with your tears. “I can't. You're not just…you're my friend, and you're this, and god I can't even think about it, Gaster…”

“I can't keep my Soul away from you.” He whispered it, wrapping both arms around you and squeezing you tightly to his chest. This close, he could feel your Soul so terribly near to his, and could feel your racing heart behind it as it slowed. “I needed you. Someone who would force their way past whatever walls I threw up…I was dying for your attention from the day I met you.” 

Then his phone began to ring from the couch, making his belly drop out. Here it was- which of them would it be? There was one option that made him sick with dread, the most egregious of his crimes against those he'd worked with for so long. You stumbled over to it on shaking knees (and didn't that sight feel good?), and handed it to him- it was Sans. One of twenty people in that group chat. It was somewhat a relief.

He answered it with gritted teeth, but before he could say a word, Sans blurted out, “do you mean it??”

You collapsed down beside him, dragging a stray afgan over your bare form. “...more than anything. Every word.” 

His brother went quiet for a long moment. Then- “...what made you change your mind?” 

“Someone called me an idiot in a way I couldn't refuse.” He reached down, palming the swell of your breast, warmly pleased at how you arched up into his touch. “I need help, I can't figure this out…I give up. I'm missing pieces, and you're all the specialists that I'm not. I fucked up, Sans. I was wrong.” 

“okay. okay. god, shit…alright. um. alph has a lot of ideas. so does xori. brindle has literally had the same hexgenerix settings from that night saved as a preset all this time, just in case. we can recalibrate the photon inverter to the same wavelength it was at , alph worked and worked until she recaptured the pattern three years ago. we just need you here to start fact finding.”  

From the corner of his eye, he could see you smiling hugely.

“...three years ago, huh?” 

“...yup.”

He covered his face with his free hand, pulling his knees up like a shield. “I'm sorry, I…I fucked up. I'm sorry, Sans.” 

When it came, Sans’ voice was thick with emotion. ‘shut the fuck up. just…just be here, tomorrow afternoon. just be here.”

“I will.” 

Sans hung up, and he stared at his phone until the screen went dark in his hand. “Please…come with me. I can't do it by myself.” 

You tucked your face in against his hip, throwing an arm over his legs. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” 

-

He woke early the next morning, before sunrise, and closed his eyes against the rush of affection that filled him once he got his bearings. You were curled on your side, holding his hand in both of yours as you slept, the sheets having fallen to your waist. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face. “Absolutely beautiful.” 

The false dawn coming through the window glittered off of a few stray sparkles of dust on your face (and doubtless elsewhere); narrowing his eyes, he pinched his fingers together over you and tried to pull them off without disturbing you. It was hopeless; the second the spell began, you hummed in your sleep, smiling adorably and twitching away from the sensation. Why that particular bit of magic tickled you so badly, he'd never know. The cuteness made him lose his concentration. He started it again, rolling his eyes fondly as you squirmed and murmured something, disposing of the dust with a brief, dim flare of magic. When he looked back down, your eyes were open sleepily, watching him. 

“I'm sorry to wake you.” The moment felt so precious. So important. “I didn't want it to get in your eyes.” 

You turned over, grabbing his hand and pulling it so he had to turn too, spooned up behind you. Your voice was sleepy. “Mmm…happy Firefall, sweetheart.” 

He smiled. It was the old name for the Monster holiday that lasted from midnight to midnight; he liked hearing you say it. Liked that you knew something like that about his people. “Until the sun grows strong forever, and every shadow, vanquished.” The traditional response felt right, somehow.

You fell back asleep again, but he didn't. For the very first time in his life, he watched a sunrise through your window. 

After lunch, you followed him home, then drove the both of you into the Core facility. He was horribly anxious, bouncing his knee and staring out the window at these oh so familiar surroundings; your touch grounded him.

“They worked on this, behind your back. Despite your direct orders and threats not to.” Your voice was gentle. “They wouldn't have done that if they didn't all care about you.” 

He nodded. He knew that, consciously… but having your visibly dying, dusting, shaking boss thrust himself up onto his hands and knees and scream at you to get away from him didn't exactly breed affection. Neither did having a door slammed in one’s face repeatedly, nor royal injunctions forbidding any further discussion on the matter, on threat of one's livelihood. 

He'd been so furious, those first months. So hateful.

His anxiety was complete when the two of you parked, and he could see Frisk standing beside Sans outside, the lanky teen waving frantically. For a moment, he balked- you took his hand in yours, reaching up to turn his chin until you could catch his eye.

“If not for you, then for me.” A single glittering speck of dust was on your cheek, catching the low, red light of Hotland. “Don't leave me alone after I just found you.” 

He nodded shakily, and the two of you got out. The moment he got close, Frisk ran into him with all the grace of a bull, hiding their face as they hugged him. When they pulled back a little, they were signing so quickly, so jerkily, that he couldn't keep up. 

“Hold on, hold on, magelet. Do it again, slower. I haven't seen sign in years.”

“I'm really sorry, I had no idea it didn't work right! I thought I had done everything I needed to, and then things were so busy on the surface, but mama just said last night that Sans had called her, and why didn't you tell me???” They shoved him a little, glaring up at him with all the anger their young face could muster.

“easy, cowboy, easy.” Sans put an arm on their shoulder. “he's here now, right?”

Eerily, Frisk stared right up at his chest, right at his soul, and their eyes flashed scarlet. “...yup. You'll need me here. Translate for me- hi!” Just that fast, they'd turned to face you, sticking out their hand and grinning. “I'm Frisk! I like stickers, and swimming, and sometimes I do magic.” 

You laughed at their introduction, shaking their hand. “Well it's nice to meet you! I've heard so much about you, all of it awful and rotten of course.” 

They stuck their tongue out, then tugged on Gaster's sleeve. “Come on, hurry! Let's get started!” 

When he got to the inner hall, standing at a doorway directly in front of a set of steel stairs he knew very well, every drop of bravery he'd had vanished. Sans and Frisk had already gone on ahead, the flash-heat of the doors opening and closing bringing up fifty years of memories. He could see his team through the reinforced windows, recognized every back-lit silhouette whether they walked or sat at work stations…he couldn't do it. His feet wouldn't move. 

…and then something touched his pocket. He reached down thoughtlessly, frowning- you were pulling your hand back, having put something there. When he closed his fingers around the little thing, he held it up…and his Soul thudded against the back of his sternum. 

A little, almost perfectly white quartz pebble. Like one you'd find in a garden. 

“Just in case my intentions weren't clear.” Your voice was soft. “Just in case my Monster boyfriend wasn't sure how I felt about him.” 

He blinked, then barked out an incredulous laugh, staring between it and you. Smiling, you stepped up, hugged him from the side so hard that his bones creaked…and shoved him through the swinging double doors.

