The Annual Nyargh Run~! As one of the timeline refugee locations, there’s multiple Undynes and Papyruses (Papyri?) with an excess of energy. Every year there’s a race from one end of town to the other, with clearly marked roads set aside for the route - and the route is changed each year.
Roughly every fifth or sixth year is really hyped up as the one to visit for tourists - it’s the one where the Undyne-alternates and Papyrus-alternates that chose to settle in other countries come back to run in. The tourism it rakes in far outweighs the cost in reconstruction from the race.
50/50 ratio of motorcycles/mopeds/bicycles to cars, not counting the proliferation of Bikeshaws (a cart with seats pulled by bicycle, motorcycle, or moped). With a great deal of the monster population uncomfortable or unable to fit in conventional cars, alternative travel is very popular.
Retrofit Labs is the hub for recycling goods. Electric, metal scrap, old porcelain dolls, as long as it’s not compost fodder they can do something with it. The Labs also give regular lessons on how to properly make compost without it exploding.
It’s right next to Joe’s House Of Stuff. Which is a backyard engineer’s dream shop. Or any sort of crafter or artist’s dream.
Ethnic restaurants and stores are everywhere, both surface and underground cultures. Ebbotton is a hotbed of cultural/social acceptance despite the efforts of a tiny portion of the population.
Snowbun Farms is the main producer of the town’s fresh produce. This set of local farms are crazy productive, being both close to the giant reservoir of natural magic that is the Ebbotton Underground and tended by Rabbit Monsters.
Every summer the rollerskates come out of the closet, and practically anybody can be seen rolling around town rather than driving a vehicle or riding a bike. Asked why, and any roller will just shrug and say they tried it ‘cause everyone else was, and it turned out a lot more fun than they thought!
There’s more, but I ran out of think before I could figure them out.
((@namelessokami’s Gaster is visiting! He’s going to get some lunch!))
" . . . It is his choice, but in all honesty, I do not think it's worth the risk. Especially since it's almost entirely under control now. Especially if the modification of his medication works as well as you suggest." Aster replies, their lower hands passing the coffee mug to the upper set as the phone on the counter flashes. Picking up the phone, they glance down at it, and nod.
Setting it aside again, they turn towards the fridge and start grabbing out sandwich fixings, still taking sips from the mug as assembly begins. Looks like plain turkey with lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese today. And from upstairs comes a small chaos of noise that is gradually growing louder. "Both Roman and Querida gave their consent, so all that's left is to ask Papyrus."
-----
Dingus nodded, and sat back watching the assembly. Inwardly glad that he wasn't making lunch for once. He was actually happy to hear that they were not considering the surgery. It was a wonderful tool for extreme or life threatening cases but a soul is best left to heal in it's own time.
At the names and the steadily growing chaos from above Dingus suddenly got an unreadable look on his face. Perhaps he was nervous? "Of course. Ah, how many others live here then?"
-----
"There are my four children - Sans, Roman, Querida, and Papyrus."
"Patrick and Justi, both human, Partners. Patrick would normally not be here, but he's having a . . . rough patch right now." Anchor interjects, stacking the sandwiches on a plate.
"My grandchild, Tahoma, and Itacha and Zenzai, the two Risen we are taking care of . . and Roman has practically adopted, which is atypical behavior for them." Aster brings an upper hand up to their chin, absently tapping it in a contemplative manner. "But for lunch, it's just us, Papyrus, and the children."
"Itacha and Zenzai mostly speak chinese . . . it's been . . more than a little frustrating at times. At least by now they've picked up enough of the local lingo to understand 'no', 'yes', 'food', and 'bathtime'."
Anyone who has lived with a Papyrus, knows what exasperated Papyrus noises sound like. And these ones are coming closer, as the kid-sounds also come closer - it sounds like a small stampede coming down the stairs and dashing through the living room.
The scrape of chairs in the dining room announces the arrival of two small skeletons in there, although they are visible from the kitchen as they move around the room.
-----
"Huh, Chinese... the last time I heard that I was in my thirties during the Han Dynasty... which makes me sound very old. Er, moving on." Clearing his non-existent throat he took a swift mental head count.
That would mean.... nine all living under the same roof. bodies anyway. Soul count he surmised it was ten based on how Anchor and Aster interacted. That meant... "You must be kept busy." He said shaking his head in wonder. "I have my hands full with just Sans and Papyrus- and whoever decides to drop into my timeline."
Gaster turns an amused eye to the dining room. It seemed that all Papyrus' do make that sound. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He offers suddenly.
-----
"You are very old~!" Anchor chirps cheekily, giving Gaster a sassy grin. There's no malice in her words, but there's definitely teasing. "There's quiet parts to each day, but yeah, pretty busy."
