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Chapter Text

THERE ARE CERTAIN IMMUTABLE 

TRUTHS, IDEAS, AND OCCURRENCES 

IN THIS UNIVERSE 

THAT NOT EVEN THE MOST 

BOUNDLESS INDIVIDUAL 

CAN HOPE TO DENY. 

THESE TRUTHS ARE UNRELENTING. 

THESE IDEAS ARE UNBEARABLE.

THESE OCCURRENCES ARE UNPREVENTABLE.

AND YET, 

THEY ARE MINE ALONE 

TO RECKON WITH UNTIL 

THE END OF TIME ITSELF… 

IF SUCH A UNIT EVEN EXISTS, 

AND IF THERE EVEN IS AN END.

I HAVE BEEN FALLING DOWN 

BEFORE AN INKLING 

OF MY EXISTENCE 

WAS EVER PONDERED. 

I WILL ALMOST CERTAINLY 

CONTINUE TO DO SO 

LONG AFTER THE LAST PEOPLE 

WHO’VE BORNE THE WEIGHT 

OF MY MEMORY 

HAVE PERISHED. 

IN ANY TIMELINE, 

I HAVE FOUND

THERE IS NOTHING 

THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN DONE 

TO STOP THIS.

FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, 

I HAVE BEEN BOTH 

ENRAPTURED AND TORTURED 

BY THE IDEA OF 

“GREATNESS” 

AND ITS ENSUING PURSUIT. 

I AM UNSURE QUITE WHERE 

THIS FASCINATION 

CAME FROM. 

PERHAPS IT IS BEST THAT I, 

DESPITE MY ABILITY TO, 

HAVE NOT YET SOUGHT 

SUCH ANSWERS, 

LEST I OVERSTEP MY BOUNDARIES

TO TRY AND PREVENT 

THE UNPREVENTABLE. 

THIS DESIRE TO ASCEND 

HAS QUITE INVARIABLY LED TO 

THE MOST CATACLYSMIC

DESCENT IMAGINABLE. 

ONE CAN ONLY WONDER 

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF ONE 

WITH SUCH PROCLIVITIES, 

BURDENED WITH THE KNOWLEDGE 

OF THEIR ULTIMATE REPERCUSSIONS, 

ACTED WITH EQUAL FORCE 

AGAINST THE VERY SAME INDIVIDUAL, 

ONE WHO REFUSED 

TO PICTURE HIMSELF AS ANYTHING

BUT INVINCIBLE.

IT IS AN AVENUE 

I HAVE FLIRTED WITH

AN ABUNDANCE OF TIMES. 

LUCKILY, I SUPPOSE,

IT IS ALSO AN IMMUTABLE TRUTH

THAT I AM QUITE BAD 

AT SUCH ACTIVITIES.

WHILE YOU ARE HERE, 

WHILE WE ARE

CONNECTED…

I SUPPOSE YOU DESERVE TO KNOW 

HOW EXACTLY

THIS ALL CAME TO BE. 

I DO HAVE ALL 

THE TIME IN THE WORLD 

TO EDUCATE INQUIRING MINDS

ABOUT MY PLIGHT, 

AFTER ALL. 

SUCH DISCUSSIONS, I HOPE, 

WILL NOT CAUSE YOU BOREDOM.

IT IS DIFFICULT 

FOR ME TO GAUGE 

SUCH EMOTIONS, 

PARTICULARLY NOW THAT THEY 

ARE THE HALLMARK OF 

MY EXISTENCE.

THEY WOULD BE FOR YOU 

AS WELL, I IMAGINE, 

IF YOU HAD BEEN REDUCED 

IN FORM,

RIPPED APART… 

BOTH COMPLETELY INERT 

AND ASTONISHINGLY ACCELERANT 

AT THE SAME TIME. 

NEVER-MIND SUCH RAMBLINGS ! 

IT IS JUST NICE 

TO HAVE COMPANY. 

AFTER ALL, 

IT IS RARE FOR ME 

TO HAVE A COMPANION 

THAT HAS NOT BEEN FORMED 

FROM MY OWN HANDS.

IT BRINGS ME GREAT COMFORT

TO REMINISCE LIKE THIS, 

ON MY ONCE-COMPLETE 

CORPOREALITY...

ON MY OLD EXISTENCE...

TO BE BUT A HOLLOW

FACSIMILE OF ONE’S SELF

IS TRULY EXHAUSTING.

I DO HOPE YOU’LL UNDERSTAND

MY DESIRE TO EXPOUND UPON

WHY I AM LIKE THIS

AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.

SO, THEN…

WILL YOU LISTEN?

