The lab was quiet. Dr. Gaster stood alone at the table at the far end of the white room, slightly hunched over. He held something in his hands - in the holiest of hands - trembling the slightest in anticipation. "Sans," he said.

A moment passed. There was no answer.

"Sssssssssss-" Gaster began to turn, his eye sockets and mouth widening, "-SSSSSSSSAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNSSSSSSSS," he shrieked, pupils dilating to star-bright silver dollars, his overexuberance manifesting itself in physical ways as it so often did.

There was a series of rapid thumps followed by the sight of Sans the skeleton crashing into the bottom of the stairwell on the opposite end of the room, clutching his chest tightly in one hand and supporting himself with the other. He was wearing a lab coat identcal to Gaster's, albeit far shorter, and a set of goggles which had cracked in the impact between his skull and the vestibule.

"Jesus Christ, what is it," Sans gasped, still trying to catch his breath. His pseudo-lungs heaved and a cold sweat had already begun to break out on his brow. What was it this time.

Gaster had already swooped over, gently and towering, his body inclined over Sans with an almost parental sternness. Almost, but there was the everpresent tinge of mania the doctor's son had come to expect; Sans kept his protective barrier of hesitation up strong as his father proffered a strange contraption before his eyes, with an almost loving caress. It was a strangely colorful, elongated...and-

"Is that a gun?" The shorter skeleton asked with a creeping degree of incredulity.

"Take it, son," insisted Gaster, grasping the younger skeleton's hand in his own and forcing the object gently into his grip. "Take this."

"What...what do you want me to do with it? What does it do?" Sans asked almost fearfully, turning the obviously-gun-like invention over in an analytical fashion. Its frame looked somehow...skeletal, like most of Dr. Gaster's inventions. It looked mildly scuffed, like it had been used before.

Gaster suddenly put both hands on Sans's shoulders, tender yet firm. He stared him dead in the eye, the single crack running along his temple all too visible in the incandescent light swinging gently above them. "Son," he said seriously. "Do you trust me?"

Sans's expressed turned hesitantly earnest, despite the permanently affixed grin which would ceaselessly assist to define him as a person. "Of course," he said. " 'course I trust you, G...but-"

"Then there is no time!" Gaster blurted, positioning the gun in San's hands so that it was at arm's length and aiming directly for Gaster's head. "You must do it now. Pull the trigger, son!"

"What!?"

"THERE IS NO TIME!" shrieked Gaster. "DO IT NOW! HURRY! HURRY, MY SON!"

In the chaos, Sans managed to fumble, through his own reciprocal screaming, and press the trigger which caused a brilliant white beam of light to deploy itself directly at Gaster's head. The scientist was blasted backward about seven meters and hit the table at the opposite wall with a crack, collapsing backward over it and lying motionless.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Sans muttered, casting aside the now-useless goggles that had been obscuring his vision. He scrambled over to where the doctor lay, body strewn across the pristine white surface of the table, and gingerly touched Gaster's slightly smoking labcoat. "G?" Sans's voice was shaky. "G, are you...are you-"

"Brilliant work, son!" Exclaimed the scientist in both English and Wing Dings, such was his excitement; his eyes shot open wide and a great smile split his skeletal face, the smile which he reserved for only the most greatest revelation in his accomplishments. The cracking of this particular smile, Sans had come to know very well, was analogous to popping the cork off a bottle of champagne. "What is going on?" Sans asked, his voice now steadied and his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit as he searched Gaster's face. He peered down at the thing still clasped in his own skeletal hands, which, despite realistically expectable consequences, had broken out in a cold sweat. The device slipped fractionally in his slick grip and he attempted to readjust his hold on it, but Gaster smacked it out of his hand. "No need for that anymore!" He proclaimed through his wide smile. "We may cast it aside for now. Our work is done!"

Sans raised a cautious brow. "Our...work?"

"Indeed." Gasted swiveled upright into a sitting position, brushing himself off in a professional manner.

"Oh, God," Sans suddenly said, noticing for the first time that something orange was leaking down the doctor's face. "Are you...bleeding? Is that blood?"

"Hmm?" Gaster withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eye, and only smiled wider when it came away a brilliant orange. A trickle of deep orange remained on the scientist's once-good remaining eye which, Sans now also realized, had a fresh crack to match the other, this time running down to his upper lip. If he had lips. "No, no," Gaster chuckled gently. "This is only magical residue, the last of this particular essence from my soul's spectrum. That essence extractor really did the job!" He turned slowly up from the handkerchief to face Sans then, an almost somber expression on his face as he asked, "Orange you glad?"

Emotions, so many conflicting emotions, churned within the solid confines of Sans's skull. Still, he chortled heartily. Sans wasn't even sure where in his soul the laughter came from this time, but he didn't really care; his mentor was safe. He helped Gaster up from where he sat on the lab table and grasped the doctor firmly by the hands (he couldn't reach his shoulders); this was important. "Gaster?" he asked. "What essence did we just extract from you?" He cast a fleeting glance over at the gun-like object now lying several feet away fro them on the floor. Now that he could spare a moment to give it thought, he realized the design was bizarrely reminiscent of a combination between a glock and a bubble wand.

Before answering Sans's question, Gaster stepped over to retrieve the essence extractor, only mildly staggering from the aftereffects of having presumably removed a significant portion of his soul. He brought it up gingerly, almost lovingly to his excited face, which wasn't plastered with as wide a smile as before. It was his serious face. "I have a surprise for you, Sans."

Sans's brow creased only slightly.

