Was it another day? He couldn’t say. Not because the underground kept the sun at bay, but because he hardly focused on the time anymore. Or, if he did glance at it, he couldn’t remember what it said.
He stared down at the same sheet of paper on his desk without moving the pencil, trying to formulate the scribbles and words together without jumbling them. Textbooks of many varieties were opened around him, some on the floor and others on top of each other; highlighted and post-it notes pinned on.
What was once a clean, organized room containing only the time machine was now a mess of papers, books, vials, and chemicals. Splotches dirtied the once perfect white walls where a failed experiment or two had gone wrong, balls of discarded blueprints and ideas at various corners of the room where they had missed the wastebasket- already full to the brim- and pencil nubs or broken pieces scattered along the desk.
Babyteeth had almost stopped wearing his jacket entirely by this point, stuck with a white labcoat he hadn’t touched in years but now wore as familiarly as he had back then. Sockets were darker than they’ve ever been, and not just from the lack of sleep.
He suddenly gave a sharp jerk, waking himself before his head lolled off the hand it rested on and to the desk. He must of dozed off there for a second…
Sans shook his head, ran a hand across his face. He needed to focus. Time was running out. Things were getting worse for his brother, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take.
The pencil was grasped firmly in his hand, and the room was filled with the sound of scritching as he set back to work.
Hurry
Hurry
Hurry
Since his fall, W. D. Gaster had not touched the lab setting that had once been his entire life; when ripped away from it, he came to the slow dawning realization that there, he hardly made anything but mistakes—creatures that harbored no soul, machines to trap or erase life as it was, and pointless experiments to his own person. Only a two bright stars shone on the dark horizon of his accomplishments, and somewhere his gaze had tracked away from them.
Gaster was reckless, to his core, and maybe in the beginning years of their imprisonment, that had been what they needed. And maybe now they did not. He could—and did—make peace with the underlying fact that the world simply did not need him so much as he once believed.
Discolored whisps curled outwards from a teabag as it swam to the bottom of a mug, dropped from his hand. It was for Sans. In his attempts to remove himself from the scientific pursuit of Cyprus’ freedom, he subscribed himself to all the other things that had to be done (trying to make them sleep, talking with his son, cleaning and being as useful as he possibly could) just to keep his youngest happy in a situation he already deemed to be mostly his fault. Seeing Cyprus fused with a monster—himself—was taxing him into oblivion. He could only imagine what Sans was feeling.
He hoped a chamomile tea would help the eldest relax, if not nap, for just a little while.
Stairs creaked beneath his shoes as he made his way to the basement floor behind the house, the cup held in both hands so that the contents would not spill. The hidden laboratory was a mess, and his obsessively perfectionist nature cringed that it would not be allowed to organize their work-space. He had priorities.
Sans, though in one piece and not strewn across the lab, looked far worse for wear. He looked how Gaster felt. Tired, exhausted, beyond belief, stretching so far that he may snap (which he had, at a few people more than once), and still working at this absurd hour.
Still breaking his own bones for the sake of his little brother.
The ex-scientist moved to him slowly, coattails crawling over books and papers that had lost their way and fallen to the floor, and gently rested a hand on the smaller skeletons shoulder to call his attention. He raised the mug in the other, bestowing his gift.
*thought you guys might be interested in an update.
*uh
*sorry if i seem out of it, heh heh…
*but anyway.
*nothing has changed for my brother or reset. both a good and bad thing. but i went with shortstack to his timeline last night, and ‘sleepy’ came with us as well.
*i didn’t get a chance to look through everything in that gaster’s lab, but i may head back a few times. i did, however, attain a number of things from his computer that i believe will lead us to the right direction, and that’ll help with current research.
*so here’s hoping.
*in the meantime…
*i’m gonna…..
*sleep on this comfortable looking stack of papers and books and writing utensils……..
*A deep blue crane is perched atop the table. A note is nearby.
“Stay determined Mr. ‘Wings. I know this whole situation has been very stressful, but remember we all support you.”
In a room decorated solely by sheets of red and orange, the startling bright blue of a paper crane catches his eye immediately, drawing him to the bedside table. It’s light and delicate on his palm, threatening to jump off at the slightest breeze of being lifted from its place on the wood.