"That tends to happen here too - the random drop-ins." Is that a bit of a blush, staining green under the third eye and lavender under the sockets? They ahem, and Aster continues, lifting the plate of sandwiches. "Could you take this in to the table and get plates out of the cupboard out there? We need to prep Tahoma's lunch."
Out in the dining room, exasperated Papyrus noises continue, punctuated by excited (and cranky) toddler sounds and the scrape of a highchair being moved around. Tahoma is clearly hungry and very fussy because of it.
-----
Gaster saw them blush. And was immediately confused. Was it... Embarrassing to have a stranger in their home then?
Mentally shaking himself he chided the if that were the case they would have worked harder to kick him out by now. Also if it were that bad he would be leaving soon so it didn't really matter.
Taking the plate he tried to smile at Papyrus, although he might have looked either more worried than he was or in some sort of pain and set the food down.
The other plates are easy to find, and instead of setting them out one at a time he glances at the two young skeletons and Tahoma. The dishes in his hands levitate neatly into place as he sits down
-----
Embarrassing? No, not that . . but how could Gaster know what memories such a thing brings up?
But they have a secretive, happy smile as they walk out, promptly placing a bowl of cheerios on Tahoma's high chair tray. Something that earns a happy screech and leg-kicking a the toddler promptly shoves their face in the bowl to munch on cheerios. Papyrus . . makes a frustrated face, but doesn't try to correct the kid, reluctantly but clearly giggling at the picture Tahoma makes.
He takes the second bowl - some sort of puree of a purple-brown - and spoon from Anchor/Aster with a lopsided smile. They then set the steaming mug in their third hand and the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in their fourth near Papyrus. "THANK YOU FATHER, MOTHER." Half-turning his seat, he gives Gaster a thoughtful but welcoming smile. "I AM PAPYRUS, AS THEY HAVE PROBABLY TOLD YOU. AND YOU ARE?"
Anchor takes a moment to serve up each of the twins with a sandwich - even slicing Zenzai's into quarters with a brief magical manifest. Something between a green rod supporting a lavender blade?
Sitting down, they serve Gaster the second-to-last sandwich and simply re-use the sandwich plate as their own. "Papyrus prefers to not eat meat outside of the evening meal."
-----
"My name is Dr. Gaster. I'm another version of your father." He said it as casually as if he were talking about the weather. It sounded as if this was not their first encounter with other versions and it certainly was not his first.
As he begins eating he watches Tahoma with a very bemused face. "Again, I do apologize for earlier. I was not myself. So is this one yours?"
-----
Tahoma giggles, chewing a mouthfull of cheerios and clear delight as they start fishing for particular cheerios in the way that toddlers do. Papyrus beams at the child, taking the opportunity to take a quick swallow from the mug and a bite of his own sandwich. Nodding at the explanation, he seems utterly unphased by the idea. "YES, THIS IS MY TAHOMA! THEIR BIRTH MOTHER WAS . . NOT WILLING TO BE INVOLVED IN THEIR LIFE."
As much joy as the child brings him, it seems just mentioning their other parent brings a sour mood briefly to the normally incredibly upbeat skeleton. Prepping himself with the bowl and soft spoon, he sneaks a spoonful of the puree into Tahoma's mouth during a pause in cheerio consumption. The twins are chewing their ways rapidly through their sandwiches - Zenzai seems to manage just fine with one arm, although Itacha pauses and double-checks where the sandwich is before taking each bite.
-----
He glances over at Aster and Anchor, and chooses to say, "They look like a good kid." He remembered his children in this phase. Sans had been messy but calm, where Papyrus had been a pleasant child but a nightmare to clean up after. the young skeleton liked to joke that he is making up for his past difficulties. With that thought Gaster starts eating his sandwich, watching the others now.
Gaster doesn't entirely know what to say at this point, but probably for the best. He hadn't realized how hungry he had been.
----
The rest of the meal goes quickly for some, and not so much so for others - Aster/Anchor take over getting the puree into Tahoma after they finish their own sandwich. And cleaning up the toddler as Papyrus finishes eating. The tall skeleton practically leaps on cleaning up the dishes from lunch, leaving the toddler with his parent with a faint air of relief.
Apparently single fatherhood is exhuasting even for a Papyrus.
Tahoma watches Gaster with intense curiosity, and after a little bit beams from their grandparent's arms. Aster/Anchor pat the child's back gently with a lower hand. "Zenzai, Itacha - wash."
Another word the twins know - they make protesting noises, but run off through the house towards what is probably a bathroom. Turning their attention back to Gaster, Aster adds with a chuckle, "And now he has an inkling of what it was like with the four of them."
----
Gaster also couldn't help but watch the tiny child. He didn't understand how Papyrus- a skeleton was the father of a human child, but that did not make them any less cute. Because of what he had been through, he still had reservations about humans. But it seemed that since having children of his own all youngsters no matter the species were alright by him.
At first he just tilted his head to the side, but after a second he crosses his eye lights briefly to see what they would do.