-

He hadn't known what to expect when you'd forced him stumbling into the room, but it certainly wasn't Xori screaming his name, literally dropping her coffee mug and everything else she held and half-falling down the stairs to reach him. The Skink hugged him as tight as she could, berating him ceaselessly as she wept. Another impact, harder this time, made him wince- Yot'hina punched him again with his feathered fist, but there was no heart behind it. Gaster knew how hard he could really hit if he wanted to. The other man said nothing, but after a moment, he nodded and walked back to his station, starting to type in the commands that would lift the scanning array from the Core. A stoic to his very marrow.

One by one, every single one of his old employees came to him, each by their own nature. Some swore at him, some hugged him- Ami straight out threw a clipboard at him, then a mug, then a barrage of pens that fell through the metal grate floor into the molten rock below as they bounced off him, and didn't stop until he'd walked up to her and offered his trembling hands. She was shaking with anger, and slapped him away twice before pulling him in roughly. “Fucking idiot. Sir.” Her low, musical voice was tight with emotion. “Damn fucking idiot.”

“I know. I know I am.”  

Only one person stayed where she was, her back to the room, staring down at the lava underneath on the far side of the platform. Everyone else backed away, suddenly finding something else in the room very interesting and important to look at and leaving him alone across from her. 

The orange light from below made her yellow scales look like gold, like some kind of dragon out of legend. As he watched, he saw her silvery claws were dug into the metal of the railing- it creaked under them as she clenched her fists.

“Alph.” 

She ignored him, except perhaps to get even stiffer than she already was. 

“Alphys, please.” His oldest friend, his classmate- they'd graduated together, gone into the work together, taking over what had once been nothing more than a pipe dream and an embezzlement scheme left behind by the previous faction and turning it into a source of power and hope for their entire kingdom. Had worked on the Determination project together, and all the darkness and ruination it entailed. If all the rest of his actions here had been sins, then this was the mortal one. Unforgivable by confession or rosary, straight to hell. His voice was soft. “Alph, I'm sorry. I was wrong.” 

“...no fucking shit.” She turned her head a tiny bit, enough for her glasses to reflect the light beneath her. When had she started wearing glasses?

He took a step closer, flinching as the crest around her head flared in response. She was beyond anger. “I fucked up. I was hurt, and I was scared, and-”

“You think I wasn't scared?” Her voice was a low hiss. The woman who had taken over and run this project for the past four years without him could barely spit the words out through her gritted teeth. He had never seen her this angry. Not when fighting the conservatives at court over funding, not when someone had tried to break into the Core and sabotage eight years of their work. “You think I wasn't terrified?”  

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with one sharply raised hand, her nails screeching off the metal where she'd been digging into it in a sound that echoed horribly around the cavernous control room. “I have nightmares. Screaming nightmares. They scare my wife- oh right, you've never met her."

“...I knew you got married, yes. I got the invitation.” He'd gotten half the registry for them, but sent it all without so much as a message attached. That had been two years ago.

“But you didn't come. We eat dinner every night off plates you got us, but you didn't come.” She turned, her hand shaking as she pointed at him, finally facing him for the first time. “She gets me flowers in a vase that you bought for me… but you didn't come.” 

He stared at the ground, shame lashing him like hot irons. What could he say?

“Not a phone call. In four years, not a single phone call. Not a single text. Not a single message on the ‘net. Nothing. I had to check with your brother every day to make sure you were still alive, and Gaster, there were days where he didn't know.” 

He would not cry, he would not cry. Not when he was receiving the most deserved criticism he'd ever gotten in his life. Behind him, you invited every single other person out of the room in a low voice and followed them out- if it was any other situation, he would have snorted at how obediently they all went, even Sans and Frisk. Now, it was everything he could do to squeeze his hands into fists in his coat pockets, lock his knees, and fight the burn behind his eyes. 

“One thousand, two hundred, and ninety eight messages.” She said it like a hangman’s declaration. “We’d talked every day for twenty six years. You were my roommate for twelve. Now, there's one thousand, two hundred, and ninety eight unread messages in our chat, unopened by you.” 

“I know.” Fuck him, fuck him. He took another step toward her, not knowing what else to do, and a burst of sunshine-yellow magic glanced off his arm, scalding his elbow like boiling water. He clutched the spot, hissing for a moment in pain- it hurt. “I deleted the app off my phone so I wouldn't see them. Threw away my laptop, destroyed it in my backyard like a fucking idiot, screaming at it like it had done something to me.” 

“Every letter was marked ‘return to sender’.” Her eyes were solid yellow, her predator’s pupils the barest slits of black. “Do you know how fucking stupid I felt, writing letters? ” 

“I know, I-” 

“No you DON'T! You don't know ANYTHING!!” Another shock of magic across the barest outer edge of his hip- a third, sizzling past his head to slam into something on the far wall with a deafening boom. Each capable of killing him in his current state. Each deflected at the last moment by their caster. “You banned me from the wards on your HOUSE! You put a Crown injunction on me so I couldn't drive down your STREET!” 

His elbow hurt, his hip hurt- he was exhausted by the trip there, by more talking and standing amongst a group than he'd done in years…and so finally tears flowed down his face, accompanied by one single, harsh, ugly sob. He couldn't fight them back anymore. 

None of it was a lie. Every single word she said was true. 

And then he felt it, the building, burning shock of a truly nasty lesion, forming huge and ugly right across his face and injured eye, one of the worst ones he'd ever had. He tried to turn away, tried to hide his grimace as he clapped a hand to it and sucked in a breath through his teeth, doubling over, but nothing he did could hide the pile of dust that fell from the bone in a glittering waterfall. His tears stung on the lesion like acid as his exhausted magic struggled and failed to repair such severe damage.

Brisk, efficient hands gripped him, forcing him backwards until his knees hit a chair. He dropped into it, panting with pain- it had never taken this long before to fix one of the horrible wounds, was this finally the beginning? Had the damage finally tipped the scale into irreversible? 

A pen knife opened in his blurry, squinting vision. Before he could stop her, Alphys cut a neat rune he didn't recognize into the meat of the heel of her hand, letting her golden magic and dust blend together there into a molten gold liquid that he recognized with deep confusion. He tried to croak out a word- maybe to make her stop, maybe to ask where she'd learned this incredibly esoteric bit of magic that he'd thought only the Queen had even known about -but she made a sound like someone hissing through their teeth at a misbehaving dog, so he shut up. Gently, so gently that he barely felt it, she pressed the wound to the bone right under his eye, right in the middle of the lesion, and waited as his body drank magic from her like parched desert soil in a rainstorm. 

“ I found the spells for Toriel. I went through the archives, found old books of healing that no one even knew were there.” She said it quietly, her focus on her task as the burning agony of the lesion started to fade, the harmony of their similar magics letting him use her power to heal, just like he did with the medicine the Queen gave him. “ This is the primary spell, battlefield magic. Binding healer to soldier until they can get behind friendly lines. The elixir she's been giving you is secondary, not as powerful, but I told her I doubted you would let her stay at your home and help you when you needed it.” 

She dipped the razor sharp tip of a claw into her own, for lack of better words, ‘blood’, and held it over his chest, her eyes deadly serious as she locked her gaze onto his. “If you fight me on this…if you resist the spell even the tiniest bit, so help me god Gaster, I…”

He was shaking his head by the third word- he didn't know what she planned to do and didn't care, he'd let her do whatever she wished. “I won't.” His voice was as weak as the day he'd come back to life, screaming himself hoarse with horror. “I won't. I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me Alphys, I'll do whatever you say.” 