*we caught the one responsible. for locking the timeline, and…
*…for what happened to my bro.
*flowey is still alive, and i’d like to keep it that way. he’s currently our only lead, he may very well be the only one who can reverse what happened. so until then, i ask everyone reading this to stay away from him and let me deal with him. i understand if this is hard, and you’re upset enough that you’d like to ‘share a few words’ with him, but…
*so am i.
* flowey is off limits.
*onward to visits. i can’t stress this enough: please don’t everyone come in all at once.
*there are enough people here already as it is, and there’s only so much i can do to keep this a secret. because, remember, our timeline isn’t even aware of resets. i’ve been stretched thin already and jumping through hoops to just keep everyone pacified on Cy’s whereabouts when he left home, and now they’re wondering what it was they heard the other night. the night it all happened…
*but this is mainly for my brother’s sake above all else. if he has too many people coming at him at once, he’s going to be overwhelmed. he’s struggling more than enough already, so while i know everyone is excited and relieved he’s at least alive, i ask that all of you remain patient.
*i’ll be monitoring visits, when and if they happen. as well as how long they last. i’m going to say this now, and to avoid any unpleasantries in the future, please heed this: if i, for the slightest second, feel that my brother is being pushed and overwhelmed, i will ‘ask’ you to leave.
*please don’t make me repeat myself. if you argue and/or refuse, consider your visiting voucher revoked.
*i really hate to have to do this. sincerely, i do. cyprus needs all the help and support he can get, and i can’t express just how much i appreciate everyone wanting to be there for him.
*but his health and safety comes first and foremost.
*thank you for listening. that’s all i wanted to say.
*feel free to message me if you have any questions.
My lack of worry at the time wasn’t due to me being some sort of optimist. In situations like this, it’s best to think of the worst possible outcomes before assuming anything pleasant. At least then you’re prepared. At least then you’d have a plan.
I saw no reason to worry. Not yet. The worst possible thing… the worst possible thing that could happen to Cyprus was death.
…But the fates. Oh. How they love to prove me wrong.
To put it harshly. The word ‘Abomination’ would sum up the situation perfectly.
To put it gently. The word ‘tragic’ would be more befitting.
The boy won’t wake up. I cannot tell if that is for the best or not. Sans and his father were distraught. I did not even think to chastise either of them this time. A situation like this, is impossible to plan for. To brace against. To think that flower… that little empty shell of a ‘prince’ had…
By the kings crown…
His soul.
What has happened to his soul.
I am terrible at comfort. I could listen all day, but my words are too rigid for delicate situations. But I cannot believe him for a moment when Wings said that he was fine.
I despise making promises I cannot be certain of keeping. But I made one anyways.
Cyprus wasn’t sure when the others screaming ended, and when his began. But when his true father arrived, his older brother at his side, some minutes later, to find them resting heavily on their hands and knees in the snow—
——t h e i r s c r e a m i n g h a d y e t to c e a s e.
Flowey couldn’t hold in his excitement. For the moment being, he was oblivious to the two new arrivals, his gaze captivated, the screaming drowning out all other noises he could hear. And all he could feel was….exhilaration.
G l e e.
A strange, twisted happiness that came with the success of creation, even as they collapsed under their weight, and lay limp on the ground.
“Yousee, Partner? I have made it so that Papyrus can never run from you. Only listen, only endureas you tear him apart, piece by t i n y piece! This is working out better than we could’ve hoped! This is going to be so much fun!”
The screaming was what drove him. The screaming was what numbed him to everything else. Everything but the core of his being, which was filled with one thing and one thing only.
Fear.
Small, slippered feet carried him across the snow as fast as they were able. On another day, he might of been more cautious when approaching such a horrid, ghastly sound, if he decided to approach at all. But there was something else about the noise that was familiar, something that had the already suffocating fear pound fiercely against his chest, crawling up his nonexistent throat to make a cry of its own. Because no, goddamn it, NO! It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him he was hearing. It wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t.
But since when did Sans ever get what he wished for?
Sans and his dad had finally arrived on the scene. And when they did, that scream caught in his throat expanded. The word on the tip of his tongue, a name he wanted to call out and wanted so desperately to be both ignored and acknlowledged. He wanted to find his brother, but not like this.