He didn't look up from the toddler's face as he addressed Aster, "I do not know how you managed that."
----
The toddler goes wide-eyed and silent, mouth forming a little 'o' . . . right before they shriek in excitement, trying to mimic the action by looking left and right. Aster/Anchor are easily able to handle the flailing as the child babbles. There's definitely half-words in there, and occaisionally the right word happens with a pointing finger at the right object.
"Absolutely no idea how. I spent most of my time completely exhausted. And asleep covered in babies."
----
After flinching slightly, a real grin spreads across Dingus' face again. Lopsided and very happy. He hadn't really realized it, but he had been worried that the kid would be afraid of him. Especially after their first meeting. Not for the first time he was glad to be proven wrong.
"Ah yeah, the first few years were a little bit of a blur for me. Honestly I don't even remember moving much after the first month of making my sons." He says the last part a little quieter.
----
"I was overwhelmed just by tending so many . . and each one so very different after the first week." Aster replies, glancing over at Gaster. There's a clank and whoosh, so Papyrus is pretty much finished with the dishes. And hopefully taking the moment to take a little self-care.
Nope, there he is, peering worriedly in through the doorway - though the worry eases immediately at seeing everything is more than fine. He only hesitates a moment before returning to the kitchen when Anchor quickly signs to him. [Relax. Ten minutes. Living room.]
"Why don't we go sit?" Anchor adds aloud, shifting their lower hands to take over the grip as Tahoma is - once again - intensely examining one of their upper hands. "If you don't mind a toddler crawling all over you, that is."
----
"It's been a while, but I'll be fine." He says, standing. They head back into the living room, again Gaster getting a good look around before settling in. He still seems a little on edge, but far better than he had been before.
"So then what's uh..." He wracked his mind for some sort of topic. Light conversation was not something he was particularly good with. His eyes fell on the tv and some of the dream comes to mind. "I thought Silent Hill was a movie not a video game." He said, brow suddenly furrowing into the most innocent look of confusion he could muster.
-----
Anchor outright grins at that as they head for the couch. Tahoma's starting to fuss a little, staring back at the doorway until noticing the Afghan draped over the nearest end. Little fingers are promptly stuck through the holes as the child tries to lift it. "The movie was based on the first two games of the video game series. I really enjoyed it, although it does follow some video game logic."
"You just flat-out love the entire thing, which is why we own two obsolete consoles, the entire series, and both movies."
"And that one that's good for multiplayer kid stuff."
". . . It is incentive for them to learn to read the local language . . ."
Anchor gives Gaster a slightly sheepish smile as she absently prevents Tahoma from overbalancing off the couch with the afghan. "I really, really like some classes of horror games."
----
Shrugging a bit, "They look interesting- when you aren't stuck in them anyway. I haven't had much time to play many video games, I must confess. Some older games like Tetris and Galiga mostly. After that I just watched my kids play." after a second he added, "A working copy of the games hasn't fallen yet then..." ["First two." How many are there?]
-----
[Seven or eight, if you count the offshoot game.] Anchor signs back, as Aster tries to divert the toddler from the afghan. It only sort of works - Gaster is clearly the new target of curiosity as the child wobble-walks across the couch towards him. "There's two other series, and a handful of one-off games I really like."
"We got distracted, haven't we. Papyrus?"
The tall skeleton, only one foot in the living room, jolts and looks a little startled. "YES, FATHER?"
"Our guest is a specialist, medically trained. May we tell him about Lab 3-E?"
Papyrus visibly hesitates about that, frowning. Turning to study the newcomer in the house. It's a very unnerving expression to see on such a normally perky and enthusiastic personality. Aster adds in a softer tone, "He had an improvement on Sans's medication that Sans was willing to try."
That clearly surprises Papyrus, and he steps into the living room. "ALL RIGHT."
----
Gaster extends a worn hand to Tahoma making sure they don't fall as they toddle towards him, and a soft, tiny hand gasps a few of his fingers. A faint smile twitches onto to his face. He supposed skeletons were normal for them to be around, so he wasn't nearly as frightening.
Carefully he offers the other hand and looks up at the conversation, his eye lights bouncing between them. "Lab 3- E?"
---
Papa is near - Tahoma looks up and just beams at their parent - but the toddler has someone new to look at! And their hands are like G-G's! The little one focuses on the hole, poking at the fingers and trying to flex them.
Papyrus's attention is more on his child than anything else, though he does . . try . . to relax in the nearest armchair, coffee mug that wafts the scent of cocoa in the air in his hands. "LAB 3-E IS WHERE MY SIBLINGS AND I WERE MADE, AS PART OF THE 'MONSTER TESTING SIMULACRA' PROJECT."
