I might just have to put a general warning on this fic for food-talk because it got away from me in here. So. Warning: food talk, and Gaster's…. continued uncomfortable lack of food consumption. ….honestly I've added a lot of new warnings, so… yeah. Um. Sorry about that.

The ink was running. The pages of his notebooks breaking apart as cold water flooded his apartment. Dark, and tugging, and swirling around his ankles, making it impossible to run without losing balance and falling face-first into that churning vortex. But his notes were being eaten.

Drowned.

An old library book, handwritten, black leather cover, cracking in the water. Floated past the couch and began to bob under. He reached out, trying to snatch it up, but it was on the other side of the room, air bubbling out of its pages as it sank. He reached. Fingers closed around air. The book was half submerged. He tried to run. His notes could be rewritten, but he couldn't lose that one—!

He woke to CS-1's skull an inch away from his face.

"Gah!"

And cracked his skull on the frame of the bed.

Gaster curled inwards immediately, cradling his skull and thinking that better not have widened that crack while trying to remember where he was, why CS-1 was with him, and why there was a bed close enough for him to whack his head on.

Then a dry part of his mind said, oh, right, you committed thinly-veiled fraud, hotels in Snowdin have beds in them, not everyone's a nitwit who can sleep on couches for years without back pain, and you're not making the fucking kid take the floor.

CS-1 made a choked sound. If the kid was laughing at him, Gaster was going to remind him the first thing CS-1 did the moment he set foot on Snowdin's shore was go wide-eyed, take a bite out of a snow-covered tree branch, and get a long-lasting brain freeze. Because that had been hilarious.

(Gaster had definitely hit one of his skull fractures. Augh. Augh, augh, his whole—metaphorical-brain—was prickling numb. It eased slowly. Not quite slowly enough for his taste, but it was easing, and that was important.)

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Gaster said, gingerly sitting upright and waving away CS-1's concerned hands. "Ugh. Just. Give me a moment."

Starting the day off verbal. Yay.

He used the few moments CS-1 granted him to gather himself, breathe a bit more deeply, and lean back against the edge of the hotel bed—a finely carved hardwood frame and a soft mattress with two brightly-patterned geometric quilts on top and spares in the closet. Gaster wondered, for a moment, what CS-1 was doing out of bed, much less that kind of bed, which had to be infinitely more comfortable than what they had back at the lab. Not that the lab beds were uncomfortable out of cruelty, it was just—well. They functioned, and there were more important things to focus on than comfort.

Once he'd had a moment to recover from his pain-induced wakefulness, fatigue settled over Gaster once more, and blinked blearily at CS-1.

Did you crawl out of bed?, he gestured, trying to sound indifferent while also burying fuzzy visions of CS-1 crawling places out of reach or leaving areas while Gaster wasn't able to pay attention. Then, after a moment of thought, repeated the phrase aloud.

CS-1 didn't quite grasp the word 'crawling' on instinct, and so Gaster just asked him if he could come closer. He did, slowly, and very deliberately, his eyes lightening just the slightest bit with blue as he shuffled, mostly using his hands, over to Gaster.

"Wow," he said, sighing. "Okay. I can work with this. This is good news," and thought, I'm going to die.

He'd… he'd have to figure out how to stop CS-1 from going too far off with crawling. Crawling was good. It would help strengthen his ability to use magic as musculature. It would give him more options for escape if he were in a bad situation. It was a sign of learning and growth. It would mean he was much less likely to injure himself now.

It also meant he'd opened up a whole new world of potential injuries.

"Did you need something?"

CS-1 gestured for both food and chisps at the same time, making a horrible abomination of a word that Gaster could only barely manage to translate. The gesture was sloppier than usual.

Gaster winced as he realized why that was.

CS-1 was tired. But he couldn't sleep anymore—he was too hungry, and unused to hunger at that. Aside from the incentives Gaster had made out of the chisps, the lab had provided CS-1 meals at specific periods throughout a working day. The food wasn't exactly tasty, CS-1's reaction to chisps had definitely solidified that, but it was filling enough, clearly. Gaster hadn't ever really bothered with the lab food, already having gotten himself to the point he could scrape by on nearly nothing. CS-1 didn't have that kind of mindset yet—not that he should ever have to—and between escape from the lab however many hours ago and how quickly Gaster had fashioned himself a sleeping spot on the floor out of one of the bed's spare pillows and a spare quilt, he'd—they had definitely reached time for CS-1 to be fed, if not passed it entirely.

Aside from the discomfort, CS-1 needed food for energy to keep him mobile. He was young and fragile.

Gaster really needed to get some real food in their room the moment he could.