Not like this.
For a good while, he couldn’t respond. Couldn’t move. He was caught in a state of unreality, as if his soul had left his body and was watching from a distance. Because surely… None of this could be real.
He was dreaming. It was another nightmare. He was suffering from hallucinations. Void said it himself. The timeline was glitching. And he wanted to laugh, because yes, of course it had to be that. He had let his fear and paranoia for his brother get the best of him. How silly of him.
But just like the scream, the laugh, too, caught in his throat. And he found he was unable to breathe.
Not that he needed to.
His attention was only drawn from the sight before him to focus on the plant speaking. Blissfully unaware of the two new arrivals. He heard each word coming out of the plant’s mouth and he felt something ignite within him. Pushing away the numbness to give way to something raw and powerful.
Because he felt cheated. He felt wronged. He and his brother both, but especially Cyprus. All his life seemed to be revolved around someone else under control, someone else pulling the strings and he was but a mere puppet. Forced to dance the same dance over and over and over again.
They had been happy. Finally things were okay. But Babyteeth should of known better. He should of stayed on guard. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? Whenever things seemed okay and everyone was as happy as they could be, disaster struck the hardest. Always, without fail, it happened. He’d been so cautious about it before, but for some reason he thought it was going to be different this time around. But he should of known better. And just like all the times before, someone else was paying the price.
“so…” From empty sockets, blue light emerged. The same magic surrounding the flower. “you’ve been the root of the problem, have you?”
He didn’t wait for a response. He pulled out his left hand from its pocket and raised it high in the air, yanking the flower straight out of the ground. With another sharp jerk to the side, he threw him hard against a tree, where he kept him.
Eyes remained hollow when he took his right hand from his pocket next, and, the palm facing upward, he summon small bones. He had them hover and go in a circle above the palm, and with a slight tilt of his head, he grinned over at Flowey. His left pupil finally showing itself.
“i have a bone to pick with you.”
And then all bones were sent flying toward the plant.
The worry he carried never left as they entered the world outside— instead it festered, intensifying as each second ticked by and they still had not found a sign of Cyprus in the whirling snow. No tracks could be found, not even their own, covered by blankets of white only moments after they left their marks. He had hoped that all would be well, but—
——when had that ever done any good?
The screaming had sounded, carried into the air and amplified by the shape of the cave ceiling above them, and it chilled him far more than the natural cold ever could.
Gaster and Sans ran, ran until the piercing shrieks were louder than the pounding inside his chest, drowning out all thought except that they had found them.
Cyprus? He was wearing his sweater— andFlowey.
The very same flower that had tormented his son for so many resets, the cause of his death far more than just one instance. Killed him over, and over, and over. Pulled him apart, tore into him, broke him— and he had done it again.
Cyprus…
“☞☹⚐🕈☜✡📪 🕈☟✌❄ ☟✌✞☜ ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐☠☜✍”
——FLOWEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
“Flow ey, w h at have y o u d o n e?”
His own voice echoed itself, the pained warble of Reset, calling from the form on the ground, the one that was-
It was enough to finally end the chill clutching his soul, fires of rage clawing and shattering the ice, but he still could not move. He was frozen, trapped in place. Only Sans could find the power to attack the blossom, while he— finally having the chance to do something when his son needed him— could not budge the smallest inch. Watching, again, as Cyprus suffered.
Flowey was not dead, but he was dreadfully injured by the magical attacks, pinned against the wood of a tree. Gaster finally forced himself into action, taking hurried steps that seemed to move slowly, never reaching the boy fast enough. Anger forgotten, worry forgotten, the heat and cold of each warring inside his chest and in his skull. Tears rimmed his sockets, black with void matter, leaving black streaks down his cheekbones, dark like the cracked wound born of yet another one of his mistakes.
His hands clutched the body— and he was thankful that at least one existed, and not a cloud of dust indistinguishable among powdered snow flurries— and the fabric of Cyprus’ favoritesweater gathered in tight folds around his straining fingers.
Gaster’s skull released a dull, quiet thud, as he lifted the form in his arms and bumped his forehead against the other’s. Tears falling on both of them. He sobbed, almost silent and barely getting past his teeth as he choked on his grief.
W. D. GASTER 