It may be possible Papyrus has been picking up some of Anchor's bluntness. She's the one who grins at the tall skeleton reassuringly, after all. Aster . . . sighs, rubbing a hand over their face. "I wasn't the original Royal Scientist. My specialization is mechanical, magical, and electrical engineering. The previous one, Doctor Petrest tinkered in anything that caught his interest. He was among the oldest monsters to be sealed in the Underground."
"I was hired as an intern based on a theory I submitted about potential genetic alterations to plants. I worked . . constantly for the next ten years. Doctor Petrest comitted suicide, and I was tapped to take over every research project he had in place, or ready to submit to the King. It took me a year to wade through the paperwork. After the initial shock and having approved every project that sounded . . reasonable. It was work. And I'd never headed such a huge undertaking before. Many relied on the work."
"One of those projects was the 'Monster Training Simulacra'. Sounded fine on paper. Use samples taken from willing subjects to pattern magic into subjects suitable for testing. Mostly a 'can we do this' sort of project, headed up by Doctor Petrest's oldest assistants. Four of them."
Aster holds up his hands, staring at the holes. "I . . was down on that floor for another project. And felt . . that I desperately was needed in another lab. One I hadn't been worried about. I stepped in just as they were adding the forced growth solution to the growth tubes."
He falls silent, hands dropping to their lap. Anchor quietly takes up the thread of the story. "The memories of that aren't very good, Aster was acting on pure instinct, I think. But he effectively pinned those four to the walls with a bone attack, and shattered the column holding S4 - Sans - while shutting off the forced growth formula. Which was for plants. That's . . pretty etched in. That all those modifications he theorized about, the growth solution, had been meant for plants."
----
Only for a moment Gaster kept all of his attention on Tahoma. He had a sligbtly nervous look on his face, mainly because as they sat to investigate his hand phantom twinges prickle at the edges of the hole.
Retracting one of his hands, he forced the other being poked at to relax, allowing his fingers to move as the young one wanted. Not that Tahoma would knew what they mean, but there were so many long healed hairline fractures and larger crevices all over his hands and fingers that the texture varied from smooth to rough, the inside of the holes have spongy looking walls that were smooth with age. He does relax once they begin talking.
He listens intently, his face taking on the hard neutral face once more. Once they concluded he nods thoughtfully and glances over at Papyrus, "It sounds as if you made it just in time." He says softly.
No wonder Sans' soul was misaligned. It sounded as if they had been very scattered about their procedures, or at least from his perspective. Plant based growth did not take soul into account at all. An obvious error to any biological mind, weather they were monster, animal or human.
Almost angrily he signed one handed, Tahoma having managed to flip his hand so they were looking at the back. [They would have been better off using a hormonal based growth agent, synthesized to accommodate magic and soul-] until he halted suddenly. Oops. Again, Gaster hadn't seemed to realize that he had been signing at all. Honestly he had no idea how much of that had been readable.
"Sorry. I think I see where certain issues would arise." At least he managed to look embarrassed this time.
----
It's after a bit of poking that Tahoma pats the hand - a bit firmly, but they are a toddler after all - and reaches up to pat Gaster. "Ow."
They then lean down and give the hand a firm 'mwah' and decree, "Bedder!" Throwing up their arms before leaning in to poke and tug at Gaster's coat. Pockets are to be investigated!
Papyrus is watching his child, and can't help a soft 'Nyeh-heh-heh' with a proud smile at that. He glances over at his parent, making a 'go on' sort of gesture.
Aster scowls, sighs, and rubs their hands over their face. "That's . . not the end of it. Doctor Petrest had set up the experiment to use shards of boss monster souls, had found . . some way to keep the soul captured after death that let his assistants extract shards and use them for the experiment. They had three souls - two of Grillby's siblings that had disappeared, only found out later because the containers were labeled."
"The last was his own. They'd used up the other two by the time they reached the fourth series. Used the samples I'd donated unknowing of what they were actually doing."
"I'd saved them from the experiment . . but they were still dying. Unstable. I . . did something fairly desperate, and used Petrest's notes to extract pieces of my own soul for each of them. By the notes, only a small portion was needed, but I was fully prepared to go further. Not necessary, in the end."
Exhaution is an excellent way to fall asleep - and after today's combat lesson, easy to do. Even with having to share the huge bed (actually, that's a bonus, since it made their teacher grumpy to be snuggled in his sleep). At least once on the paths and following the now very-familiar tug, it's only a short trip to a familiar dream.
To a familiar face that's been doing better with their presence - it's been wonderful to be able to give the poor boy a safe place. Even if he does tease. Out of habit they shift their clothes as soon as they're in the dream - combat practice requires some practicalities. Like proper shoes, shorts today, and a tank top. Odd how the few people they feel comfortable not wearing detached sleeves around are all family, or alternates.
"Kiddo?" Anchor calls out as they step into the dream, boots loud on the floor.