AFTER ALL,

I BELIEVE WE HAVE BOTH

BEEN WAITING SUCH A 

VERY,

VERY

LONG TIME

TO CONNECT.

(The connection was terminated… but a hefty stack of papers appeared suddenly on your desk. Proceed?)

Chapter Text

December 29, 1986

I suppose I owe a greeting to whomever is going to read this, because I almost certainly will not again. Unless I do. In which case…

☟︎☜︎☹︎☹︎⚐︎. 💧︎✌︎☹︎🕆︎❄︎✌︎❄︎✋︎⚐︎☠︎💧︎. 

If you have somehow found this and cannot understand what I just said… I imagine you are looking into things that you shouldn’t. Please leave my thoughts be.

Mother and Father bestowed a typewriter and a journal upon me for Gyftmas a few days ago and have strongly encouraged me to keep a record of my “thoughts and feelings” as I look onward toward my future. They say these tools will help me deal with the stress of applying to and beginning my doctorate. I highly doubt it, but I appreciate them more than I dread doing this, so I will still try. After all, these are very fine gifts… Perhaps I can use this to pre-write materials for my entrance questioning.

Other achievements not included, given that I am perhaps the only student in my class to show interest in continuing my scientific education beyond an undergraduate level, I feel I should not have to worry about getting accepted; yet, I fear that I will somehow end up doing something to preclude my advancement. 

I had a dream the other night that I walked into my final interview in nothing but undergarments. I opened my mouth to try and explain, but all that came out was garbage noise. The admissions committee cackled extensively and forced me out of the room. It was dreadful. I woke up in a cold sweat and had to rush to my calendar to ensure I had not just survived a coma I fell into after such an embarrassment.

Mother, dream-reader that she claims to be, thinks that the insecurities from the darkest depths of my mind simply manifested in my sleep. “Perhaps,” she inquired, “your mind dredged up some fears about the future and combined it with some contempt for your… condition… because they come from a similar place?” While I am not as spiritual as her per se, I find her perspective to be plausible. 

As for my “condition” of sorts… I do not know who is reading this, other than me… so… as you may know… or perhaps you don’t… one hallmark of my species’ development and physiology is the manner in which we speak. Unlike all other forms of monster, each skeleton is born with a proclivity toward speaking in a certain “font,” which you could perhaps consider to be an “accent” of sorts. While these may be heritable, it is not uncommon for a family of skeletons to each have a unique primary font, often in the same or adjacent “categories” such as the serifs and sans-serifs. Most fonts are easily understood, though some are far more grating to the ear than others. 

Mine is perhaps the most grating and unintelligible of them all… with a most cringe-worthy name to boot. Wingdings. Add to this plight the fact that I am an “uppercase” speaker, and the issue suddenly becomes far louder and more irritating. Of all the fonts that could have grafted onto my SOUL… lucky me, I suppose. Made up entirely of symbols practically unintelligible to those who are unfamiliar with the typeface, this inextricable part of myself has essentially rendered it impossible to communicate verbally with a majority of the monsters in the Underground.

Only other skeletons have an innate, immediate understanding of my speech, and there are but a few of us left. I can type in “normal” characters just fine (which is wonderful, since the humans have not bothered to make and then throw any Wingdings keyboards into the Waterfall dump) and can write rather messily in some garbled variation of fonts I’ve tried to “teach myself” over the years (though I still prefer to write my “true” tongue, for it keeps my thoughts solely to myself), but the situation is frustrating regardless of such an easement.

One saving grace of our development is that a majority of skeletons, in accordance with their family name, are able to speak in a “secondary” font. As a Gaster, I am able to speak in the Aster typeface… at least for a moment at a time. (I am unaware as to why there’s a G in front of our last name’s font. My grandmother loved to claim that the “G” just stood for “Greatness,” but I am relatively confident that my great-great-great-great-grandfather simply messed up the spelling on our family’s intake registration after the War. I will have to ask Gerson sometime. He’s old enough to remember.)

It takes a great deal of exertion of one’s magic, especially when the primary and secondary fonts are so disparate, to speak with the latter. I can, therefore, only truly speak a few intelligible sentences at a time amongst my peers, lest I expend my energy for the day trying and failing to make myself heard. Consequently, I’ve developed a reputation as a standoffish nerd of sorts… I suppose they are not wrong about the “nerd” part, but I truly would do anything to be able to connect more with those I know. It always feels like I am trapped behind some impermeable wall, not unlike the Barrier, that precludes me from truly connecting with anyone but myself.