Or.

The moment he felt he could stand on his own two legs without falling flat on his face, anyway. Same thing.

It still surprised him a little how off balance he was when he tried to stand.

Usually it took him… a little while to gather the motivation to get up. Once he got up, he could usually keep going pretty well. But it took a while to get to that point. A hungry CS-1 making sad, distressed faces at him was a very good motivator, but his equilibrium was still shot.

Still, Gaster pushed himself upright with one hand on the bedframe, taking a few deep breaths, and steadying himself a moment more releasing the bedframe and standing on his own two feet.

At which point, the vertigo faded enough for him to realize another thing.

…so, did you crawl out of bed, or did you fall? Gaster asked, gesturing one-handed at CS-1 while trying not to smirk. Falling was a dangerous thing for CS-1. Two days ago he'd almost died after taking a fall.

But Gaster was imagining CS-1 rolling off the bed, landing on the floor, and continuing to doze peacefully throughout the whole ordeal.

Yeah. That sounded more like the kid.

CS-1 didn't really seem to understand all of what was said, but he sure got the gist of it, and made a face.

Gaster snorted. Still, CS-1 didn't protest when Gaster bent down and hoisted him up with a grunt, placing him back on the bed.

I'll get you more later, but we should have enough to tide you over until then, Gaster told him, recovering from the lifting quickly enough and making his way over to the canvas bag he'd tossed rather haphazardly against the wall by the door when they'd first come in the night before. At least he'd had the strength of mind to help CS-1 out of his leg braces and set those and the crutches very gently at the foot of the bed.

The canvas bag, though, had barely managed to stay upright. And that was mostly owing to the bag of borrowed mechanics it was leaning on. Gaster hoped nothing in that was damaged, and then ignored it, opening up the canvas bag and rooting around in it as best he could with his head still swimming.

Something about the thought of swimming—or maybe just water—made him feel a bit sick inside. …He'd maybe dreamed something about that?

Then—The crinkling of a wrapper! Only something mostly filled with air could make such a hideously loud sound. Chisps.

When he pulled out the chisps, something came tumbling out with them—his vitamin tin, now half stuffed with tea.

He blinked at it a moment. Chisps in one hand, tea-and-vitamin container at his feet, hungry child at his back.

…Snowdin. They were in Snowdin.

Gaster turned around and scanned the room more thoroughly.

To his immediate right shoulder was the door to the hallway. To his back about midway down the wall was the nest he'd made out of a quilt and pillow, situated at the foot of the bed where CS-1 sat perched, waiting expectantly. Beyond that was a small coffee table with an inanimate glow crystal on it, a pair of wrought wooden chairs, and a window that looked out into the dark, snowy forest, which glowed faintly with blue.

The final wall had a brick fireplace set into it, and a trunk and two rows of shelves holding, most importantly, wood, tinder, a kettle, and some cups. Gaster hadn't lit the fire when they'd entered, so the room was still as icy cold as anywhere in Snowdin, but combined with some water from the hallway washroom or—if he were lazy enough—opening the window and just putting snow directly in the pot, there was everything he'd need to make some tea.

His head went waterlogged again. Yeah. Tea could only improve that.

Huh. He wondered if CS-1 liked tea or not.

He pulled two teabags and a vitamin dose out of the tin. With the amount of sleep he'd gotten and the extra tea and doses he'd taken back in his apartment, he was probably eating more than usual, but—but after the day before and the fine-tuned magic it took to make CS-1 walk without producing light, he really couldn't say he didn't want just a little more of an energy boost than usual.

CS-1 tore into the bag of chisps the moment they were given to him, leaving Gaster free to shuffle over to the fireplace and inspect what they had more thoroughly.

Not only was there a kettle, but also a set of cutlery, bowls, and plates. Clearly, the hotel was used to guests wanting to make their own food on long stays, or at least heating something up over the fire. Maybe they were used to people on different sleeping schedules and couldn't rely on guests being awake to join in a meal?

There was also a box of matches. Expected, but still a relief to find. Gaster wasn't sure he could light a fire with magic in his current state. He couldn't cook with it even on a good day.

After a few minutes of staring and listening to the soundtrack of CS-1's crunchy feast, Gaster decided he wasn't a barbarian, and he was going to check the washroom for a faucet or pump before trying to open the window to melt snow.

He made a quick pitstop by the canvas bag again, this time to dig out one of the man tins of mints he'd bought along with the chisps. He popped two in his mouth—chocolate and strawberry flavored—before clicking out a be right back and heading to the washroom. There was a very real, very treacherous risk that the mints would completely wreck the taste of the tea for him, but he was also going to probably need the little bit of energy they provided to carry the kettle back to their room if there was working water.