“Good. This locks us together. My magic, your Soul. You'll live off of me until we figure out what happened to you here and fix it. Try not to do anything ridiculously strenuous, like lift a building or some other stupid shit. I don't want to pass out on the street.” 

“...okay.” He was reeling, nauseous with shock. Never in his life had he heard of something like this. To even find records like this in the archives, much less learn the minutiae of such an ancient, extinct spell? 

For four years, she'd sat on this and waited. Waited for a chance to help him.

“The range is good; twenty, thirty miles. Soul magic doesn't usually care about distance, thank god.” He nodded obediently. “But it's not permanent. Not until we unravel whatever of you is still stuck in the Core, which is my theory, by the way. But…well. You'll see.” 

“Okay. Whatever you say. I trust you.” 

She smiled grimly. “The first time in his life that Wingdings didn't argue with me over something. What a fucking miracle. Alright. Open your shirt, if you can.” 

Weariness and pain made his fingers slip off the buttons more than once, but soon he had the two sides hanging open. She stared at his scorched, black bones for a moment, so unnatural and not at all how he was supposed to look, and shook her head. “Toriel's fucking tits. I hope to god this doesn't burn me out.” 

He opened his mouth automatically to tell her that she shouldn't bother then, that it wasn't worth the risk of hurting herself, but her eyes immediately went to ice. She shut his mouth with a hard fist thrust under his empty jaw, snapping the bones closed. Once she was sure he wasn't going to try to say anything again, she let go. “Now. Keep this to yourself, all right? I don't want a flock of worriers following me around whimpering if I so much as trip over a step. Undyne and Sans trust that I know what I'm doing. They're the only two who need to know.” Then, after a moment, she sighed. “And your human girl, of course. I guess you couldn't keep it from her.” 

A minute or so passed as she focused, power building in the air around them, her scales taking on an edge of golden light as it raced across her body esoterically. He didn't want to make her angry, but he had to ask something. He loved her too much not to. “If it's an emergency…if something destabilizes in me…can you break the connection before it pulls you down with me?” 

She sighed, her eyes closed as she recited runes to herself for a moment, plainly practicing the pattern. “You can't. I can. I won't, unless I really think I can't draw you back. I stored up magic, getting ready for this.” She tapped an odd, bulky necklace around her neck- at a closer look, he realized they were spell stones strung on gold.

“...how long have you been planning this, Alphys? My god, one of those takes weeks-” 

“Four years. I've been planning it for four years, idiot. Alright, I've got it. Don't you dare fight me. I'll hit you over the back of the head so hard that you'll wish you were dead.” 

He nodded, limp and compliant. It stung as she literally carved a column of runes with the very tip of her claw down his sternum, runes that glowed with the liquid essence of her magic and flashed in time over her own Soul under her clothing- he could see the magic flare up each time she finished one. Twice, she had to reopen the wound on her hand to continue working. 

When she reached the last one, she took a deep breath…and for the first time that day, his dearest, oldest friend offered him a sincere, if wry, smile. “Okay. I'm pretty sure this is gonna hurt like hell- it wouldn't have, four fucking years ago, but your Soul is completely atrophied now. Ready?”

“...ready. Thank you.”

“Thank me once it works.” 

Chapter Text

…

For a moment, he felt nothing. And that was what worried him- he knew it was the calm before the storm. 

Then it started, first as a trickle, then a stream, then a torrent. Magic, flowing directly into his Soul, feeding from it into the infinitesimally small channels of power that flowed through and around his body. The sensation wasn't foreign; he'd often tried to circulate his weakened magic through his own body, trying to maintain some semblance of resilience and strength in his arcane systems. But there were two differences between that, and the exponentially increasing spellwork he was experiencing now. 

Before, he'd been in control. He'd known what the limits of pain and discomfort were, and despite any blowhard's claim, most people were unable to inflict pain beyond a certain level on themselves, him included. 

The second difference was that he'd had very little magic to do it with to begin with.

Alphys, one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his sternum, arced her magic between her palms like a defibrillator, and his Soul wrenched as it was flooded with an amount of power he hadn't felt in four miserable years. It was like trying to stuff a hundred pounds of gems into a five pound bag- he groaned without meaning to, the noise torn from his chest, as she seared open his atrophied arteries and cauterized them that way with nothing more than sheer sorcery and will.

“Alph, Alphys please, fuck it hurts,” he said it through gritted teeth, trying so hard to stay strong but failing as any mortal would. “I can't take this, you're going to split my-”

“I have to.” There was horrible sympathy in her voice, the sympathy of someone inflicting terrible pain on another, and knowing there was no other way to help. “I have to.” 

He gripped her wrists. It felt like her hands were glued to his body; when he moved her arms, it moved him too. “Fuck, fuck me, I can't- please stop-” His body began to shake, his heels drumming on the floor as he pressed the back of his head against the wall of sensor readouts and analog dials behind him. If someone had lit a bucket of gasoline on fire and dumped it over him, it would have hurt less than this, for at least that would have been on the outside. This was inside his bones, more invasive and excruciating by the second, like she had a drill and was hollowing out all the marrow he had at once. Something in his Soul popped, feeling wet and oddly warm, and he began to panic, fighting her grip. “Wait! Wait, Alphys something’s wrong, I-”

Using her knee in his belly to keep him in the chair, she reached up and crushed two of the little spell stones on the chain around her neck, and Gaster felt the incoming tidal wave of power like he was standing on a beach and watching the water drain away. True, honest fear struck him- he tried to pry her hands off him, and it was like fighting steel. “No! Angel above, this will kill me, I can't-” 

“You will, you have to. Climb on top of it. Don't let it drown you, come on . Where's the man who got in such a bad fight behind our dorm building that all of you ended up in bed for days? Seven against one wasn't it, but didn't you win? And that wasn't the only time!”

His chest heaved as that influx of magic hit his Soul directly. Darkness squirmed around the outsides of his vision; through it, his damaged, toothless mouth began to burn like hellfire. Soon, the sensation spread to his eyes…his skull…down his bones…racing like an eager torturer that couldn't decide where to go first.

The feeling of teeth, real physical teeth, reforming in the bone of his mouth and cracking their way through, was something he would never forget as long as he lived. It was beyond pain into empty agony, made worse as a matrix of more bone began to form around them. Lips, cheeks, eye sockets…

“Yes, oh my gods yes, come on, don't give up-” Alphys’ voice was full of wonder. “Keep fighting! That's it-”

Gaster didn't feel like he was fighting at all. He felt like he was frantically swimming, barely holding on to a branch as a boiling river of rapids and stones lashed him back and forth. He noticed, dimly, that his fingertips were digging so far into his friend's wrists that her own dust was beginning to show in little glimmers through the sleeves of her lab coat, but he couldn't unlock his hands if he tried. On and on It went, an experience he would have never let her attempt if he'd known how bad it would be, how torturous. He was pressing his feet down against the floor so hard that he could feel the little cobblers nail in the bottom of one of his shoes pop through the sole and start digging into his heel, and the feeling was almost a relief, for it hurt so much less than what he was going through.