I know I should not be complaining in such a manner. It would be ludicrous to expect those around me to learn new ways to communicate just so I can have a voice, and I am lucky to have made it this far given such a difficulty… and yet, these feelings persist. Perhaps it is because I do try to work with the circumstances, albeit to little avail. I have been making progress with using my magic to aid in my “speech.” Only a handful monsters know Common Sign Language, but a combination of signing and the use of my magic can help people, if only for a second, to understand what I am trying to say, even if they themselves cannot sign. It is somewhat rare that one of my peers bothers to listen, though. It seems that when one’s mind is set on believing something or someone is a certain way, in spite of what made them “that way,” it is highly difficult to make it budge.

That all being said, one could still imagine why such an imposition could preclude me from advancing in my studies and career. If I cannot communicate with others, or if they are unwilling to communicate with me, I do not see how I can make any of my ideas come to fruition. There is only one opening per year for our doctoral program, given that the Underground, which is already quite low in its population, has a dearth of instructors. If even one other monster is able to impress the admissions committee more, I will be out of luck. 

I have no idea what I would even do in such an event. I’ve had nightmares about a scenario like this before, but I never truly considered what I would do with myself. I do not know if I could keep it together. I could perhaps become a beneficiary of nepotism and join the Royal Guard like Father, but I doubt they would appreciate my gangly build and ungainly gait. I also doubt I could bear to report to King Asgore and Queen Toriel if they reject me from the doctorate, as they have the final say as to who will be accepted… It would be far too embarrassing.

I truly do not want to go into this process acting like my acceptance is a given. It would be unwise. I suppose it is better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than to expect the best and be thoroughly disappointed. Father says that a man of my “talents” needs to keep his ego in check, lest it consume him. I do not know how much ego I possess, though. It is often difficult for me to judge myself against what others think of me. There are not many “others” I associate with, after all. Based on the amount of doubt that tends to paralyze me at any given moment, I am confident I have a little while before I have to start worrying about that…

Granted, I have had a propensity for being hubristic in the past… like when I cracked my skull on a rock at six years old in Waterfall after claiming that my ill-conceived “flying machine” would work. My parents healed me up quite well, but I can see the faint outline of the scar above my eye socket if I look close enough. I enjoy pretending that it makes me look “cool.”

I sincerely doubt, however, that my “coolness,” of which I have little supply, can get me further in life than my innate abilities and passions. I know in the deepest depths of my SOUL that I can do something worthwhile with my life. I know that I have ideas that, if realized, can help monsterkind flourish in the Underground. It may be foolish, but I also hope I can eventually utilize my wits to help us see the surface again.

Despite the long duration of our time in the Underground, we have not developed to the extent that we should have by now. Our homes are kept warm by candles and long-burning lamps made by the more elemental monsters. Our only widespread, meaningful technological innovations come from the growing “dump” in Waterfall. We have not yet made much of anything, apart from rudimentary infrastructure, that is truly our own. If we are truly going to be here forever… or even if we are not… we need to overcome our centuries of dependence on the humans.

It is doubtful that we will procure the seven human souls needed to break the barrier in my lifetime, but I hope to do all I can to get us closer to such a realization… or at least make us comfortable while we wait. If I have progeny, I dream that they will one day feel fresh air on their face… soak their bones in the sea… Such wonderful stories have been told to us by those who remember a life before this place. For over 500 years now, we have been stuck in a pit without sunlight or moonlight, wind or sea… There are things a common human takes for granted on the daily that many down here would quite literally kill to witness. No matter how many generations pass on, the hearts of monsterkind beat as one, gazing up toward the stars we should be seeing. If we lose such hopes, we lose everything. We cannot and will not be content with sitting in the dirt.

I have been blessed with a curious and supple mind. I know I can use this gift for good. I just need this chance.

Chapter Text

Secondary Application to Hotland University - 

Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) in Magical, Physical, and Life Sciences

Congratulations! The admissions committee for the Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) in Magical, Physical and Life Sciences program at Hotland University was thoroughly impressed with your Primary Application and would like to invite you to move forward in the admissions process.

Firstly, we require you to provide the committee with two (2) letters of recommendation.

• The first letter of recommendation must come from one who has worked with you in an academic capacity, preferably in science courses. They must be able to attest to your skills in the discipline(s) that you are interested in concentrating on as you complete your doctorate. This letter cannot come from a family member.

• The second letter of recommendation must come from one who can attest to your character. The individual you choose does not have to be associated with the sciences; in fact, it is preferred that they are not. Our graduates hold themselves to a high moral standard, and we must ensure all future graduates do the same. This letter cannot come from a family member.