-----
And it really was a pleasant dream today. With all the work Asster had been doing with the duo, he'd found it far easier to recognize when he was dreaming and dip into a lucid state. A blessing, honestly, as now he was able to walk far enough in his dreams to go pretty much wherever.
Tonight, it was a forested area with a large clearing. The sky above was filled with stars, and Asster was sitting with his knees and legs tucked under him, gazing up from his spot on the grassy ground. He was entranced, really--so much so that he honestly didn't notice Anchor and Aster at first.
At least, until their boots made the clack on the cobblestone coming from the woods, and Anchor's voice echoed through the clearing. His heart nearly stopped, and he jumped to his feet with a loud yelp, turning abruptly with the most sheepish look on his face.
[Holy shit, you scared me!]
-----
"Didn't intend to, sorry kiddo." Anchor easily apologizes, smiling as they step closer. It really is a lovely dream, pieced together probably from all the various views they've shown him of the surface. [Very nicely designed dream - you've remembered a lot.]
As they draw closer, they open their arms, offering up a hug.
"Today's lesson went really well! We're finally getting to a point where the boyka's willing to spar with us." The 'boyka' being one of Aster's sons - it's one of the things they've been apologetic about, sharing names or too many specifics about their family. [He still beats us ten times out of ten.]
-----
Asster accepted the hug readily, coming over and wrapping his arms around the duo. He'd grown a little over the time they'd been talking--another growth spurt, but surely it'd be his last one, given his age. [Nah, it's okay,] he said, smile tugging at his mouth. [I was so entranced by the stars I totally forgot you were coming tonight.]
The smile became a grin at the mention of their family. [Kid's got some power in those bones,] he continued. [Buuut you'll beat him eventually. You keep telling me how far you're coming along; I just wish I could practice more outside of dreams myself.]
------
That he accept hugs so much more easily now still makes them ridiculously happy. Even more so when he accepts the odd affectionate nuzzle. And watching him grow? Absolutely a delight.
"You'll find the time somehow, smart boy." Anchor teases gently, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Aster grins. [All the more of a challenge to beat him.]
-----
Asster laughed, looking up (though not quite as far up) at them again. [Speaking of a challenge...] he said, pulling into his pocket. Cargo pants and a tight T-shirt--something comfortable, easy to move around in, and the red-black camo of the tee suited him. Not to mention those red boots that he never seemed to take off. He pulled out his butterfly knife, dancing it around his phalanges and opening it with a flourish. [Ta-daaaaah. I've been able to practice that, at least.]
-----
They practically beam at that, Anchor giving a delighted gasp and clapping their lower hands as Aster grins (by now it's probably pretty easy for him to tell which part of thier body language comes from which of them). "That's fantastic! I'm so proud of you!"
[Very impressive - that must have taken a lot of practice.] They lean in to take a closer look at the weapon. [Is this the original one you made?]
----
[Yeah, this is it. I was practicing with the blunt one for weeks, and when I got it down I switched to the good one.] It's a fancy thing--perfectly built, just as Asster saw in his dream, but with his own touch. The blade is black metal, the handles gold, and there's etching of his name along the side. In wingdings, of course--he wouldn't have had it any other way. He beams back, pride swelling in his soul both from his ability to actually do the trick and from how impressed they looked at his craftsmanship.
[Shop professor liked me,] he continued. [So even once I graduated, he let me come back and finish this one, too. I managed to scrounge enough gold for the materials, so it wasn't too much of an issue.]
-----
"This is superb! And suits you so well."
[A very good length too. It looks like it fits your hand comfortably.]
They don't even bother to hide their pride in his workmanship. The blade is absolutely gorgeous, and very impressively designed. Especially since he was working from a set of memories shared in a dream and a few studies of the diagram analysis of one.
This is deserving of a hug, or some other gesture of affection. Anchor decides on one first, and gives one of those much-less-used kisses on the forehead. Though as always, she's careful to leave the choice of accepting it up to him, ever since the first one.
----
Asster doesn't bother to hide his pride in himself, either--nor does he reject the kiss upon contact, though he does feel his face flush slightly, red like the lights in his eyes. [Hey,] he says, trying to hide the blush with his usual brand of semi-teasing humour. [C'mon, Anchor--you're gonna make me so red I'll match my fuckin' eyes. Then I'll be like a damn beacon.] He lets out an awkward laugh, brushing an arm along his cheekbones. [Okay, okay--enough of how great I am at metalwork. Let's get on with it already.]
----
It's really adorable when he blushes. Really, really adorable, but there's no need to embarress him further. So she just smiles, and nods, turning to head to their usual starting distance.
Really, this is an odd but useful arrangement for practicing - sure, he can't expect to fight many like them, but on the other side Asster will likely end up facing a variety anyways. Starting with checking their stance, and demonstrating the new one they learned today. By now, they're starting to get specialized training on how to balance, and use their arms in a co-ordinated way in combat . . .