It built until he couldn't stand it anymore, something between a moan and a scream tearing through his newly grown, tender-rooted, gritted teeth, as Alphys reached up and crushed one more of the dozens of little stones strung on her necklace. A loud crash of light and noise made him look for just a moment; you burst through the doors to the Core control room, caught around the waist by Sans who ran in after you, stopping you on the second stair up- you must have heard him. You fought your friend, yelling something to Gaster- he couldn't hear you. That new wave of magic had just hit him, taking root in his skull and boiling there like a pressure cooker trying to burst him open. 

Maybe it was because of their connection; he could hear Alphys, her voice strained, as she shouted over her shoulder, “Let her come! God, maybe it'll help- I can't get past something inside him, and if I push too much harder I don't know what's going to happen!”

Sans released you and you flew to him, wonder and horror competing in your expression as you took in the two of them. Alphys stepped aside, her hands still on him, to give you room to drop to your knees between his legs. He couldn't make out the sound of your words through the crack and sizzle of the magic cooking the inside of his skull, but he could read your lips.

“What do you need?”

With effort, he pried his hands off his friend's wrists, took yours, and squeezed them on either side of his skull so hard that the plates of bone began to creak. Alphys used her foot to yank the chair away from the machinery behind him enough that she could step there, keeping one hand on him until she was at his back as you slid sideways on your knees to stay between his. Then you leaned in until your foreheads were pressed together, holding his head with your hands sandwiched under his. As if thinking through a veil, he realized muzzily that he could feel a misting of sweat on your skin- of course you'd be hot in the control room, despite the cooling systems.

He didn't know when he'd begun rocking between the two women, both of them moving with him- he felt it when a third person's hands fell on him, though. His little brother threw a rough arm around his chest and buried his face against his shoulder, trying to move fast enough that no one saw the cerulean blue tears that rose in his eyes at what he was witnessing.

There, held by three people that loved him- his sibling, his best friend, and his lover -Gaster took a deep breath…and let go. 

It was like setting a bone- often, the agony of the break was so strong that the person didn't realize they were fighting the doctor, locking all their muscles down to try to protect themselves from more pain. The moment he released any final attempt at control, at lessening the sensation, something within him that he would never be able to describe for as long as he lived shifted in a single moment of brilliant agony…and was whole. Like an out of focus lens suddenly clicking into place- Alphys grunted as his body stopped fighting and started pleading, calling for more power as fast as she could give it. 

All the runes on his chest lit up at once, the connection between them locking into place. She'd always had more finesse than him, but he'd always had more raw power than she did, and it was with a shaking hand that she reached up and slowly crushed five more of the spell stones, one at a time- each representing weeks of magical potential for her, each instantly drained by his Soul, transmuted from her sunshine yellow magic into his pale gold.

As he stared into your face, his vision shifted and sharpened, the rudimentary sight spell he'd cast into his own damaged eye sockets being replaced by his own actual eyelights. It awed him to see details he couldn't before- the little lines of color in your irises, the fine, silken hair on the surface of your skin, the detail of each individual lash so delicately placed around your eyes. 

After an immeasurable amount of time had passed, the realization slowly trickled through his mind that he no longer felt that horrible torrent of power from his friend. Alphys was rubbing gentle circles onto his back, leaning on him a little while she caught her breath. Sans was murmuring something to her softly, still keeping an arm around his chest…and you were still holding his hands, having drawn them down to rest in his lap as you let his forehead fall against your shoulder.

“It's done…” Alphys sounded weary, but satisfied. “...it worked. And I am never doing that again.”

Sans blinked across the room and back again with a chair for her, getting it behind her knees moments before she collapsed back into it. He started to murmur something in concern, but she waved him off. “Just need to catch my breath. That was insane.” She took her glasses off with a trembling hand and began cleaning them on the edge of the shorter Skeleton's t-shirt, ignoring his grumbles about ‘stretching it out’. “Your brother is a bottomless pit, I swear.” 

Gaster huffed out a tiny, pained laugh at her words, rolling his forehead back and forth against the bare skin of your neck. You felt so nice, so new- everything felt so fresh against him. Even the cool air blowing from the environmental systems overhead was lovely. He had no doubt it would become exhausting soon, but for a moment…it was good. Even with the lingering pain, it was good. 

He didn't hear the others come back in, but eventually they did. Soon, things were being done around him. He heard the creaking groan of the scanner array as Yot'hina centered it; the man came over and simply scooted Gaster into the center of the platform in his chair rather than have him try to stand. It was with visible reluctance that you allowed yourself to be led away, going out into the access halls with Frisk so your two human signatures didn't foul up the readings. Then came calibrations, tuning…boredom, with little to distract him from the burning ache in his body. He sighed, watching with tired amusement as Frisk made goofy faces at one of the viewing windows around the central control room. Alphys told him, as she leaned her chin in one hand and fiddled with a pen in the other, that the young Mage would eventually be needed…she just didn’t know when. 

“If my theory is correct, and we'll find that out here in an hour or two, then the little turd needs to be here to go fishing. Probably won't be tonight, but I wanted to be prepared.”

He didn't fully understand, but he didn't have the energy to try to just then. Taking a deep breath, he glanced over at the clock above her, murmuring, “We've already been here for…god, it's been three hours? I didn't even realize…”

She shook her head. “Neither did I. I was too wrapped up in the spell.”

“Me too. But…she drove me, perhaps someone should go tell her-”

“Sans tried, fifteen minutes ago.” Alphys grinned at him. “Said she should go get lunch, he could bring you home. Said she could go hang out at your place til we were done for the day if she wanted to. She kicked her feet up on the reception desk and ordered Doorsprint instead.”

“I'm lucky. I know I am. I never would have thought…well.”

“She's hot. Way out of your league.” 

He rolled his eyes at her, making her chuckle as she turned to face everyone else. The array above him clicked into its final calibration, and everyone seemed to be waiting for her.

Alphys said very little, her voice wry. “I bought us some time. You don't want to know how…so let's get to work.”

Gaster realized dimly, as all of his people turned to their tasks, that he would have to turn the director position over to her, verbally and publicly. Asgore had already officially done so once the barrier fell, but it was one thing to be named a Royal Scientist by leadership, and another to be named it by the previous one. She’d already had the title for four years by proxy, it wouldn't be right to come back and force her out…and it was clear that those here respected her. 

He'd heard that she'd had a hard time, those long years between his accident and Monsterkind's freedom. She deserved the recognition.

Time passed. It was a quiet break after so much activity, and he was grateful. He needed it. Sitting under the huge scanner array, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he squeezed the little pebble you'd given him after taking it from his pocket (your promise of intention, your proof that you wanted him in your life) and tried to just breathe. With gratitude, he noticed that the burn in his bones was starting to fade, replaced with glorious nothingness. No constant, trembling feeling that he was fabric fraying at its seams. No cold numbness as his bones slowly withered. Just…normalcy. He'd forgotten it. 