Secondly, you must provide us with a list of three projects and/or disciplines you are interested in concentrating in to create your dissertation. If you have three projects listed and would like to also list certain disciplines you are interested in, write them in the margins of this section. Provide details of such projects on a new sheet of paper.

1. ______________________
2. ______________________
3. ______________________

Lastly, please attach answers to the following short answer questions on a new sheet of paper.

1. What inspired you to pursue a career in the sciences?
2. What qualities do you possess that make you the right choice for this program?
3. How do you hope to impact the Underground throughout your career?
4. Do you have any non-science-related skills that you believe would augment your success in this field?
5. What is an example of a time in which you failed, and how did you learn from your mistakes?
6. Do you acknowledge the possibility of pain, seizure, and other harm befalling you due to the inherent dangers of this field? If so, how do you plan to mitigate such risks?

When completed, please mail this to New Home. Your letters of recommendation may be attached or mailed separately. Ensure that all materials arrive to their destination by January 10. If they do not, you will no longer be considered for the program. Thank you for your time.

January 2, 1987

I return to University in a few days, so I’ve spent the better part of the past week preparing my statements and portfolio before I am too busy to work on it again.

Thus far, all is coming along quite nicely. I am to prepare two letters of recommendation, three promising projects or ideas I would be interested in completing my dissertation on, and a few short-answer questions.

Dr. Cattinger was obviously the first person I asked for a letter. Though his work is on the more theoretical side of the sciences, he always reminds me that such research can help me make breakthroughs in my more practical solutions. I do admit, the work we’ve done together in researching quantum electrodynamics and the theory’s relationship to potentially unique variations in the Underground has been very, very interesting. Perhaps it will come of use to me one day… doubtful, but only time can tell. Regardless, he has been my most cherished mentor throughout my undergraduate career and readily agreed to write a letter for me.

Finding someone to “attest to my character” was a bit more difficult, considering that I have few people outside of my family with whom I spend time. Eventually, I decided to ask Gerson. I’ll go to speak with him tomorrow. He does not live very far from my house, and I enjoy keeping him company on the weekends. I just hope he does not write about some embarrassing childhood occurrence I’ve failed to remember, as he’s known me for so long.

As for the subject of my dissertation, I have one in mind. I have been rooting around my notebooks, attempting to find my two other most promising projects, but they pale in comparison to the CORE. It is perhaps my most far-fetched idea on paper, and it will take immense time, energy, funds, and materials to construct… but if it is successful, we will enter a time of unprecedented prosperity.

The composition of the Underground’s landmarks and topology is both odd and beneficial. For such a small place, at least when compared to the surface, we have extremely distinct, resource-rich biomes. In the beginning of our time in the Underground, such distinctions were apparent but slightly less clear. Monsters gradually moved into the biomes their physiology was best suited for… reptiles and fire elementals to Hotland, warm-blooded and furred creatures to Snowdin… and the constitution of their collective magical signatures began to subtly enhance the landscape they resided in.

Hotland, where the University is (obviously) located, is the only part of the Underground that has begun a notable amount of electrical installation in non-public-use spaces. My roommate is from Hotland, and his parents (though they’re probably the last people who want or need it, seeing as they run the most successful light-providing business in the whole Underground) just got some wiring installed last month. 

This is all possible because of the massive amounts of geothermal energy present in the area, of course. Houses that are beginning to run on electricity there all have their own rather inefficient generators that try (and mostly fail; his parents aren’t too worried about going out of business for a reason) to harness the power of the landscape.

What if there was a way, though, to properly harness such energy?

… 

I can do that. The CORE can do that.

Hotland is essentially sitting on the geothermal equivalent of a gargantuan crude oil well… one that is constantly replenishing. As long as the world keeps revolving, the landscape will keep producing energy. We need something to capture it, and those infinitesimal generators are not the solution. A larger station, however… is another story entirely.

I have drawn up some highly rudimentary schematics for such a thing: a massive geothermal power plant that can provide stable, clean energy for everyone in the Underground AND have enough bandwidth left over in case of an emergency. 

Using flash steam-based mechanisms, the high pressure, scorching fluids in the area can flow into the CORE and get isolated in lower pressure tanks, which will cause the rapid formation of, well, flash steam. This steam will then be siphoned into some contraption, upon which it will expand in volume and create mechanical energy as it performs some work on whatever the contraption is that will be included… I’ll have to connect such a contraption, perhaps a turbine (?) to a generator so the mechanical energy can be turned into electrical energy, obviously… The best part is that we’ll have enough of the steam for it to be released back into Hotland once its cycle in the CORE is finished, so we will not have to worry about running out of resources.

