"The next candidate is ready to speak with you, doctor."
Gaster looks up from the endless stacks of paperwork on his desk, frowning at the level of exasperation in his assistant's voice.
"Are they an unlikely candidate?" He had pinned most of his hopes on this one.
"Oh no. Just…different. You'll see what I mean when you meet him."
Intrigued, Gaster follows Em towards the small conference room they set aside for interviews. He dismisses her once they reach the room, and he steps inside.
A stout little skeleton sits there waiting. His visitor's badge is pinned to a dress shirt that's worn and frayed around the edges. Gaster gets the impression this is a monster doing the best to utilize limited resources.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Gaster."
"Sans." The other rumbles. Despite the skeletons young age—his application listed that he'd recently turned 19—his voice is nearly as deep as Gaster's.
"Let's get right to it." Gaster takes the seat besides Sans.
Suddenly, an obnoxiously loud farting noise rips through the room, originating on Gaster's chair. Sans' grin stretches impossibly wide as the scientist freezes up, mortified, not sure what happened.
When he gets over his shock he lifts himself up and inspects the chair—a pink whoopie cushion was the cause. Gaster holds the limp little thing and looks over at Sans. The monster looks to be struggling to stifle his laughter.
"Did…Did you put this here?"
Sans only shrugs. Despite himself, despite the embarrassment, Gaster can't help but admire Sans' intrepidness. He's here applying for one of the most prestigious jobs in the entire Underground—and he pulls a prank. He understands now, what Em was hinting at.
Gaster can't help it—he actually chuckles aloud. After the king instated him as the Royal Scientist, no one has tried to joke with him. There's always some degree of seriousness when he's around. Sans' crude humor is nearly charming.
"Well then." He sets the deflated cushion aside for the moment. "I'm going to be frank with you, Sans."
"Sure, if you prefer Frank to Gaster." Sans snickers. His grin is stretched wide, full of levity, but Gaster can see the desperation flickering in the skeleton's eye sockets. He wants this.
Gaster decides to ignore Sans' comment and press on. "I've read your thesis, you're quite sharp."
"Oh, doc." Sans would be batting his eyelashes if he had any. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"But the reason you're here today is because of your mastery of magic." Finally, Sans doesn't interrupt with a joke. He's really listening. "Your maneuverability of blue magic is truly phenomenal. That's why I'd like you to assist my team with Project BOMB."
"Bomb?" Gaster knows Sans is just waiting to make a joke about the project's name.
"I'll explain in further detail, but I want you to meet the team first."
Gaster is at the door before another thought pops into his head. He turns around to face Sans; he's stuffing the whoopie cushion into his jacket pocket.
"You do want the position, yes?"
Sans had applied to work as a scientist in the central lab, unaware of any specifics until Gaster just now gave him the sparsest of explanations. He might not be interested in magical research, despite his talent.
But Gaster isn't surprised when Sans nods in the affirmative.
"Of course. Anythin' I can do to help."
"Wonderful. I'll have all the paperwork drawn up later today."
Sans sticks out his hand for a shake.
"Put 'er there."
Gaster reaches forward to shake his hand, but draws back at the last second. He spies the telltale silver shine of a hand buzzer around one of Sans' fingers.
"Oh no. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…"
"Was worth a shot."
Gaster summons his team into his office to make introductions. It's a small crew of three, now four with the addition of Sans. Though the lab at large staffs 100 or so monsters, Gaster is rather picky when it comes to the staff he personally works with. He doesn't suffer fools gladly; he needs monsters who are quick-witted, who can adapt to changing situations and problems. As a result, he's gathered a motley crew, each member with their own quirks and neuroses.
"Everyone, introduce yourselves to Sans."
Em slithers forward first. A snakelike monster, Em uses her massive jaws and her magic in lieu of additional limbs. The unapologetic "mother" of the group.
"Em. Glad to have you with us, Sans."