The success of the esoteric ritual was a testament to his friend's skill and control- he doubted if any other Monster living had the combination of specialties and natural aptitudes to pull off what she had for him,  neither the research OR the actual spellwork. Still, it was good that the scans had no sensation whatsoever- even the shoes on his feet and the fabric of his clothing laying on his bones felt overstimulating. Everything was too new, like uncalloused skin. The thought made him stare down at the little stone in his hand, something rather intriguing occurring to him- what would you feel like now? 

Gods, stop. He grinned at himself despite the discomfort, closing his thighs a bit and forcing himself to think of other things. 

Twenty feet to his left, Xori stirred, drawn out of her phone by something on the console. 

“There.” Her low voice rang out, pointing to something on the analog inscription graphs before her. Alphys scooted her chair over; both of them were silent for a few moments, watching while the little graphite styluses mapped out patterns of magical potential and harmony. Then- “There, there it is again. For two and a half seconds, just like it did that night. There's a perfect synchronization.”

Alphys said nothing for a moment, before, hesitantly… “But…but that can't mean-” She took a deep breath. “No. Of course it does.” Her voice was brisk. “That was the whole point of this, wasn't it?” She looked up at Gaster and called out, “Do you remember what we were studying that night? It was the first day of trials for it. Sans said there was some…pretty severe memory loss. But I don't know how severe ‘severe’ is.”

He shook his head. “I can't remember hardly anything from those first few months after. Before, the days leading up to it, and that actual night? Almost completely gone.”

She nodded with a grimace. “And what about in-between? I know that sounds insane, but humor me. After the accident but before Frisk pulled you back…what then, if anything?”

Gaster frowned. This was something that had disturbed him for four years, something he didn't like to think about for the implications. “I was… aware of time passing. It was a thoughtless awareness, but I knew that I still existed as a concept, though I didn't know who that was, and that time was passing as I was somewhere.”

“...it worked…” Xori's voice was somewhere between horrified and fascinated. “At least part way. We'd barely gotten past theoreticals, and it got tested on a living subject…”

His old friend came over to him, her silver nails tapping on the metal grate floor. Unlike the rest of them, Alphys was perfectly comfortable in the heat, not even needing insulation on her tough, bare feet. “This is just a working theory. For now. And the most important thing is to reunite the part of your soul still missing. So…” she stared down at the clipboard in her hand for a moment, thinking. “That night, we were testing your Many Worlds hypothesis. The idea that an oscillating frequency and a sufficient power source, in a vacuum so complete that even photons couldn't exist there, could be used as a sort of rudimentary radar to search for complimentary realities that neighbor ours. We'd left the core running basic trials that night, with you volunteering to stay until late and keep an eye on things.” she pointed over at Sans. “He still has the negative-space drive at his house, locked up. After comparing the results we just got to the pre-recorded settings that we saved from that night, we’ll know for sure. But…I think once you fell, and were dissolved by the Core, you were ‘somewhere’. Not dead. I think you were shunted toward somewhere else, another reality. Stuck in limbo in between that one and ours. And I think a piece of you is still there, draining the main, anchoring part-” a wave of her hand took him in “-to stay alive.” 

He stared at the floor, thinking. It sounded insane, but so did half of the work they did here. A power source as unending and reliable as the Core allowed for near miracles in the magical spheres. And the more she spoke, the more he remembered- it all sounded familiar. 

“There have been rumors,” she murmured, saying this for his ears only. “Very, very rare rumors. People claiming that they met spirits, ghosts that would tell them something horrible about the old Royal scientist. That he died, that his work was left unfinished, that he fell and was no more. It's become something of an urban legend in hotland.”

“Stray, residual scraps of frequencies,” he said in answer, nodding, following her train of thought. “Using me as a conduit, like a radio antenna between two realities. I must be truly dead in their worlds.”

“It's what started me thinking down this path, theorizing what could be wrong with you. It sounds mad and esoteric, but everything we do is. And you're a mad, esoteric weirdo anyway. Of course it would be you.” 

He smirked at her for a moment, and though he couldn't know it, Alphys’ Soul sang to see the expression on his face…for it was the first time that entire afternoon that he'd looked like the Gaster she remembered. “Who else gets to claim that they almost broke through the barrier between realities themselves? I should get an award.” 

Some time later, as Xori finished her frequency sweeps and Malachi very solemnly put a paper medal on a paperclip ribbon around his neck that read, “Most Expensive Lab Mistake”, he glanced over at a sudden noise- you and Frisk were visible through the large windows in the double doors leading back into the main access hall, Frisk trotting down the hallway completely blindfolded by a stray t-shirt they'd found somewhere, and you ducking away from their hands every time they tried to pounce. The noise had been Frisk running face first into the doors. Despite the soundproofing, everyone could hear your sobbing laughter as the mage wheeled around, completely undeterred, and tried to lunge for where you'd been, but a graceful side step sent them stumbling out of sight.

“At least they're self-entertaining, these humans.” Yot'hina's voice was as dry as bone. Ami snorted. “Oh, the big human hater. As if we haven't all seen you sniffin’ around that new fellow at the annex, what's his name? Chrid?”

“ Chris.” The Macaw didn't so much as look up from his work, but Gaster could see the feathers at the base of his neck were ruffled. “His name is Chris…and that's none of your business.”

Ignoring their antics, Xori sighed and stretched. “Alright. That's all we're gonna be able to do for the night, the processor will need a few days just to sift through all this information.”

Feeling more like himself by the second, Gaster stared down at his hands and very innocently asked, “Want me to stay here and babysit it?”

The chorus of horrified NO!!!’s that rang out around him made him laugh til he choked.

-

Despite things being officially ‘done’ for the night, it took some time for everyone to finish what they were doing enough that it would keep for the next day or two without oversight. He stood and wavered a bit, dizzy. Alphys put her hand out for him, but after two steps, the dizziness faded. He already felt so much better.

They exited the control room into the hall, startling you and Frisk out of a game of rummy- where you’d found a deck of cards, he had no idea. His friend was saying something behind him, but he couldn't have focused on that if his life depended on it. All his attention was on you, on the way you stared at him with genuine awe and excitement on your face as you tripped around the edge of the desk to get to him. Alphys rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself as she passed him and grabbing Frisk as the mage tried to sneak past her. “Gods, I never thought I'd see you like this. You finally got snagged by the right net. Go away, and for god's sake, stay in touch.”

“Yes, of course I will…” He said it over his shoulder, trotting to you; you were wide-eyed and wondering, looking between his eyes, down to his mouth, down to his neck where it showed above the collar of his shirt and back again. He said your name softly, marveling at speech that didn't hurt, at words that didn't feel blurred and careful through magical lips and teeth that weren't quite right for speaking, and you took a step toward him, then another, a smile starting to spread across your lips. Behind him, the sound of people scurrying away carried through the metal hallway, as well as a whisper of, “Alright, they're cute as fuck.” that made you grin for a second, rubbing your hand under your eyes. 