This is, of course, a more “surface”-level approach to the matter, as my textbooks surrounding such concerns came solely from the human world. Given the Underground’s (and particularly Hotland’s) magical composition, I may be able to change up some steps to make the process even more efficient.

There is a perfect spot to put such a large device, for much of Hotland is undeveloped as of now, particularly as we approach the capital, New Home. In order for this power plant to work, it has to be right near the lava pit itself, but we obviously cannot block off the entrance to New Home; therefore, we’ll have to construct an interior for the machine that is entirely traversable… which may be difficult. I have plans for the construction of the machine that could interfere with such a necessity, but I may be able to incorporate such ideas into the interior… a puzzle of sorts? Will ponder later.

Needless to say, I am quite exhilarated by the prospect of this project. While my blueprints and other schematics are elementary, I feel they get my ideas across well enough to give everyone else more faith in my conviction that this can and will work. If I am indeed able to pass such confidence onto the admissions committee, they may decide to pursue my candidacy further.

As for the other two projects… I have isolated some potential options. 

One is a fearsome machine, a blaster of sorts, that uses an internal algorithm to decrypt the exact magical spells cast by the humans to create the barrier. Once the algorithm has completely unfurled the “code” of the barrier, it can work on synthesizing the correct order of counter-spells to systematically break down the barrier. This, of course, requires a great deal of external magical input… far more than I possess… and I do not know if our knowledge of mystical human powers is vast enough for the algorithm to be able to properly detect each spell. It may be able to weaken the barrier, though, thus cutting the number of human souls we require down. Of course, it may not work entirely… but it does look “cool” and can serve a variety of other purposes if its original one does not work out.

The next is a similar machine, born from scrapped ideas I had for the previously mentioned one. It is highly experimental and theoretical. Dr. Cattinger inspired me to create it after we had a riveting discussion about the constitution of one’s SOUL… such metaphysical ideas both entrance and frighten me. I generally consider myself to be a far more pragmatic individual than him, but I cannot help but be enamored with ideas entirely beyond my reach. Such is the great pitfall and the great success of metaphysics… we will likely never know exactly how everything to be, no matter how hard we try. It is impossible for one to slip out of existence and come back knowing all… though it would be very interesting to meet such a person. I doubt anyone could handle such truths… the most abstract concepts turned concrete, forced to be reckoned with. What does one do if their view of the world cracks and shatters, unable to be reversed?

But about the machine– Cattinger and I came about this theory when discussing the SOULs of Boss Monsters like King Asgore and Queen Toriel. Unlike the SOULs of “regular” monsters, their SOULs persist after death, much like those of humans, albeit for a far shorter duration. No one has ever bothered to investigate why exactly that is for some reason. We think there is some innate quality of sorts to them that allows this, but we haven’t put our fingers on exactly what it is or why they (and humans) possess more of it than us. This machine I designed under the tutelage of Dr. Cattinger would allow us, if we possess a human SOUL, to carefully extract a sample of its magical constitution and test precisely what it is that makes it persist. Of course, we have not come into contact with humans since the War ended, so we do not have one’s SOUL to test. We also cannot isolate a non-Boss monster’s SOUL, as they disintegrate immediately upon death. We are obviously not going to kill Toriel or Asgore, so… this project will have to wait until we have somehow acquired a human SOUL. It is likely my weakest of the three projects I am to provide details about for the aforementioned reasons; however, if it is eventually successful, our findings may help us break the barrier without ANY need for human SOULs.

All that’s left for me to do, apart from the short answer questions, is provide a write-up of each project and send over some blueprints.

The short answer questions seem rather superfluous, as I’ve addressed nearly all of them in my personal statement… but alas, academia is a rather inefficient and bloated system. I’ve chosen to work within its confines, so I should get used to such drudgery. I will work on them over the weekend.

January 3, 1987

I went to go visit Gerson today. It was a welcome diversion, for I had spent the rest of yesterday compiling all I could find to bolster my application. Of course, this visit was partially related to such activities… but it got me out of the house.

Granted, it is not a far walk… but the sights are pleasant enough to warrant a few pauses along the way. It is peaceful in Waterfall, with only the occasional echo flower piercing the calm rippling of the river and rush of the… waterfall. They really did not think to give places creative names here, did they?

Gerson lives up rather far north in a small house fashioned from a cavelike dwelling… fitting for a tortoise monster, I suppose. His home, tucked away behind the small storefront he’s recently set up, is cozy. As a child, when Mother was otherwise occupied and Father was busy with work, which was quite often… they left me with him and his wife.