Gaster's second assistant gives a nod instead of a handshake. The cat monster's hands twitch at his sides, his body eager for a smoke break that wouldn't be coming for a few hours yet. "Name's Anton. Nice to meet ya, kid."
Before Sans can throw out a snarky comment about Anton's nickname for him, Gaster's final assistant bounds forward eagerly. Sans' bones rattle with his long and enthusiastic handshake.
"Looking forward to working with you! My name's Saul." Saul comes from a very humanoid species of monster. The two significant features that divide them are their ashen gray skin and bulging eyes. Such similarities to humans meant Saul led a relatively isolated childhood. He compensates for the loneliness now with an abundance of enthusiasm.
Gaster watches his assistants chatter amongst each other. A small smile upturns his face. Each of them alone are vulnerable, flawed. But thanks to Gaster, they are united. Thanks to Gaster, their combined intellects will bring about greatness.
"Come now." Gaster interrupts their conversation. "It's time to show Sans what we do here."
Gaster leads them to a large room. He holds the door wide, beckoning Sans in first.
"This is Project BOMB."
Sans looks around the room. There are twenty tubes, lined in neat rows. Many are occupied; drifting inside them, in bubbling fluid, are several constructs, like animal skulls.
Sans steps towards the one nearest to him, with a canine-esque structure. He taps lightly on the glass, but the beast inside the tube doesn't so much as twitch.
"BOMB stands for Barrier Obliteration Magic Beasts." Gaster explains. He's pleased that there's no fear in Sans' expression. His visage reflected back by the glass of the tube, his newest assistant only looks inquisitive and determined. Good.
"But what are these things?"
Sans circles around, getting a closer look at the other samples. Three of them are misshapen, early failures that were only kept because there's still room for them. Others are variations on the basic animal types: lizard, bird, small and large mammal. All different shapes and sizes, but all still looking decidedly deadly.
"They are artificially-created magical attacks."
Gaster sweeps to a nearby computer monitor. Always open on the monitors are the status conditions of the subjects. He gives the reports a cursory glance to make sure none of the beasts require immediate aid, then calls up a video file to the main screen. His assistants crowd around him.
"Each of these cannons are designed to unleash an unprecedented amount of magical energy. We'll use them to destroy the barrier."
"So what's the catch?" Asks Sans. "Are they not strong enough yet?"
"They're plenty strong. But we can't control them."
Gaster lets the video play. This is the recording for their latest trial run, a few weeks ago. It shows a large rectangular room, walls of magic padding the surfaces. Anton, ears flat and tail bushed out behind him, slowly approaches the cat skull blaster.
Em snickers. "I forgot about that shirt."
Anton flushes—in the video feed, he's wearing a daisy-patterned sweater beneath his lab coat. He crosses his arms.
"Shove it. I've told you, my niece made it for me."
"I think it's lovely," Saul comments. "It brings out the green in your eyes."
"Don't be weird."
They watch the video playback, as Anton stretches out a hand tentatively to pat the beast's muzzle. But he yelps, withdrawing hastily as it snaps at him with its massive jaws. As it lunges towards him again, Gaster steps forward, locking the creature in a cage of magic. They watch it crash against the bars, slowly tiring itself out.
Gaster pauses the video, and turns to address Sans.
"Our current objective is to find a way to establish a sort of tether with the beasts. Master them." Gaster pauses, then adds: "Because your HP is so low, we will not have you interacting with the cannons directly."
Sans gives no outward reaction, but Gaster is sure he's frustrated. Most employers don't check their employees' stats, as a matter of courtesy. The general belief is that a monster would pick a job best suited for their capabilities, regardless. But Gaster is cautious; he's not going to invest time and energy into his assistants only to have one lab experiment gone wrong cause them to crumble into dust.
But Sans shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.
"Hey, you're the boss."
The following weeks pass by in a flurry of activity as the team works to devise a new method to approach the cannons. Sans, having lived near dog monsters much of his life, suggests they modify their scent to something nonthreatening.