"You've always seemed so lonely, my son," Gaster continued, as he unloaded a capsule from the device. It glowed a brilliant red-orange. he took it between two of his long, skeletal fingers and examined it contemplatively. "It took me a long time to realize that there may be some needs in a young monster's life that science and labwork simply can't fulfill." He turned then to gaze at Sans, an unfathomable expression on his gasterly face. "Then, of course, I came to my senses because science is literally the answer to everything, so I'm making you a brother!"

Sans remained silent for a long time as he watched Gaster's expectant face eventually turn, undaunted, to the strange tank beside the desk in the corner of the room and gently place the capsule, now glowing brilliantly vermillion, into the vat of clear liquid with a pair of spaghetti tongs. he then began stirring it gently with the tongs, humming to himself slightly. Finally, after a few minutes, but what seemed to Sans like years, Gaster beckoned him over and said in an excited yet hushed voice, "Come, look at him grow!"

Sans shuffled over in his lab slippers, the initial shock of the last four minutes being swifly replaced by a growing curiosity. Despite himself, he was a scientist just like Gaster, and the very real intellectual need to observe the potentially terrifying repercussions of Gaster's 'surprise' overrode any apprehensive dread. Still, he forced himself to again ask, "Gast, what essence did we just extract from you? What is growing in that aquarium? This...seems...pretty fishy if you ask me," he heard himself add compulsively.

Gaster whirled around with the familiar grin on his face, though the lights of his pupils had since gone out. "It is an incubation tank, Sans," he responded gleefully. "The same one you were created in."

There was a long moment in which Sans resigned himself to something.

"I didn't care for you quite right in the beginning," Gaster continued a little sadly, his smile drooping a bit, "I'm afraid I took the easy way out. I used the generic brand." He paused to reveal a medium-size can of MTT brand enhanced Monster Flakes. "I got the good ones this time," he explained. "It's enriched with vitamins! I don't want that whole one-HP thing happening again." He hummed some more, happily sprinkling the multicolored flakes into the incubation tank as the thing inside - which had already begun to grow considerably larger and was beginning to take on a viable form - squirmed the slightest bit and wriggled its way up toward the soggily dispersing flake food.

"I've tried many times in the past to create my own children, all to no avail - until you, Sans." Gaster placed a hand on the squat skeleton's shoulderblade. "It turns out that what is essential to create a viable soul is...essence!" He smiled wider again, suddenly thrusting the glock-like essence extractor within inches of Sans's face. Sans flinched. "At least one essence must be used, but I used two just in case. You received my sense of judgment, as well as my sense of irony."

Sans stared back at his mentor. His father. "I, uh, sort of get the judgment thing," he said, eyes shifting to the side. As he said it, he knew it was true; he could sympathize with Gaster's urge to detach a judgmental side of himself which, frankly, clashed with his frequently impulsive and borderline narcissistic ventures through the realm of science. Still... "Uh," he continued, somehwat confused, "why irony, though?"

Gaster had returned to sprinkling flake food, humming his odd, trademark four-note hum, onto the surface of the tank's water...or whatever the liquid was. In the back of his mind Sans wished he'd asked more questions about the presence and purpose of this tank before now. "Seriously, Sans?" Gaster said, glancing at his son through his now-dually splintered face. "I'm a scientist who's literally made of magic. It was driving me freaking nuts. Ah," He returned his gaze to the form in the tank. "Splendid! He's coming along quite nicely."

The once-capsule in the incubation tank had somehow already developed into a fully formed head - just a head so far - and it was skeletal and thin, like Gaster's, but with a hinged jaw that kept chomping happily at the flakes floating down.

"He is infused with my empathy," commented Gaster, finally answering Sans's burning question. Sans slowly tore his eyes away from the blissful skull in the tank to once again stare at Gaster. "Along with something else," the taller scientist continued thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly as he regarded his newest creation with fatherly affection. "I can't quite remember." He lifted the essence extractor and inspected the little reading screen with a slightly falling smile. "The readings have already been cleared. I supposed it will have to be a surprise." He shrugged jovially.

Sans's eyes trailed lazily from the tank to the doctor, also deep in thought. "Well, you seem a lot less...screamy," he remarked.

"Hmm. Yes." Gaster's smile widened marginally. "An astute observation, Sans."

They stood there for several minutes, watching as the new skeleton grew. "He's going to be a strong one," Gaster said.

CHOMP. CHOMP. CHOMP.

The energetic skull buoyantly hurled itself around the tank, eagerly scooping up every last piece of food in its jaws.

"NYEH!" CHOMP CHOMP. "NYEH!"

Gaster once more placed a hand on Sans's shoulder, the way a human parent might do in the ward of a nursery as they watched their newborn squirm and wriggle its way into their hearts from a distance. "We are a family now," he said, his voice full of gentle pride.

The liquid swirled in the tank, seemingly strengthening the skull as he absorbed it and grew like a bony sponge. "How long does it take for this...Gaster baster...to work?" asked Sans, tentatively tapping the glass.

Gaster shrugged. "Oh, I could crank up the time flow if you really want, but the last time I took a shortcut I ended up with a couple problems. Like, you're really short, Sans." He looked at him, still smiling. "Really, really short."

Sans sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. He gazed over at his new brother again, this time feeling a strange, new sensation. He could feel his soul resonating with a...familial warmth...as he watched his bizarre brother happily munching away on the MTT flakes. He smiled. He always smiled, but this time it was on the inside too. He had a good feeling about this. And even though he found himself wondering how long it would take for his new brother to fully mature, he realized it wasn't out of scientific curiosity. It was an eager anticipation. And he realized, too, that it didn't mattter to him; however long it took, he would wait.

CHOMP. CHOMP. "NYEH HEH HEH!"

Sans chuckled.