“Oh sweetheart wow, I…how do you feel?”

“Better.” He took a deep breath, feeling magic thread and pulse though his body in a way it hadn't in years. “So much better.”

Gently, as if afraid to hurt him, you stepped up and put a palm on his chest, then ran it up to his chin, his cheek…brushing your thumb under his eye, then along his lips. 

“Oh…” It left you as a whisper and he cocked a brow, waiting for an explanation…but you didn't offer one. Just took him by the hand and led him to your car. 

He couldn't keep his hands off you- running his palm up and down your thigh and admiring the slide of your thin pants over your soft skin beneath, or squeezing along your arm, feeling the give of tissue over the hard bone beneath. Your quick stop at a drive-through was an opportunity for him to card his fingers through your hair, brushing a knuckle down your cheek in inward awe at the downiness against his renewed bones. By the time you parked in his driveway, Gaster was bouncing one knee like he'd had too much coffee, jittery and restless for something. He just didn't know what; he couldn't focus long enough to think about it.

You followed him in with an armful of soups and sandwiches- he hadn't known the Spiders had started franchising, wasn't that exciting? When he stepped through the door, he cast a glance around at the softly glittering veneer of dust over his entire house, dust you hadn't gotten to yet that week, and narrowed his eyes. ‘Sorry Alphalfa, my dear’ he thought as power gathered into his hands. ‘I can't stand not to…but this shouldn't be too taxing.’

It took some convincing, but soon dust was traveling toward him in streams like an overflowing creek, gathering from every room and surface of his house, flowing down the stairs from the floor above him, and condensing itself into a swirling mass between his palms. Once he couldn't see or feel another bit of the damned stuff, he clapped his hands together, and the entire ball disappeared in a flash of golden light. 

For the first time in four years, there wasn't a speck of it in his home. 

You made a noise in your throat behind him, and he turned to find you staring at him in the oddest way, a slight flush rising in your cheeks and the bags hanging limp from your raised hands.

“What?” 

Twitching as if startled out of a thought, you shook your head, walking past him and heading quickly into his kitchen. Odd…but the magic coursing through him felt so good, so free after four years of exhaustion and emptiness, that his mind got distracted by other things. Ideas and hopes and nebulous plans for the future. After four years of slow degeneration, he hadn't realized just how drained he was compared to how he should be. It was a wonder Alphys’ spell didn't kill him. 

He paused for a moment on his way through the house to admire the cat statuette you'd gotten him, sitting on a place of honor on a shelf in the little hall leading into the living room, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye; when he glanced over, he caught the flutter of the back of your shirt as you disappeared again around the doorway.

Had you been watching him?

Curious now, and with the scent of a fascinating little mystery in his nose, he wandered back out to where you were unpacking bags; the moment he came into view, you turned, blinked at the sight of him, and completely missed the counter as you went to sit a container of kimchi down on it. A twitch of one finger cast a magical hand out, skeletal and graceful, to catch it before it hit the floor as you scrambled for it and swore under your breath.

“Are you alright?”

“N-nothing! I mean, yes, yup. I’m fine. Thank you.” You spun away, hesitating for just a moment before reaching out and taking the container from him as it floated beside you, then turned your face to hide as you took a little, shaky breath before returning to what you'd been doing; assembling the bibimbap bowls. Gaster cocked a brow, bemused- he'd never seen you like this, flustered and wide eyed. And doubtless you didn't even think he'd heard you, but his already sensitive magical hearing had been increasing triple-fold now that his body had the power it should. 

“Are you sure? I…if something is worrying you, please tell me, I-” 

You collided with his chest, squeezing him as tightly as you could for just a second, and he had to turn away for just a moment to hide the idiot grin that came onto his face. “I'm just…it's nothing, I'm just happy you're okay. I'm happy to see you…well. And I…you're…” 

He made a motion for you to continue when your voice trailed off, but you shook your head. “No, nothing, it's just I, well…you know, you…it's very, everything is…um…” Your voice trailed off, leaving you flushed and staring up at him, your eyes sparkling and warm in the light of his home.

He smiled, because he'd never heard you stutter like this and it was honestly quite cute. “You can tell me if something's wrong. I won't be upset.” 

Your face softened. “No, I promise, nothings wrong. Here, Alphys made me promise that I'd shovel food into you.” He took the bibimbap and a stacked plate of various hot sandwiches from you, and as soon as the smell hit his nose, realized he was voraciously hungry. He inhaled them, barely making it to his kitchen table; the containers of soup were a final blessing. You’d long finished eating and had disappeared for some minutes by the time he resurfaced, feeling even better than he had before now that his body had something to fuel itself- he'd barely eaten anything for so long. He stood, stretching so hard it shook him and yawned hugely…then turned when he felt eyes on him.

You were standing halfway into his living room, staring at him with your lips slightly parted, rubbing your arms as if you were cold- narrowing his eyes, he could see goosebumps raised on your skin there. You'd changed into clothing to sleep in (and didn't that feel good to see?); a loose t-shirt and soft shorts without a bra, and the bounce of your breasts as you took a few steps closer drew his eye…where he realized your nipples were hard, poking out cutely from the thin fabric. And then he thought of the goosebumps down your arms...and the way you'd been staring at him all night, jumping and squeaking the moment you were caught...

An astoundingly dirty grin spread across his face as he realized what was going on, and saw the moment that you realized that he'd realized… and something between panic and invitation flickered across your face. 

“Oh, now hold on, wait, it's just that I-” He took a step toward you. Your eyes went wide as you stumbled back a few paces on coltish legs, blushing and eager and so fucking sweet. “L-look, it's, just, you're very…um...it's really really nice to see that you feel better, and you know, I-” 

Nodding sagely and not listening at all to what you were saying, he took another step toward you, and you started giggling even as your expression shifted between nervousness and exhilaration. “And well, just, look, I don't want to come off as shallow, I'm just…I'm surprised, I…of course I know what you look like, but it's one thing to know and one thing to know, and, see, you're very handsome, and-”

“Mmhmm.” He unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it over his arms to fall carelessly onto the floor, watching as your gaze flicked to it before, biting your lip, you looked back up at him.

“And oh, ah, well, today seemed exhausting you know, just absolutely tiring for you to go through, so I certainly wouldn't expect-”

He said your name, and you fell quiet, freezing like a kitten right before they dashed off in play.

 “...yes?”

“Go upstairs.” 

For a moment you did naught but stare up at him…then spun with a shriek of pure laughter and delight, trying to outpace him as you sprinted for the staircase that led to where his bedroom was. 

He caught you on the second flight. 

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth! And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with graveclothes: and his face was bound about with a napkin. Christ saith unto them that were watching in awe, Loose him, and let him go.

Chapter Text

It struck you, though not for the first time, how slender the man pressed behind you was as he caught you up against the wall on the landing between the two flights of stairs. How slight his figure. Sans was built wide, the bones under his clothing physically thicker to the touch if one happened to bump into him or sit close. Papyrus, while tall and slim, still had a heft to him. A weight, somehow- perhaps it was simply his force of personality.