He told them they were lucky I was such an inert baby, for he could not have kept up with a rambunctious one. I didn’t really feel the need to cause mischief, since his home library had enough entertainment to keep me seated for hours. He used to read me his books until I would fall asleep, but it usually took a while since he’s such an entertaining storyteller.

I still kept going to see him long after I no longer required a “babysitter,” since his company is such a welcome distraction from everything else. I have been visiting less and less in recent years, what with school and work and having to care for Mother… Needless to say, I appreciated the break.

As usual, he flung open his door with the vigor of a man a tenth of his age after I gave my timid knock on his slightly dilapidated wooden door.

“Wingdings, my boy! Come in, come in! How are ya? How are yer folks?” he beamed, laughing jollily as he led me into his home.

It’s lovely to see you, Mr. Boom… and, I’m fine. Just busy. My parents are… well, you know… I politely gestured. I would obviously rather not spend my time discussing such things. I do that enough with everyone else. I sat down on his couch, which was comfortable as usual, if not a bit dusty.

“Oh, use your VOICE, boy! I can’t see well enough for your fancy hands to do the trick anymore… I’m old! And besides, you’ve been babbling to me since you were a wee bag of bones. It’s not like I can’t understand you,” he laughed. I suppose I’ve forgotten that anyone can even begin to bear the sound of my voice, much less WANT to hear it. I cleared my throat.

“SORRY, MR. BOOM,” my voice cracked. “IT IS LOVELY TO SEE YOU. I AM FINE, BUT BUSY. MY PARENTS… THEY ARE OKAY AS WELL,” I squeaked out, trying to keep my voice at an appropriate volume… hard for an uppercase.

“There ain’t no need for such formalities, Wingy… and there ain’t a reason to lie either. I’ve seen your mother recently, and…”

“I– I REALLY WOULD NOT LIKE TO DISCUSS THIS RIGHT NOW. APOLOGIES. HOW ARE YOU?” I blurted out. I flushed, feeling a sting around my sockets.

He sighed knowingly. “Well, not much is new ‘round here. I’ve been lookin’ for some new hobbies… set up a shop… ‘Course it doesn’t get much business, but it gives me something to do.”

He got up and made us both a Sea Tea, his favorite. It’s a bit astringent for my taste, but I gladly sipped it with him. I hadn’t had one since our last visit, and the taste always reminds me of him.

We spoke a bit about his retirement and subsequent soirees into various activities. Apparently, he had tried his hand at being a cook, but he singed off his eyebrows. He then tried to join up with the fish folk’s “water aerobics” group, but he’s apparently much more of a land turtle than a sea turtle. Lately, he’s been on an archaeology kick. Of course, he still enjoys his writing, but he has had some luck with his new hobby. He showed me some interesting quartzes he found on the pathway between Snowdin and Waterfall.

He told me that he plans to sell all the trinkets he finds in his new storefront, along with all of the other clutter that’s been in his house far before I was born.

“... I’ve got lots of junk to get rid of, and it seemed like the perfect way to go about it! Oh, speaking of which…” he rambled, getting up to grab something. “Look what I found!”

He brought over a box labeled “Sandy’s Things” that he had lying next to the coatrack. “Y’know, sonny… you need some new clothes for when you’re a big shot scientist… so I found these!” he exclaimed, pulling out two very aptly-named turtleneck sweaters, one black and one white. “M’lady made these for me years ago, but she forgot to knit the hole for my shell. They’re a bit big on ya, I reckon, but I know you like your clothes all soft and baggy! And without a shell hole, wahahaha!”

He put the sweaters into my hands and they were, as he said, soft and baggy. In her time, Mrs. Boom was the best seamstress in the Underground. Though she took a while to finish her creations, the resulting garments were always sumptuous, regardless of how simple or complex the design was. These were no different. The pattern itself was quite detailed, with honeycomb stitches bobbing across the panels. The wool itself was dense-yet-breathable, perfect for keeping warm but acceptable in the heat. They were perfect.

“OH, MY. THEY- THEY’RE PERFECT, GERSON. THANK YOU,” I mused, tracing my fingers over the knitwork. 

“Well, try them on, young man! She’d want you to have them. I bet you’ll look right dashing in them,” he chortled as he sat back down in his chair.

I pulled on the black one first and looked in the cracked (courtesy of a tumble I had as a toddler) mirror he had in the main hallway.

“Slimming!” he laughed, putting down his book. “Though we know you don’t need any more of that!”

I joined in his laughter. It did look quite nice. The knit hung well on my frame. Obviously, this had been in storage for a while, as it fit my long torso. Gerson had long since shrunk in his old age.