A series of trials and errors have followed, leaving Em, Anton, and Saul in turn reeking and itching for a shower after.
As Sans becomes more comfortable with his peers, he tapers off some on the japes and jokes, and opens up a bit. He starts gushing about his younger brother Papyrus every spare chance he gets, showing the other assistants the numerous photographs stashed in his wallet.
"I don't know what I did to deserve the little nugget." Sans insists every single time, voice saturated with adoration.
It is when they're running yet another scent trial that Gaster first sees him.
They are optimistic about this one. Previous trials left the creatures disinterested, disgusted, or unaffected. None of those the reactions they're looking for.
Today is Saul's turn to be the potential tether. He stands with his arms held out, juddering with excitement.
"Keep still." Anton grumbles, as he hoses Saul down with the latest batch of formula. "Ugh, this shit reeks." Anton has a far keener sense of smell than the rest of them, nearly dog level.
Em slithers over once he's done, taking a whiff. "Smells pretty harmless to me." She says.
The lights inside Sans' eye sockets brighten, and as one the team brace themselves for his appallingly awful humor.
"Yeah, if the beasts don't want to befriend you smelling like that, it makes no scents."
Everyone groans good-naturedly.
"We need to come up with a better name for them then "beasts." It's too nondescript." Says Em.
"Hyper Cannons? Mega Gushers?" Suggests Sans. "What about Energy Vomiters?"
Anton's whiskers twitch. "If we're renaming them, we're not leaving it up to Sans."
"I like Mega Gushers." Volunteers Saul.
"Saul doesn't get to be on the voting committee, either."
"Head on in, Saul." Gaster steers them back on track.
The monster snaps off a salute to his boss. "Yessir!"
Gaster has long since given up on trying to correct Saul's zealous, over-polite nature.
Saul goes into the testing room alone, while Gaster and the rest of the team file into the observation room. One of its walls is a sheet of one-way glass that allows them to observe the testing room.
In the center of the testing room is the canine blaster, which hovers restlessly in a cage of Gaster's magic.
The Royal Scientist taps the intercom.
"I'm releasing the cage now." He warns, and does just that.
The team watches their interaction with bated breath.
Rather than sidle up to the beast, as Anton and Em tended to do, Saul simply stands there, letting it be the one to approach him.
The doglike creature circles Saul, clearly smelling his scent. For a moment, the beast seems to enjoy the smell. But then it rears back, jaw hinging open.
Saul narrowly dodges out of the way as the beam of energy completely shatters the magical barriers Gaster had erected, and punches a massive hole in the wall.
"Oh God—"
"Shut it down, Gaster, the cage—"
"We've gotta get him out of there!"
Somehow, it knows they're there. The canine creature summons another beam, and the whole team drops to the floor as its attack shatters the glass wall.
The beast shoves its way through the new opening it created, savage, angry. Gaster throws up the caging magic, but the beast shakes itself free from the bindings easily.
A low growl builds in the creature's throat, eyes glowing and glittering. The team is frozen in the positions they were in when they ducked for cover, staring up at the destructive weapon.
Then, of all things, there's the click of the door opening.
Sans' eyes go to empty pits when he sees a small skeleton standing in the doorway. A child.
"Brother?" He squeaks out. "What is that thing?"
"P-Papyrus? What are you doing here?"
The beast turns towards the boy, the sight of new prey catching its interest.
Sans is right by Gaster's side, but within a second he's suddenly not, he's by the door, arms splayed protectively in front of Papyrus. 1 HP be damned.
Sans' eye socket flickers with blue magic.
"Back off." He growls.
To the team's amazement, the canine beast is cowed by his threat, retreating away from him, even whimpering slightly. Gaster seizes this moment of vulnerability to surround the creature in a cage again, bars so thick it's nearly a box. It doesn't put up a fight this time, resting on the bottom of the cage, still whining softly.
Saul pokes his head through the ruined wall, eyes even wider than usual.
"Is everyone okay?" He shouts.