So down the hallway. It was a short walk. Only three other doors in the hall besides their own, and a final wooden door at the end of the hall opposite the staircase, marked as a washroom. There was definitely running water—and water that ran well, too, since this was the second floor, and he wondered if there was magic aiding that along to get the pipe all the way to Waterfall's level—

The washroom was fairly simple. A tub, large and round. Several towels on a wooden tree hanger standing proudly next to a half-opened shuttered closet. Inside that, a smaller metal basin full of sponges and bars of soap. Beside them, a few buckets. A mirror hung up on the wall with an ornate frame around it. And a faucet, a hand-pump iron faucet with an opening as large as Gaster's fist, standing low in the corner with another metal basin below it to catch any splash.

As with the bedroom, it was all illuminated by glow crystals, but without the aid of light from the window. A few unlit candles were scattered around as well, a pack of matches on one of the wall frames. An unlit light bulb hung from a wire on the ceiling.

Gaster considered summoning one of his blasters, but dismissed the idea. He could see well enough to get water, and while the mints had already dissolved and given him a bit of a boost, he didn't quite trust himself yet, even to maintain a small blaster.

He kept the door to the hallway open, just to let in what little extra light that allowed, and made his way to the pump in the corner. Hung the kettle on a hook at the top of the nozzle, set there explicitly for the purpose of helping things hang. And started pumping.

It was a good well. A very good well. It took a good ten pumps before the first hint of water appeared, but after that, it came quickly, clear and cold. Three pumps and he had more than enough for tea. Enough for multiple cups, or to wash up. Either way. He unhooked the kettle and watched the pump drip out the remainder before turning and heading back up the hall the way he came.

CS-1 had chewed his way through the whole first bag of chisps by the time Gaster got back. Which was a bit concerning, but—chisps weren't very filling, admittedly.

Redoubling his resolve to get something else for CS-1 to eat later on, Gaster set the water down, tossed CS-1 another bag of chisps, and paused just long enough to watch the carnage begin before turning back to the fireplace and staring at it.

He sighed.

He should've started a fire before getting the water.

Stupid.

Crouched in front of the mantle. Paper. Kindling. Twigs. Multiple small softwood logs, and three larger hardwoods. The hotel owner really had gone out of their way to make sure they had everything in the room they'd need. He set it up, most easily flammable to least. It wouldn't take much for such a small room to heat up. He did it without thinking. He'd grown up around fire.

Matches. Three strikes before it caught flame. Two matches before the paper caught. Gaster sat back and watched everything catch—paper, twigs, kindling, softwood—waiting until there was a decent blaze before hanging the kettle over the flame.

After a few minutes of staring blankly into the fire, Gaster realized CS-1's crunching had stopped.

He turned and looked over his shoulder, realizing CS-1 was watching the fire with the familiar intensity of someone who'd never seen something before, and was trying desperately to figure out how it worked.

…Gaster couldn't deny a look like that.

Hey, he said, and tried to not smile too much when CS-1 jumped. You shouldn't touch. But want to see?

Yes! CS-1 said, eyes alight. Yes.

Gaster put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up, grunting as he did so, and made his way to the bed. Arms up. CS-1 complied. Gaster looped his arm around CS-1's waist and hoisted him up, carrying him off the bed and closer to the fireplace before sitting down with the kid securely in his lap, where he couldn't go crawling too close. Gaster wasn't sure how dangerous a slight burn would be to the kid, but he wasn't about to risk it. With any luck, the rest and recent food would have CS-1 about as healthy as could be, and maybe even able to take a little more risk than usual. With even better luck, neither of them would have to find out.

Fire, Gaster told him, and repeated it verbally. This is fire. It's painful and dangerous to touch or get too close. But it's also very useful.

CS-1 nodded along to the warnings, but still stretched a hand out, closer to the flames. Gaster huffed. CS-1 ignored him.

Gaster huffed again, and had a thought.

Want to see something?

CS-1 turned a quarter of the way towards him, eyes flat, but still questioning.

Gaster tried to smile again, and remembered CS-1 was still mad at him. And probably only putting up with being carried around because he knew Gaster usually did the opposite of stealing him away in the night, haha—

…Well. Gaster—he'd offered, at least. CS-1 looked sort of curious. And the kettle was getting hot now, tea wouldn't be much longer, so he could probably afford to just—

Trying to ignore the part of his brain that didn't know how to stop talking, Gaster lifted the hand that wasn't holding CS-1, ran his thumb over his fingertips, and summoned fire.

