Wingdings had always been a little … odd. With a mind like that, crazy comes second nature. Not that all the Gaster brothers weren’t extremes in their own rights, but his madness was something deeper than theirs: darker, funnier, downright frightening to those who didn’t know him. It had never gone beyond that–his brothers had known him to be loopy at best–but after a hundred sleepless, stressful nights, the royal scientist’s already loose threads began to unravel.
Papyrus, only a child, had been nowhere near the lab when it happened. Sans, on the other hand, the oldest of the three and consulting quantum physicist on the paradox project, watched it all go downhill in a split second faster than a death peal of thunder.
He practically dove in when the world bent backwards around his brother, but when he finally lost him … oh, when he lost him. He’d never forgive himself for taking back his hand, shoulders-deep into the beta time-turner, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how blue his bones burned on his right side. Their fingers had been inches apart, but it may as well have been light years in terms of time and space. As he lay on the icy lab floor, staring into a ceiling that didn’t matter behind the looping nightmare on play, he realized he had failed. He had failed his little brother.
Even with a blind eye and a broken body, Sans wasted no time leaving that burning wasteland. He took Papyrus with him, away from the core, the lab, the kingdom. He took him as far away as he could, deep into the middle of rural nowhere among snowy pine forests and soft bunny-folk. Nothing ever happened here. Here, he could protect the last light of his life, the only thing that mattered. He would do better this time.
Just a stray head-canon. As much as I love dadster (and I do love it, oh so very much), I also also love the idea of Wingdings as a third brother.
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