"We're all fine." Anton lightly pushes him back into the testing room. "Don't get yourself cut on the glass."
The cat monster then grabs the tether to the cage from Gaster.
"I'll take it back." He offers. Anton awkwardly scoots around Sans and his brother to exit.
Now that the momentary chaos has abated, Gaster finally sees Papyrus for the first time. And he actually staggers back a step, struck by the sight of the child. His usually-brilliant mind fuzzes over, and all he can focus on is the boy across the room. Papyrus squirms in Sans' hold, and the guilty flush of magic to his cheekbones sets Gaster's soul ablaze.
"What are you even doing here?" Sans hisses, eyes glittering with protective anger.
"I j-just thought I'd surprise you—"
"Papyrus, I've told you not to come here."
"You never said the lab was dangerous!" Papyrus protests. "You said you were going to be safe at your new job!"
Sans is about to fire back, but then seems to remember the two of them aren't alone in the room. He hefts Papyrus up, even as the grumbling child tries to push away. Sans turns to Em and Gaster, skeletal grin sheepish.
"I'm, uh. Gonna take him home now."
"I can walk home myself!" Says Papyrus, voice muffled as he presses his face into Sans' shoulder.
"Enough, Papyrus." Sans' gaze flicks back up to look at Gaster. "If that's okay with you, doc."
Gaster shakes himself free from his stupor, and waves them off. Afraid that if he tries to speak, nothing will come out.
He's never felt like this before, so strongly. Perhaps it is—
"Dr. Gaster?" Em shoves her large head in his face. "Gaster?"
"What?" His voice comes out gravelly, snappish.
Fortunately, she misunderstands his peevishness.
"Don't worry, sir. We'll figure out these beasts yet. This one seemed to even be obeying Sans, at the end."
Em chatters on, and Gaster grunts in agreement to whatever she says. His mind is still on Papyrus.
With Sans gone and the creature still fidgety, there's little point in pursuing further research. After briefly checking to make sure Saul is truly unscathed (he is) Gaster dismisses the remainder of the team until the following day.
Once Gaster reaches his abode, he makes a beeline for the sofa. He sits, and takes a moment to sort though what has happened.
He does not know why he's like this.
Perhaps he simply wants what society dictates does not belong to him. The pursuit of the unobtainable. Isn't that why he became a scientist, after all? To unlock the secrets of the world that others are too simple-minded to even search for?
Perhaps it is because he lost his betrothed at a young age, when the humans drove them underground. For years after he would lie in the night, imagining her pallid porcelain face on the pillow next to his. Her youthful face became his paragon of beauty.
Gaster shakes his head. He could spend years ruminating on why he feels this way—what's important is that he does. He wants to touch the boy's pristine bones, alabaster unmarred by time and wear. To touch something so pure—to corrupt it by his own hand.
He's growing too excited. He lifts a hand up from the arm of the sofa and strands of him cling to the fabric. He sighs. It's hard to maintain his preferred, more elegant form when he gets riled up. Withdrawing from musings for a moment, he focuses on solidifying himself. The strands reluctantly knit themselves back together.
For years, decades even, Gaster's life has been drudgery. Just going through the motions in the lab as he tried new experiments, only to fail again and again. If he and the king weren't old friends—and if the monster had a sliver of spine—Gaster would've been ousted from his position long ago.
But just the sight of the boy—just the thought of him—makes him feel so alive. After all he's done for monsterkind, he deserves this. Papyrus will be his.
Gaster's soul lurches with joy when Sans enters the lab the next day, five minutes late as opposed to his usual fifteen.
The short skeleton makes a beeline for Gaster.
"Just wanted to, uh. Apologize for yesterday. I've made sure Paps won't show up like that again."
"Why did he come yesterday?" Gaster asks, curious.
Sans lets out a weak chuckle. "He'd gotten a good grade on his science project and couldn't wait a couple hours to show me."
It must have meant a lot, for the boy to directly disobey Sans like that.
"Does Papyrus struggle in school?"