Gaster, in comparison, was nearly delicate in his presentation. The bones of his body were thin, graceful; the few moments that you'd seen him shirtless downstairs before dashing off to try and outrun him for the sheer joy of it, you'd been practically unable to look away…as if you hadn't been staring at him all night. Who'd have ever guessed that such a body could be so handsome? So inhuman, so strange and fey…and yet as he caught you up from behind, putting his hands before you against the wall to cage you in and protect you from hitting it, your knees felt weak. 

“Now will you tell me the truth?” Oh, he absolutely knew what he was doing with that disgustingly warm, rich voice. You cast a bleary, grateful prayer of thanks to the sky that you were facing away from him, and that he couldn't see your lashes flutter at the way he murmured the words into your ear, keeping one hand before you and dropping the other to slide slowly up your hip, waist, and then, delicately, to cup your breast like he was weighing it from beneath. If you weren't so hysterically turned on, you might have been embarrassed by how just his words and that single touch were making you melt. “Hmmm?” 

Two could play at this- you arched back into him, pressing your ass against his cock as it strained against his slacks and bending forward a bit to rest your head on your arms against the wall. “What can I say?” God, you sounded as breathless as you felt. “If you want me to be honest-” his choked off little chuckle as he pulled you closer by the hips and began grinding against your ass told you he very much did “-then…I'm so happy to see you feeling better. I can tell you feel better…and I'm rather struck by it all myself, because I keep thinking you're one of the hottest men I've ever seen.” You let a smile come into your voice as he caught the head of his cock deliciously up against you through your clothing- when had he unzipped his pants? “Seeing you now, knowing you aren't hurting or going to just disappear beside me one morning when I wake up- mmm, that feels so nice…-it’s amazing. Gaster…I'm so happy.”  

He turned you in his hold at that, sweeping you up against himself in a tight hug as he pressed his face to your hair. His voice was perhaps the tiniest bit raw as he murmured, “Because of you. All of it, because of you. Like I didn't notice what you were doing, prying me out of here like the most stubborn oyster, dragging me out into the sun to chase away the shadows.”

“How could I not?” You nuzzled into his neck, kissing the words into the bones there and loving how he hummed in pleasure at the feeling. “From the moment I met you, I couldn't have helped myself.”

“You nagged my family into coming here more.” The way he said it, it was almost like he was confirming guesses aloud. “I know you did, Papyrus told me. But thanks to that, Sans had more reasons to start talking to Alphys and the others about it all again…to start a path for me to follow. I don't think she'd have forgiven me if something else hadn't interfered first.” He pushed you back enough to look you in the eye, wonder and realization on his (handsome, healthy, healed) face. “My god, all of it is thanks to you. I…I can never repay you. Every trip, every little errand, I…fucking hell, you spent months…” 

“I enjoyed every moment with you. Don't think it was all some noble, self-sacrificing plan, I very much do like spending time with you, and I was prowling after you like a tiger. But also…I couldn't just…just sit back and watch you die here. You're so kind, you're fun to be around, considerate…from the moment we really met each other, I could tell you were a good man.”

He blinked. “...earlier today, several times in fact, most of the Core staff commented that they were happy for me. That it would be a waste, that I was too ‘smart’, too ‘important’ to just be allowed to die for no reason. That it would be a waste of my talents, a shame…” Shaking his head, he raised a hand and pushed your hair back from your face. “And I know they mean it well. I know they care. But you're the only person besides my direct family or Alph to say that you're glad just because…because I'm me. Not what I do, or what I can make.” 

“I didn't know any of those things about you at first.” It was the most honest you'd ever been with him, heat and passion set aside for just a moment. You slid your hands down his ribs, realizing that they were now a nearly translucent ivory in the warm light in his home, with an impossibly fine pattern of black lines traced through them like the most delicately crackle-glazed porcelain- the only lingering sign of the inky blackness of corruption. “I just liked you. From the beginning. Of course I picked things up, learned more about your life, your work; Sans bragged about you every chance he got once I'd met you, but…well. You know.”

“What a gift, then…I don't think I've met someone in decades that knew me before they knew the titles.” 

Grinning, you reached up to sling your arms around his neck, inwardly fascinated by how his torso felt against yours through your thin shirt. “Now don't get me wrong, it's all very impressive…”

“Oh?”  He began backing up the stairs, drawing you along with him slowly. 

“Mmhm, very much so. All those awards hidden in your office, a fancy title, my goodness…and you know, I learned from a certain tall Skeleton brother that it wasn't Sans at all who got me those permanent driving passes for my company…”

Grinning, he ducked his head for a moment as he reached the top stair, glancing over and waving a hand toward his bedroom- soft golden light began to emanate through the doorway. “What good is all this lingering influence if it can't be used for whatever my lover wants?” 

The word made you smile. Lover. Somehow so much sweeter than ‘girlfriend’ or ‘partner’. “Ah, whatever I want huh? Well I have been thinking about expanding, hiring some Monsters, a second office…” You took him by the pinky and led him into the bedroom, smiling at its familiar sight- who'd have ever thought you'd see the room this way? From peacefully cleaning and setting things to rights, to leading a grinning, blushing man in as your belly flipped over on itself from desire…your life had certainly gotten so much more interesting with him in it. 

“I doubt you need my help with that, your reputation is excellent, but of course I w-would…ah-”

His voice stuttered out as you dropped his hand and crawled up into the bed, glancing at him over your shoulder with a smile. He was staring at you, grinning; it widened when you sat back on your heels still facing away from him, and slid your shirt off, tossing it away. God it was so fun to have a man who understood the game, giving you space for mischief and to show off your body to him just a bit. 

“Why don't you come join me, doctor? My excellent reputation could use some terrible mishandling… ” You put a purr on the title, meaning to tease him…but by the way he narrowed his eyes, perhaps he liked it more than you'd have thought he would. 

“I can't tell you how many women have tried that with me. I never found it particularly attractive…until now.”

“Oh, so many women I'm sure.” He prowled up behind you on the bed, dragging his fingertips up the curves of your ass, his breath leaving him in a rush. “All of them so very fascinated by the esoteric Royal scientist…”

Sweeping your hair over your shoulder, he began pressing kisses to your bare neck, his grip tightening as you moaned softly. “You don't sound like that bothers you much...” There was hot approval in his voice- here was a man who liked confidence.

“Where are they right now?” you asked with a smile, sighing at his touch. “And where am I?” As he dragged his hands up your thighs and belly, you turned your head, enough to catch his lips with yours. To your delighted surprise, he gasped- literally gasped! As if so taken with you that just a touch thrilled him! You remembered his expression in your living room the night before, how he'd looked so blown away, so eager and desperate. And before that, when he'd leaned into every little embrace, his eyes on you with a soft smile more often than not whenever you were around…

 …had you ever been wanted this badly before? 

It was a heavy thing, to be wanted so sincerely by someone like him. To see the honest, naked affection in his eyes as he pulled back from the kiss enough to really look at you. To take in your features hungrily, as if seeing you for the first time. 