But it's not that hard to show Asster how their teacher is training Aster's third child. Who while significantly taller than Asster ever will be, has the same sort of thin build.
-----
And Asster--well. He has no problem picking up on these things, though in his gung-ho nature about it he's not exactly precise all the time. He'll falter a little, but he always comes back with as much passion as he had before--there's fire in his marrow, and he perseveres through every exercise, doing his damnedest to keep up and train as hard as he can. He's determined, really--he has to make sure he can fight, and that knowledge carries him forward.
By the end, he's sweating and actually laughing, his new knife as comfortable in his hand now as his old one had been before. While it's nothing compared to training outside of his dreams, he knows it's still beneficial, and if he could study a diagram and build it from dream-memory, surely fighting wouldn't be much different.
[Thanks,] he manages, wiping his brow and holding out his hand to Anchor and Aster. [Really, this... this means a lot. I hope I never have to use it, but it means a lot.]
-----
They're sweating as well, grinning as they pant for air. At this point there's no reason any of them questions the towel they pulled out of nowhere to mop up the drops. [As Anchor puts it, better to make sure you've got the tools you need. And this way, at least you can give someone a very nasty surprise at least once.]
Sure, there's a few nicks and thin cuts in teaching someone to wield a knife, but that's not anything they ever need to worry about. Anchor's magic happens as naturally as breathing in regards to their body. Healed in under a minute.
----
Asster uses the towel, too, wiping his brow and hands. He might have a few scrapes himself, but considering it's just a dream... it's whatever. He pockets the knife, sinking to the grass and looking up again. The starscape has moved--new constellations dotting the sky, as if they'd been there for months instead of moments. He smiles, and it's calm, and like this he looks like the young man he's grown to be instead of the scared child they met exactly a year ago.
[Sometimes, once is all you need, yeah?] He casts his glance back at them, still smiling, though it's calmer now. [...One thing can change a lot.]
----
"Mm-hmm." Leaning over, Anchor gives the near-grown skeleton an affectionate nuzzle. Over the course of the year, he's grown so much - become so much more than what his . . well. There's really no good word for what Semi is, other than prison warden.
[We'll be here.] Aster replies. It's been said many times by now, and each time they've kept it.
----
[I know.] Asster smiles, and his eyesockets slide shut. It's peaceful for a moment--blissfully so--and even as the dream fades, that peace remains in the wisps of what is left behind.
But it doesn't last.
He waits. Oh, god, does he wait. He fidgets with the knife, and he looks at the aurora and he waits for them, because they promised they'd come, like every time he falls asleep.
But they don't. They don't come--and they don't come for days that turn into weeks, and he begins to convince himself he had one good year and now he's paying for it. The world turns, and he gets the position--royal scientist, they say, how prestigious, how incredible for a man so young, but he is a Gaster--but he's miserable, he knows how he got it and every day he hates it.
He takes to the knife. It's never been used to fight--but it can still be used to wound, and on the days where everything is too much, he goes numb. It brings him back, brings him to stability, keeps him sane. Bone chips litter the carpet, and he stares at the ceiling, not sleeping, not even thinking about sleeping.
The nightmares come back. They eat at him.
And that night, they eat at his memories. He's in the basement again--he can feel the spikes again, but this time the memory's not exact, as there's pauses between every drive of the spikes into his bone. He's mocking him-- "boy, you believed good things would ever last? How foolhardy, how idiotic" --and there's knives at his ribs, needles at his spine, and he's screaming but he knows no one will come.
((Canon short stories involving Dr. Wing Ding Aster in Partnertale.))
It was in Snowdin young Wing Ding met him for the first time, centuries before his internship under the Royal Scientist. According to Poppa Gerson, this Grillby was actually younger than he was by a few years.
But the pretty fire-man was so tall! And he sounded old, just like Miss Merro. Just not as old as Papa Gerson. Wing Ding hid behind his Papa, peering shyly out at the glowing man. Gerson chuckled and patted his adoptive son on the head, stepping aside. “Don’t be shy, Dings. Grillby’s just going to be watchin’ ya for an hour.”
The small skeleton’s face scrunches up in worry, and he wrings his hands together as he looks up at Gerson. “But-but .. “
Gerson gave the boy a tired smile at hearing him talk in that peculiar font language again, and gently patted his head again before picking him up in a hug. “I’m just going to see the king, and I’ll be back in an hour. Grillby will be with you the entire time.”
Putting him down again, Gerson pauses and takes off his hat, plopping it on the small skeleton’s head. “I’ll be back.”
It took all of his will to turn his back on those scared eyes and head out the door. Dings needed to get used to normal life again, and this meeting had been put off for nearly a month already. Grillby knelt down behind Dings, who was starting to tremble, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He will be back.”
He really wasn’t expecting the child to cling onto his arm. This was going to be a long hour.