Well. As close to fire as he could get on his hands.

Still. CS-1's eyelights grew wide and he let out a little gasp, before seeming to remember Gaster's warning and finding himself stuck between wanting to get away and wanting to lean in closer.

Gaster smiled for real, relaxing slightly. He could do this.

You can touch it, he told CS-1. It's not real fire. I'm better at light without heat.

With a suspicious sideways glance, CS-1 lifted one of his hands and touched his pointer finger to Gaster's fire.

The flame swallowed the finger as if it weren't even there.

Haha. It really was a pretty poor imitation.

It flickered and pulsed like fire, it held the shape of a flame, but—but it was just his magic. Made into a shape he had practiced. Just like with his bones attacks. Just like with his blasters.

His flame was purple, and airy, and if he tried hard enough, flecks of gold might swirl into its midst. Still. Fake fire was just fake fire. Light without heat.

CS-1 withdrew his hand, turning back to the fireplace, and Gaster doused his flame before he drained himself too thoroughly.

Outside, somewhere, windchimes were making faint sounds he could hardly hear through the window. One of the softwood logs cracked and spat out orange sparks that fizzled on the floor not far from where they sat. Downstairs, the padding of soft feet.

…this was nice.

Yeah.

This was nice.

The cold didn't really bother Gaster—didn't really bother skeletons at all, he assumed, given their lack of a conventional nervous system (he'd always sort of wondered what sensation was like to other monsters. Monsters with fur, or scales, or hairless skin. What he wouldn't give to be someone else, just for a day—) but really, the cold was just sort of there. He knew it was cold. He could feel the temperature differences around him. He felt the thick, wet humidity of Hotland, and the dry, thin air of Snowdin, and could smell and feel the road dust of New Home as if it were a part of him, but… they didn't bother him, per se.

But this was nice. Knowing the room had once been cold, and was heating. Feeling the heat on his bones. Watching CS-1 lean into it, and then away from it, and apparently lulling himself back to sleep…

CS-1 fell asleep.

The kettle was bound to whistle, soon.

Gaster didn't really need boiling water to make tea. He just needed it hot.

Carefully, so as to not disturb his passenger, Gaster lifted CS-1 back up and carried him back to the bed, setting his head against the pillow and pulling the sheet and quilts up to his shoulders. Then, quick as he could, Gaster went back to the fireplace and pulled the kettle off its hook.

He felt the searing heat in his hands, and ignored it. Not a big deal. He poured what he could into the cups and finally set the kettle down again, this time on the table. Stretched the pain out of his fingers with a sigh. Teabags. Steep. He had a few mintes.

He'd forgotten honey.

Maybe he could find somewhere to get honey in Snowdin…?

Snowdin was probably far too cold for honey. Still. Even chunks of crystallized honey. He could go for that.

CS-1 was still asleep, much faster than Gaster expected him to be—maybe he had only woken because of hunger?—and hadn't' been at all disturbed by the movement or noise around him. So Gaster steeped the tea he'd been planning to give to CS-1 and drank both cups when they were done, one after the other.

CS-1 was still asleep.

If Gaster stopped moving now, he'd probably stay stopped and then feel awful about it.

CS-1 stayed sound asleep, and there was work to do.

With a few deep breaths, Gaster set the cups aside and pulled the metal screen across the front of the fireplace so no sparks could cause trouble while he was gone.

Still no stirring from the bed.

Gaster straightened his clothes, looked himself over, made sure there weren't any stains or wrinkles he couldn't get out before starting to move—and when there weren't, he headed to the door. Quiet as he could. He'd be back soon. Before CS-1 ever woke up.

He slipped back into the hall and closed the door quietly behind him.

He couldn't stand vigil all the time. And this wasn't exactly something he wanted to do with CS-1 around. Better that the kid was asleep.

Down the stairs.

"'Morning," the bunny at the front desk said. She was the same as the one the night before who'd signed them in for two weeks' stay—small eyes, a flower pattered apron, and sharp, upright ears. Today she was lounging in a chair behind the front desk, reading over what looked to be a handwritten novel. It must've been a local author. "Your son not up yet?"

"No, he's still sleeping in some," Gaster said, "the trip really tired him out."

The desk bunny nodded sagely, thumbing the pages of her book and dogearing one of them. "Anything I can help you with this mornin', then?"

"Yes, actually, please," Gaster said, and fidgeted with the front of his sweater before he could catch himself. "I was wondering if I could borrow a phone?"

The bunfolk at the front desk dug around in her dress' pockets and produced a small, older-model cellphone. Simple, but effective. Large battery. He thanked her, and she directed him to a small backroom where he could made the call in privacy. Then, she left him alone, and returned to her book.