“AH, AND PERHAPS THIS ONE WILL MATCH MY COMPLEXION?” I grinned, pulling off the black sweater to try on the white one. 

“A perfect match, indeed!” he guffawed. It actually was quite a nice tone of wool, a bit more creamlike than I first thought. It did, in fact, look nearly identical to my, well, bones. If the collar weren’t so large, one probably could not tell where it began and ended.

I made my way back over to his couch and flopped down, ribs aching with the remnants of our laughter. “THESE ARE QUITE WONDERFUL,” I remarked. “I REALLY AM QUITE GRATEFUL. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE I GOT ANY NEW CLOTHES.”

“I know how particular you are, laddie, and I just knew once I saw these that they were meant to be yours. Sandy, m’girl… she would be so proud to see you right now,” he said, misty-eyed. I scooted over on the couch to reach out and touch his shoulder. It had been well over a decade since she’d fallen down, but her memory still hung over his house like a comforting blanket she would’ve knit for him. Grief is a strange thing. I suppose it never really goes away. And it can start before anything actually happens.

We sat in silence for a few moments, knowing we weren’t quite ready to discuss the inevitable. The Sea Tea, which was already getting cold, was a welcome distraction for a bit.

“I MISS HER TOO,” I tried to comfort him.

“We all do, sonny boy,” he smiled wistfully. “At least I can still make memories like this with her, even if she ain’t really here.”

“... DOES IT EVER GET BETTER?” I paused. He looked at me like he knew everything I was thinking, and then patted my knee.

“It takes a while… but in time, you’ll learn to make peace with it. I don’t think it gets easier. Y’just get stronger. I have to be strong for my girl. And you… when the time comes, you’ll be strong too. I just know it,” he affirmed.

I truly hope he’s correct.

“I JUST WISH IT DIDN’T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS, I SUPPOSE… IT HURTS TOO MUCH TO THINK ABOUT,” I wheezed a bit, sinking further into the couch.

“It always will, a bit. It happens to all of us, our first… and you are still so young. Just know I’ll be here for you. And if y’ever need help down at your house, with… well… I’ve nothin’ better to do,” he lightly chuckled, pinching my rib like he always used to. I sighed, smiling a bit.

“THANK YOU. I- I DON’T KNOW IF WE NEED IT YET, BUT…” my voice trailed off.

He looked at me with knowing eyes. “Well, when y’do… And I’m sorry, but y’will, sonny… I’m not so far away. You boys don’t need to do it on yer own.” 

“I JUST WISH THERE WAS A WAY TO STOP IT, I SUPPOSE.. FROM HAPPENING. I WISH THERE WAS A WAY FOR EVERYONE TO BE OKAY. IT FRUSTRATES ME THAT THERE ISN’T,” I squeaked out.

“Well, maybe when you’re Mr. Fancy-Pants Scientist Man one day, you can find a way… Y’ probably shouldn’t… but if there’s anyone who can, it’s you,” Gerson affirmed, trying to calm me down.

I chuckled to myself. “YOU HAVE MORE FAITH IN ME THAN I DO, THEN.”

And yet, once more, silence consumed the room, piercing through the air as though it were a thousand decibels louder than it actually was. It was strange… in all the years I’d been visiting him, I still felt like a child. Of course, I was a child back then, but I rarely felt like it outside of here. Now, I suppose I no longer had such a luxury… but I did not mind it as much as I thought I would. Despite his home no longer being a last refuge from the strife of adulthood, it was refreshing to be able to talk to someone who understood.

“Ah, wait, sonny…” he grunted, rising from his chair. “I have something else for you,” he added, hobbling over to the kitchen and opening a drawer. He pulled out what looked to be a plain envelope, already addressed to someone.

“OH, IS THIS FOR MY PARENTS? I’LL BE SURE TO–”

“No, Wingy…” he smiled, “Y’know, with yer applications coming up soon… I don’t know if y’ still needed someone, but I wrote this letter for you.”

He put the letter in my hands. New Home was already on the address label. Stunned and speechless, I flipped it over to see his old stamp, a green and pink wax melt with a hammer in the middle. I used to love playing with his stamping kit when I was younger.

“Don’t open it, young man! It’s not easy for the ol’ Hammer of Justice to get a nice stamp like that anymore!” he winked, though it was hard to tell. One of his eyes had been drooping slightly more each year since I was a newborn.

“I ACTUALLY… WAS GOING TO ASK YOU TO WRITE ME ONE TODAY,” I sheepishly replied. “HOW DID YOU KNOW…?” 