-----
A few years later, it was easier to watch Dings - as the boy preferred to be called - but still always tense the first ten minutes or so. Then he’d relax, and be ready to play, work on homework, or draw. The boy was incredibly smart, and Grillby felt putting up with a bit of clinging was well worth the cost of this sneak peek into childhood.
There were times when he forgot his true age for months, and the reminder was . . good. Relaxing, to just act his age. Though it had taken months before Dings believed him about that.
They had been drawing for half an hour - still plenty of time to clean the charcoal off the rocks - when Grillby finally asked. “Dings, why does it worry you when Gerson has to leave?”
“ . . . “
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”
“ . . Mama and Papa promised they would come back. But they left, and they didn’t come back. And now we’re in here, and they can’t come back . . “ The boy’s voice broke, and Grillby silently swept him up in a hug.
The rocks didn’t get cleaned in time that day.
((These are moments from the Partnertale timeline, not necessarily depicted in chronological order. Slightly NSFW.))
Running a bakery was beneficial at times, and exasperating in others. Part of it was the hours - getting up at four AM was tiring but not too hard, but having to go to bed at least three hours before her lovers was . . . annoying. It was her dream and life’s work, just a little lonely at times.
Even when they were entirely willing to wake up a little to wish her goodbye in the morning and give a kiss. Sighing a little, Muffet was about to rise and finish dressing when a double set of arms wrapped around and through hers from behind. Tumbling back slightly with a startled squeak, the spider monster blinked up at her lovers, shocked to see them awake this early.
They gave her a drowsy smile, and leaned down to give her a kiss, lingering over her lips. They were so much taller she fit perfectly in their lap, her arms twining around their torso. A soft crackle drew her attention to the far side of the bed, where Grillby was regarding them all with affection.
With his glasses on the bedside table, the vantablack of his eyes was visible and inscrutable as ever. At least the rest of his expression was easy to read. Rising to his knees, the man of fire wrapped his arms around all of them, tucking his head alongside Muffet’s.
After soaking up the easily given affection, Muffet smirked. She reached out, running a hand down his cheek. “Ahfufufufu~ I knew you’d give in someday, Grillby-dear.”
The bartender just gave Muffet a flat look, replying in a monotone that flickered like the fire that made him up. “Oh yes, the bust is not to be resisted.”
A long moment passed before they all cracked up, Grillby smirking as he pressed/pulled them onto the bed.
The ground was hot beneath his body, causing a stinging sensation through the rips in his clothing. It was distracting. Even the fabric felt wrong, almost too much, after so long with no sensation at all.
He had no idea how long he lay there, but eventually the stinging grew more intense, almost to a burning pain that prodded him back onto his feet. That he had feet again almost distracted him entirely from the glow around him - the magma less than twenty feet below his precarious position. Blinking against the bleariness of his gaze, he swept the area, panic rising thick and bitter in his throat when he noticed the complete lack of anyone else with him.
“C-che-” The air invaded his body, burning and stinging almost like the ground, in a way that left him feeling choked and dizzy. Gray began creeping into the edges of his vision even as he tried to fight it off and keep searching. Coughing hoarsely he wobbled on his feet.
And gave in, the heat vanishing in the brief black as he staggered into the nearest shortcut. Everything and nothing raced by as he fought the need to cough before exiting the place between. Despite the disuse, the exit opened without a protest and deposited him in a place with vaguely familiar white walls.
Was that screaming he could hear? The world disappeared in a wash of gray that quickly sank into black.
------
“How the hell are we supposed to walk these?!”
‘These’ were a pair of calf boots with long stilleto heels. One step nearly resulted in a wrenched ankle before butt met floor again. It was an awkward and painful experience for both of them.
“Don’t human women normally wear shoes like these?”
“Not everyone! And these have insane heels - seriously! I was already tall, I didn’t need to add on . . “ She pulled off one of the boots and measured the heel against her hand. “ . . oh good lord this is ridiculous. Five inches? That’s just begging for a broken ankle.”
“Odd, I was under the impression that these were common fashion . . here, let me -”
“No, damnit! I hate heels.” She could practically see his scowl at the flat no.
“Then let me guide.”
It was her turn to scowl, glaring at the boots. They were incredibly nice, the leather stiff from age and lack of use but still very dark and soft to the touch. Crossing her arms with a huff, she snapped back, ”You nearly wrenched a knee last time - we’re going for practical shoes!”
“ . . . But these are mine . . .” His voice was incredibly soft, and the tone made her wince and rub a hand over her face. He just sounded so . . . lost. Glancing around the stale-smelling room, she nabbed a pair of slippers that looked close in size, pulling them on before retreating to the back of their mind. “Then you’d better practice walking with these hips, damnit.”
-----
“You don’t get to say no to this one.”
“ . . what is it?”
“I want this, they’re my hands anyways, and you owe me for those purple strappy heels.”
“Cera, you’re hardly encouraging me to want whatever this is.”