The idea of the object of his affections being of average or lower intelligence bothers him on some level. But Sans is quick to defend his younger brother.
"Paps is a whole lot smarter than me. I should some you some of his puzzles someday—they're brilliant. Some things just don't click, with the way they're teaching him." Sans shuffles a bit. "I help him with the science when I can, but I don't exactly remember every little thing about every subject, you know?"
There's an opportunity here. Gaster tamps down on his enthusiasm, not letting his voice raise in pitch.
"What else does he have difficulty with?"
"Monster languages." Sans says, with an edge of bitterness. "It breaks his little heart, too. He wants to befriend everyone, but has a hard time understanding them."
All monsters are raised to speak the "common" language, but each species has their own language as well. The most common species' languages are taught in the public schools.
"I believe I could be of service." Gaster says, offer honeyed and smooth.
"What?" Sans blinks up at him, uncomprehending.
"I grew up in a very isolated village."
As proud as he is of his heritage, there's also a shade of embarrassment—the moldsmal family are their far less-evolved cousins.
He continues. "When the move underground occurred, I had to quickly adapt to communicating with other monsters. I could teach Papyrus using the techniques that helped me."
"Aw, doc, you don't have to do that—"
"It's no trouble at all." Gaster interrupts him. "Truly. I'd love to help."
But Sans still dithers. "I don't think we can really afford—"
"Sans." Gaster admonishes him. "I'm the king's Royal Scientist. Do you think I want for gold?" He smiles down at his assistant. "I just want to help."
Finally, the skeleton shrugs. "Well…why not? Paps'll be over the moon."
"Excellent."
Gaster scrawls his home address on a piece of scrap paper, excitement making his hand shake, marring his usually-perfect penmanship. Still, it's legible. Gaster hands it to Sans.
"I believe two meetings a week shall suffice." He wanted to say three, but he doesn't want his greed to put off Sans.
Sans tucks the address in his jacket pocket. Normally, Gaster would be worried he'd misplace it, but Sans seems to take things concerning his younger brother a little more seriously.
Sans is about to leave, but then pauses.
"Thanks for this, doc." He says quietly.
Gaster waves away his gratitude. He's the one who's truly grateful—Sans has provided him with an opportunity to meet with Papyrus the day after their first meeting.
"It's my pleasure."
When King Asgore decided to move his homestead from Home to New Home, most monsters picked up and moved with him.
As the king led them through the Underground, a few monsters split off from the herd, finding specific climates especially appealing.
Gaster would have preferred to do his work in the peace and quiet of a place like Snowdin, but the creation and maintenance of the Core required the main lab to be built in Hotland. Leery of the overcrowding in New Home as well as the insufferable heat of Hotland, Gaster moved into a house on the border of both. A bit warm, but at least he can avoid huge throngs of monsters.
Sans and Papyrus live closer to the center of the city, where the crowds are larger but the rent is cheaper. Gaster walks aimlessly back and forth around his house, jittery with anticipation for their arrival.
When the doorbell finally rings, Gaster takes care not to answer too quickly. When he does, he opens the door wide. Little Papyrus stares up at him with wonder. Sans is behind him, a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Hi Dr. Gaster!" The boy chirps. His voice is high, pleasant; he's a few years yet from puberty.
Gaster eyes his clothes with a touch of distaste. Scuffed sneakers, patched jeans, and an old shirt that had to have belonged to Sans, a faded pun on the front. The shirt is too large, cinched in the back with a plain black hair tie. Something so beautiful should be dressed up, put on display, not obscured by ill-fitting, bulky clothing.
"Hello, Papyrus." Gaster steps to the side of the doorway to allow him to come through.
Sans gives his brother's shoulder a supportive squeeze. "Be good for the doc now, Paps."
"I will!" Papyrus whirls around to give his brother a quick little hug, and then he scurries inside.
Gaster exchanges goodbyes with Sans and shuts the door. He now has Papyrus to himself for two full hours. Surreptitiously, he checks through the blinds on his front window. Sans is indeed gone.