“Retirement doesn’t stop the King from tellin’ me all the business he has to deal with, wahahaha! He was goin’ on and on about havin’ to interview all these kids and I asked him about it ‘cause I knew you’d be one of ‘em!” he exclaimed. “I put in a good word for ya with the big man himself, too!”

“... HUH?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised! I always brag on you to folks who come around. Ol’ Fluffybuns remembered you, too… from when you tagged along with me and yer da’ that one time on Guard duty at the Castle.”

“... WHEN I FELL INTO HIS GARDEN AND GOT A FLOWER UP MY NOSTRIL?”

“Yep!”

“WONDERFUL. I AM SO INCREDIBLY GLAD HE REMEMBERS THAT.”

“Don’t get yer bones in a twist! He thought it was CUTE! And he remembered how smart y’were too. I told him and ‘ol Toriel about yer big ritzy machine you’ve been workin’ on. They both thought it was spiffy!”

“THEY… BOTH?”

“When is it not them both?! You can’t pull those lovebirds apart from each other! Anyway, you’ve got both yer letters now, haven’t you? That Dr. Cattinger of yours stopped by to pick up a quartz from me and I got t’ brag on you some more!” Gerson grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW EVERYONE?” I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Gerson had already gone and tried to sweeten me up to the royals.

“I’m old, boy! I was yer scientist buddy’s kindergarten teacher, and I defended the honor of ol’ Fluffybuns and his wife long before nearly anyone here born!” he cackled. I turned the letter over and over in my hands, mulling the past hour or so over in my mind.

I glanced over at the old man sitting in his chair and flashed him as big a smile as I could. “WELL, I TRULY DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO SAY. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS MY GRATITUDE,” I confessed. 

“Just go in there and make me proud, Wingy. You don’t want to make a fool of me, do ya? That way, all my braggin’ on ya won’t be for nothing!” he beamed. He then proceeded to lean forward and noogie me on the forehead, just like he used to do. “That there’s what made yer brain grow so big. It’s true!”

We both laughed a bit and sipped the rest of the Sea Tea. He offered me another, but I looked at his clock and knew it was, unfortunately, time to head back to reality.

“CAN I COME VISIT AGAIN SOON?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes.

“Of course y’can! I have to go see Asgore tomorrow, and I don’t know when yer school wants y’ back, but come over any time y’want, as long as I’m not sleeping. Just knock!” he informed me. “Oh, and before you go… take this too. For yer mother.”

He went back into the kitchen and pulled out another one of his wife’s boxes. Inside this one was an ornate, thick quilt… another one of Mrs. Boom’s creations. The patchwork squares were embroidered with the diverse scenery of the Underground, and the edges were adorned with interlocking embroidered echo flowers that formed a beautiful border. 

They were Mother’s favorite. Father proposed to her by speaking into one in the middle of the night, bribing all of our neighbors not to come out of their homes, and then dragging her out of the house as early as possible so she could hear him ask her to marry her through the flower. Even when Father got a job that required him to commute to New Home regularly, we stayed in Waterfall so she could be near them. It was the least we could do…

“SHE’LL LOVE IT… ABSOLUTELY CHERISH IT. THANK YOU,” I said, gritting my teeth to fight back the stinging quickly returning to my sockets. I smiled at Gerson and he nodded, smiling back and patting my shoulder. I folded up my other new turtleneck and put it on top of the blanket’s box.

“ I s’pose this is goodbye for now, sonny. Just remember, I’m always in yer corner,” he assured me, walking me out the door as my arms heaved under the weight of the surprisingly bulky quilt.

“I KNOW,” I smiled at him. “AND I’M IN YOURS, IF YOU EVER NEED ANYTHING AS WELL. I CAN HELP AT THE SHOP, I CAN HELP YOU CLE–”

“Oh please, lad,” he interrupted. “You’ve got enough on yer plate. Just be sure to come around some times and see this old man, will ya?” 

“I WOULDN’T MISS IT FOR THE WORLD,” I assured him, and I meant every word. With that, I bent down to give him a hug, picked up the heavy boxes, and said goodbye.

“Well, get on now! Love ya, my boy! Stay out of trouble!” he called after me. “Oh, and by the way, the sweater pattern is in there if y’want any more colors! Use those bony hands for somethin’ other than typin’ on yer calculator!”

“OH, I WILL! SEE YOU SOON, OLD MAN!” I yelled back. It had been years since I had done that. It felt nice. With that, I was off to home with my pile of new old things.

I’m back in my room now. Mother is asleep, but I will give her the blanket once she wakes up. The other questions on my application can wait a bit. Sometimes, work may not be the most important thing in the world.