His hips were pressed up against you, his cock heavy against the back of your thigh...and all of this sweetness was very well and good, but it felt like you were burning for want of him. Sighing with eagerness, you let yourself slide forward, arching your back until your face and forearms rested on the bed, your ass in the air and pressed perfectly against his pelvis. His reaction was immediate and delicious; his hands dropped to your waistband, fiddling with it for just a moment, before sliding your loose shorts down to your knees and off one leg at a time. No more words were needed; you could feel him shove his pants down a bit more and take himself in hand, dragging the head of his cock up and down your pussy as he teased himself for a moment…you held your breath in anticipation.

Oh, but the angle was so delicious. As he pushed himself home into your body, the long, slow slide made your breath catch and your toes curl- somehow so much more intimate in this position, so much bigger. 

“Fuck, fuck that's pretty…” You flipped your hair out of the way to glance back at him. He was staring at your ass while he fed his cock into you one-handed, his other tight on your waist. His face was a work of art; you could see his jaw working, could see the tension in the arch of his neck somehow, as he backed out a few inches then rocked back in. It felt so good, rich and satisfying, exactly what you wanted. “Gods, look at you.” 

Was there anything hotter than a vocal man in bed? Smiling as need hummed in your body, you arched forward and back again, moving yourself almost to the tip of his length then back down to the base. “Ohhh…” It left you as a sigh as you pillowed your cheek down on your arm and did it again. It was almost relaxing in its pleasure- in response, Gaster groaned so deep you could hear it through the bed. “Yesss…come on, work yourself on me. Let me watch you take my cock.” 

Filthy, filthy, filthy- who'd have guessed the good doctor had such a mouth on him? As a reward for saying such nice things, you began bouncing on him in earnest like that, not quite as hard as he could from behind, but still amazing…and anything was worth the moan you elicited from the man. Just this felt so good, rich and satisfying and thrilling…but after a few moments, the words bubbled up out of you helplessly. 

“Come on, Gaster I want it so bad, I-”

He didn't say a word. Just gripped your hips with his other hand as well, spread his knees a bit more for balance, and began fucking you like he was made for it. It wasn't rushed, nor so hard that it hurt in all the right ways (yet)- just a steady pounding that you could relax into as your body slowly wound tighter and tighter. 

“I loved that you touched yourself yesterday. Playing with yourself, god I want to see it…maybe some other time hmm? Spread yourself for me and let me watch?” Your eyes rolled back- was this what the man did in his imagination?

“F-fuck, what a pervert you are…” You pushed yourself up onto your hands, the better to brace against his thrusts, and laughed out a moan as he gripped your hair for just a second, flirting with the idea. “Is that what you want, huh? Lay your head on my thigh, get a front row seat as I make myself cum for you?”

His fingers tightened before he forced himself to let go- it was sweet, to feel how the two of you were still learning each other. It was plain he didn't want to do anything to you that you didn't want. “Go ahead, pull it a little. Come on...” 

He slowed for a moment, using both hands to twist it all together rather than grab individual strands; someone had taught him well, for him to know that. Then, once he had one hand locked on your waist and one on the ponytail he'd made, Gaster bent his head and began fucking you like his life depended on it. Gone was any hesitation, any nervousness; hard, fast, deep, it was enough to make your eyes water with how good it felt. The slight constraint added an extra layer of heat to it all; he didn't pull hard enough to do anything but arch your head back slightly, but just the idea of it made you gasp out his name. He murmured something in reply, swearing under his breath…and after a delicious, building, desperate few minutes more, you could feel the change in his rhythm. It made you smile with hot anticipation- the man was working himself up to one hell of an orgasm inside you, and you couldn't wait to feel it. “You're amazing, I'm-” 

“Come on,” you murmured, interrupting him- you were close yourself, and it put a layer of desperation in your words. “Come on, yes-” 

A low sound ground from his chest, making his words rough. “Mmm, if you could feel yourself the way I do…do you want it, darling? ”

He'd never called you something like that before; as he lost his rhythm, groaning your name and burying himself as deeply as he could, you reached down and began fingering yourself roughly, sketching fast circles over your clit…and the moment he realized what you were doing, Gaster swore like a sinner while he began to cum.

“Fuck me blind, th-that's it, keep going, I'll give you something for that pretty. little. pussy. to cum around…” He accentuated his words with three hard thrusts, fucking his own cum deeper into your body as it jerked out of him, and you felt like you were going crazy. Hovering right on the edge of an orgasm, so close you could feel it prickling down your legs- such a filthy mouth your man had, such a dirty mind secreted away …so close! So close…

He leaned forward, his cock still twitching inside you, and murmured, “Cum on my cock so I can lick you clean later and fuck you again…” and it was like that sinful, lovely voice was casting a spell. Just the image of his words, raunchy and perverse in all the best ways, sent you flying over the edge- the man hissed when your pussy began to flutter and clench around his sensitive cock, the sensation of cumming around such a delicious intrusion drawing cries from your throat over and over. He moved with you, rocking slightly and tormenting himself with the sharp over-pleasure of it.

Giggling out a moan, you collapsed down under him, your knees giving out; Gaster grunted and caught himself on one shaking elbow, managing to fall beside you as he slipped free from your body. “God, woman…” 

Too blissed out and happy to do more, you reached over and worked your fingers between his lower ribs, giving yourself something to hold on to as you caught your breath face-down on his lovely duvet. After a few moments, you turned your head, pillowing it on your other arm to murmur, “Have I ever told you how disgustingly jealous I am of this duvet cover? Every time I cleaned in here I just wanted to lay on it.”

Grinning, he stretched, trying to work his pants the rest of the way off before giving up and collapsing back down. “You could have, I wouldn't have cared at all…except to perhaps get some ideas of joining you. Stars above, I think I'm going to pass out.”  You used your toes to help him, finally kicking the fucking things off the bed. “You had a long day…I can't imagine how taxing earlier was for you, we probably shouldn't have done this yet.” 

All that got was an amused snort while he turned over and spooned up behind you; it made you shiver head to toe when you realized he was still hard. “Like hell I wasn't going to.” 

You laughed into the pillow in sheer happiness as he lifted your thigh over his elbow. 

-

Much, MUCH later that night …

Alphys fell back, her chest heaving , her nipples hard enough to cut glass. Somewhere draped over the bottom of the bed, her wife lay clutching her over-sensitized pussy with both hands and hiding her face in their blankets. She kicked Alphys away when she tried to give a soothing pat to her beautiful azure leg. 

“Don't touch me, you demon-” Undyne sounded exhausted. “How much longer is this shit gonna take you two to figure out? Fucking hell, of course he had to have some hot new girlfriend the second he got tied to you like this…”

Alphys snickered breathlessly, feeling around for her glasses as the reflected passion finally faded from her Soul- the damn bastard must have fallen asleep at last. “And we take this to our graves.”  

“To our graves.”

“...can I snuggle you yet?” 

Undyne groaned. “Absolutely not.”