"Wowie! What's all this?" Papyrus' delighted voice echoes throughout the house.
Gaster moves to the kitchen, where Papyrus has discovered the tray of treats Gaster had prepared for him. He's not fond of sweets himself, so he baked variations of the pastries several times to find the perfect combination of ingredients.
"They're for you. Pick whatever you'd like, Papyrus."
The boy hesitates. "Sans says I'm not supposed to have dessert before supper."
"Come now," Gaster cajoles. "It'll be our secret."
Papyrus eyes the pastries hungrily, but shakes his head.
"But Sans said…"
"Papyrus, you're a guest in my home. It'd be rude of you to refuse my hospitality."
"Well…alright then!"
Papyrus selects one of the cupcakes—vanilla, with icing and strawberries atop it. He tears off the wrapping and crams the whole thing in his mouth at once. No finesse. Gaster has seen Sans eat in the same appalling manner during lunch breaks at work.
"Mmm." Papyrus hums delightedly. Gaster's soul climbs into his throat—some of the frosting has smeared on the boy's face.
Before he can stop himself Gaster is reaching out towards him.
"Now look, you've made a mess." Gaster wipes the frosting away with his fingers, reveling in the brief contact with smooth bone.
Papyrus flushes adorably, scrubbing the last bits of frosting from his face.
"Let's get started with your studies." Papyrus is too young and unaware to wonder at the sudden hoarseness of Gaster's voice.
Gaster steers Papyrus to his living room. The walls are lined with elegant, dark cherry bookcases, shelves filled with thick scientific journals. Gaster takes a seat on one half of the leather sofa, and Papyrus hops up beside him.
"What grade are you in?"
"Fifth." He says cheerily, swinging his legs. No older than 10 or 11 then, just as he'd thought.
"You're quite tall for your age."
Papyrus puffs out his chest proudly.
"Sans says I'm way bigger than he was at my age."
"Indeed you are." At the rate the child's growing, he will soon eclipse his older brother's stubby height.
"That's because Sans always eats greasy things." Papyrus bemoans his brother's poor dietary choices. "But I listen to the Vegetoids. I eat my greens."
"That's very good of you, Papyrus." The boy lights up at the minor praise. "Now tell me, which monster languages are you focusing on at the moment?"
"Dogspeak and tem."
Gaster grimaces. He is familiar with both, but while Dogspeak is tolerable, the language of the tummies feels strange and degrading to speak.
"Let's start our lesson with Dogspeak. Show me what you've got so far."
Papyrus screws up his face, concentrating. He yips out his name and a few short sentences. It's not a bad baseline to work with. Gaster gives him corrections and suggestions, and Papyrus adapts swiftly, never making the same mistake twice. Before he knows it, two hours have passed, and Sans is at the door.
"How'd it go? You learn anything, Paps?"
Papyrus bounds over to rejoin Sans, barking in the affirmative.
"Uh-oh. You stuck speaking like that now?"
Papyrus growls teasingly, not ready yet to give up the Dogspeak.
"That's ruff, kiddo."
"Sans!" Papyrus swats his brother lightly on the arm.
Surprising Gaster, the boy then returns to his side and gives him a quick hug.
"Thank you, Dr. Gaster!"
He waves the pair away from his house, watches them go. He'll have to move slowly, be patient.
He knows where to start.
At the end of their second tutoring session, Gaster is prepared. He closes out their session a few minutes ahead of time, before Sans arrives, and gives Papyrus a little present, a reward for doing so well. It's a new shirt, made of expensive, comfortable material that will hug his petite frame rather nicely.
This becomes a trend, Gaster gifting Papyrus another nice article of clothing every time they meet, until ultimately, every time Gaster sees him he's wearing a dapper new outfit.
He also conditions Papyrus to his casual touch—a hand on his back here, a pat on his skull there—until it becomes second nature to him. Papyrus is a tactile youth regardless, so it's hardly difficult.
