Blue bones rise from the ground, threatening black streaks against the bark of the ancient pine trees and yet still stopping before the pinch of the magic could lie against them. They swirled in perfect formation, growing up and shrinking in cycles. The danger they could represent fell to the wayside in the view of perfect control and the bliss with which the magic-wielder used his bullets; it was an expression of himself.
His feet left holes in the fluffy snow as he danced around his own patterns, shouting his practiced one-liners at an imaginary would-be human. Unaware of the figure watching him but a few feet away.
That was no fault of his own, of course; the figure standing there was invisible to Papyrus, not quite standing on the same plane of existence.
Gaster had learned that a recent ʀᴇsᴇᴛ had brought them back to this place; a new start, where the things before had been terrible. Though the ʀᴇsᴇᴛs generally left him unaffected, this one had come after an explosive episode at one of his greatest creations: the CORE. The entire Underground, left a void, killing all but those wise enough to the ways of the Multiverse and the ability to leave. The human had never come Underground to kill, but still, Monsterkind found itself wiped clean from the earth. His fault. And now the ʀᴇsᴇᴛ had erased pieces of his own history, likely pulling on the connections to the VOID his entire timeline had. As if none of it happened at all.
Everyone dead, and other terrible things. A curse that left one of his fragments marred still and the hairline cracks across Papyrus’ face that would only be visible at a very close glance. A fight between his family members that resulted in a stint of soullessness on his part—but he learned to find the joy in learning that news. He did not remember now, and neither did his children know him, but they had.
Papyrus glances to his scuffed flip-phone, realizing the time—ten minutes until his next perimeter check. Thus, he was late. Quickly, he tidied up his practice arena, following the ancient code of kindness to never leave a trace out in nature. As he stopped to make sure all was perfect, Gaster reached out to his shoulder.
On his fingers, he felt nothing but the texture of a cold and heartless pane of glass.
Papyrus, however, jolted and turned his head over his shoulder to see—and spotting nothing, shrugged to continue on his merry way.
They had remembered each other once.
Wingding had more hope than he had in a very long, long time.