“I’ve already picked my colors, and this is going to happen.”
“Cera!”
“What?!”
“ . . Cera, what is it you want?”
“I wanna paint my nails, and you aren’t going to stop me.”
“Oh, that’s fine. In fact, which colors did you want?”
“You’re not gonna stop me! I’m- wait, you’re okay with this?”
“I’m a little envious honestly, I don’t have fingernails.”
((Note: These are key points in the Partnertale universe, but not necessarily in chronological order.))
ItstillscreamingitwasstillscreamingstopSTOPSTOP-
Something stilled at the touch of cold fingers to his back, his mind clinging desperately to the solid - real - sensation. They slid down his spine, smoothed over a shoulderblade in a slow curl that brought their palm in contact with his back. Then they lifted until barely touching to glide up the outside of his shoulder to the back of his neck before starting down again.
The hand was cold (humans are so cold), but the contact was real, soothing in its repetition. Bit by bit, he became more aware of his other senses. The hardwood floor under his knees, how the wind was cutting through his clothes. The soft, soothing murmur of words and sounds from the person next to - no behind - no, next to . . . him?
He hadn’t been aware of someone holding his right hand in their firm grip, or the hand cushioning his forehead from the wall (he’d have another scorched dent to repair later). There’d been nobody in the room? house bar when he’d come out of the back room. He’d been preparing to . . . white over sharp silver the hose buckets . . something.
Do . . something. He shudders heavily, the half-returned world growing dim compared to buckets blood is a lot like water isn’t it? hungry eat this silver sharp stinging agony the past. The fingers pause, another hand settling on his cheek as they tilted his head to look at them.
The fuzzy blur was definitely close enough for him to make out some details, and the deep brown of their face shoved the voices further away. They were concerned - he could at least see enough to read that in their face . . faces. There were two others - one on his right, another directly behind him.
“Hey man . . it’s all right, it’s all right. We gotcha. We get it - nothin’ wrong now.” The brown-skinned man had a very soothing baritone - a corner of his mind noted he’d probably sound gorgeous singing - as they continued to run their hand over his back. The one on his other side spoke up next.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with needin’ a little downtime, man. However long you need, you just keep restin’ . . we’re here.” He too had a deep baritone, and despite the accent flicking some words sharply, there was something to his tone that resonated. That spoke of similar, horrible times not far enough in the past.
Cool, strong arms wrapped carefully around him from behind, moving slowly to give him every opportunity to move away first. Carefully, carefully, folding him into an embrace that soothed some of the shivering away, dimmed the panicked flaring to steady light. Resting back against . . her? . . Grillby let his gaze wander from the first to the second, his fingers trembling as he picked up his glasses from an offering hand.
And blinked in dazed startlement as everything came into focus. His comforters were . .
“I didn’t know humans had skin as dark as yo-” Grillby’s twitched and flared in embarrassment as he realized what he’d just said, covering his face with his hands. The first and whoever it was holding him laughed, while the human to his right frowned briefly before breaking into a smile. “No big deal man . . this is my bro Elijah, an’ my sis Sydney. I’m Malik.”
((Note, these are key points in the Partnertale universe, but not necessarily in chronological order.))
It was really, really hard to keep the screaming internal when Papyrus brought the human home. He could handle the one in the ruins - that one never did more than wave before heading back through the purple doors. He could handle the one living in Hotland with Alphys, as they rarely left the Labs (not that he could blame them, Hotland apparently was even hotter for humans).
He couldn’t entirely handle having his baby brother bring one home by waltzing in the door as this weird amalgamation with hair. He’d nearly blaster’d them before they split apart.
The human kept just grinning at Sans and it was starting to seriously freak him out.
-----
After two months, Sans finally gave in, huffing as he stared at the human. Unlike Pap’s, this one leveled a stare that gave him a strong sense of deja vu. It irritated him no end, and they seemed entirely aware of that. Folding his arms, he nodded once. “fine. what d’you want to be called?”
“Justi.”
“seriously?” At their nod, he shrugged carelessly, keeping his voice casual even as he watched their face from under lowered lids. “then you’re justi. why the hell are you hangin’ around me?”
The newly dubbed Justi grinned, flipping auburn bangs out of their eyes with a toss of their head. “’Cause yer the one that needs me, m- Sweets. Pap’s got Lian, Mum has Yaumi, and Alphys has Jake. You. Need. Me.”
Stepping closer, they punctuated the last three words with a wag of their finger in front of his face. At his scowl, they sighed and added. “An’ Roman ‘n Querida asked me ta keep ye safe. Paps too. C’mon, ye feel it. Tha’ tuggin’ - ye need me.”
Placing their hand on their chest, the redhead continues to stare somberly into Sans’ eyes. “I worry for ya, Sweets. I knew ye were down here, tho I didna know what ye were then. Yer my Partner.”