A little more than a month into their arrangement, Sans comes up to Gaster at work. Gaster has his suspicions why, so he throws off what was probably a prepared speech by being the first to speak.
"Ah, Sans. I've been meaning to ask—how has Papyrus been doing in school? Any improvement?"
Sans blinks, then clears his throat. "Uh, well. He's bringing back better grades now. But, uh. You know that you don't really have to keep…giving him stuff."
"He doesn't like the clothes?"
"Well—" Sans squirms, feeling awkward. "He does, but it's just—"
Gaster is growing annoyed. Why can't Sans just be grateful?
"Sans, I don't mind. I don't have children, nieces or nephews." Anyone that could have born them perished when the humans came. "It's nice to have someone to dote on."
"Hey, Sans!" Anton shouts over to them from across the room. "Give me a hand over here, won't you?"
Sans shuffles off to help, and Gaster knows that the skeleton's apprehensions have been soothed.
With Sans pacified for the moment, things continue to progress smoothly. However, one day he greets the skeleton brothers at his door and can immediately sense something is amiss. After waving his brother farewell, Papyrus' cheerful veneer cracks. They've hardly sat down when the boy starts to sniffle.
"Papyrus, what ever is the matter?"
"N-Nothing." Papyrus scrubs at his eye sockets. "I'm fine."
"You can tell me anything." Gaster urges him.
He pulls the boy closer to him. Papyrus leans against his side instinctively, not even questioning the intimate gesture of comfort.
"It's nothing…"
"I won't tell Sans a thing if you don't want me to. I'm good at keeping secrets between us, remember?"
"It's just…" Papyrus picks at a crease in the couch cushion. "Something happened at—at school today."
When Papyrus falls silent, Gaster prompts him to continue.
"Go on."
"Today, in gym class, we, um. We were playing kickball. It's this human sport—"
"I'm aware of it."
"Oh. The—The teacher, she let us pick teams ourselves. And no one wanted me."
Dead last to be picked for a physical challenge? It seems odd to Gaster, considering the boy's strength, height, and abundance of energy.
"Why do you think you were picked last?"
"They told me why." Tears prick the boy's eye sockets. "Said I was weird. A freak."
"Oh, Papyrus."
Gaster encircles him in his arms, Papyrus' back flush to Gaster's chest. The child is in his lap, and dear God, he can even smell him. Gaster inhales the faint tang of his body and magic.
"Don't let what those children say get to you."
Papyrus shifts, his tailbone digging in sharply right there. Gaster sucks in a breath, but the boy hears little over his own hiccupping sobs. As Papyrus quivers atop him, Gaster feels himself begin to swell.
"They are merely insecure in themselves, and are taking that out on you."
The utter inappropriateness of his arousal in this moment only serves to make him harder.
"There is nothing wrong with you. You're wonderful."
Gaster subtly activates his magic, to put further pressure upon his erection. He strokes Papyrus' radius bone in a gesture of comfort, but revels in the texture for his own pleasure.
"Sans loves you."
He hasn't pleasured himself in ages; his body, so long denied, is nearly ready to orgasm.
"And I cherish you."
With a huff of breath he comes. The fabric of his clothes is thick enough Papyrus doesn't feel the wetness of semen that's trickled out. Instead, the small skeleton twists around, giving him a hug.
"Thank you, Dr. Gaster. You're the bestest friend I have." He thinks a bit, then amends: "Well, aside from Sans."
Gaster wants to revel in the moment, but he knows if he doesn't move soon his nice leather couch will be ruined.
"Why don't you do wash up?" Gaster suggests. "We'll forget studying for today. I'll show you a new pastry recipe instead."
Papyrus' eye sockets nearly sparkle with joy. He clambers to the bathroom excitedly. Gaster eyes his tiny form until he disappears from sight.
Then Gaster stands, and starts to clean himself up. He wonders how far he'll be able to take this. He imagines it'll be quite fun.