Talking a deep breath, Gaster closed his eyes and sorted through his memory for the number he needed—he'd always had a knack for patterns, and numbers were the most common pattern of all, but assigning a face and name to those numbers was always a bit hit-or-miss. Still, there were only so many phone numbers in the underground he could miscall.

He dialed correctly on the first try.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Ursama sounded tired.

Gaster wondered how much of that was his fault. "Gaster."

"Wingdings!"

A lot of that was his fault, it sounded.

"I can explain."

Something thudded on the other end of the line. Then a long, drawn out sigh. He could imagine her leaning over her desk, propped up by one elbow and covering her eyes. "This better be good."

"I-I'd," He closed his eyes. "I'd like to start with pointing out I did not actually do anything not sanctioned. I went through proper channels, and told no lies. And now am calling to explain myself without prompting."

She made a small sound of acknowledgement. It was not… he wondered if it ever got easier to break people's trust, and kept talking. "You waited an awful long time to call."

"…I… was taking your advice to heart and trying not to die, hha."

That was clearly not a good way to break the tension. Something shifted in her voice. Sharp. "Did he hurt you?"

"I…" Gaster blinked. "What? No. No, I was just. You saw how I looked in your office, it took me time to recover. No. There was… I removed CS-1 for his own safety."

The new tone dropped away from her voice, replaced with confusion. Gaster relaxed fractionally. "What do you mean by that?"

"He was upset when I left the other night and asked that I stay. I cooperated. When I left for a while later on and returned, I found his bed empty. As his handler, he should not have been taken anywhere without my awareness or permission. I suspect it has occurred several times before. Without more information, I decided removing him until further notice was the best course of action."

"You didn't inform anyone."

"I didn't know who may or may not have been involved, or how much the process would have been stalled if I brought it to attention. It seemed best to focus on the removal."

"You didn't know who was involved. But you're calling me."

"…"

He held his silence. It still probably said too much.

A few long seconds passed before she spoke again, her voice softer, despite the metallic tinge the phone lent it. "Do you have any suspects, or anything to suggest what's going on?"

"Not really, no. I haven't gotten the chance to ask CS-1 very much. His vocabulary's been effective so far, but this is very different from anything else I've talked to him about. I'm hoping the time on 'vacation' will give us time to focus on his communication. But there was an intern—a yellow slime monster, multipedal, cycloptic. They came in the room shortly before CS-1 vanished and asked when I would be leaving. That's roughly what I know."

"Roughly?"

"All I can currently articulate. CS-1 has been… anxious, before, when I came or went for the day. But I hadn't connected it until now. I'll need to talk to him more to find out, and I'm too far away to do much else right now."

"And what are you going to do if the lab sends royal guards out to repossess him?"

"I've told the townsfolk I've encountered that CS-1 is my son," Gaster said, tone flat. "They will not react well to guards apparently attempting to separate a distraught parent and child."

Ursama sighed again, but her tone was no longer angry. Still. He thought she was probably still covering her eyes and slumped over at her desk. She'd have to go take a walk after this conversation. She'd want to go and scream. But she was still using that nickname. That couldn't be a bad sign. "Wingdings, you know this project…"

"It will go on," he said, in a rush to soothe whatever he could. "I'll continue to document things where I am, and—and this could actually help supplementary data. Showing him a new environment. Seeing how he does under stress."

Another long sigh. "Do that, then."

The pause between them was longer, this time. And Gaster could hear things he should've said, things that were going unsaid—the hopes and dreams of the monster's survival on the surface suddenly possible because a little cloned skeleton had survived for multiple months and been proven magically competent and open to influence, so if they could just see how far it could go, could see if they could create someone or something truly expendable

"Ursama," Gaster said, his voice cracking. But no more than usual. "I… I don't like being on this program. But I don't sabotage projects, regardless how I feel about them. Especially something so many people suddenly could gain hope from. You know that."

She sighed again. Shorter, this time. "I do. We do. That's why you're there. And I know you wouldn't go so far away from the lab unless there was something you were really worried about."

It took Gaster a moment, but at least he realized she was making a joke. He gave the nervous little laugh she was clearly waiting for, and she finally continued. "Okay. So, I guess… what's your first long-distance status report?"

Gaster rolled his shoulders back and tried to crack the tension out of his neck. It was over the phone, it was a lot of talking, and he was still tired, but… he could do this. "CS-1 is unafraid of strangers and exceedingly curious. There are lots of things he was not exposed to in the lab which he is now being exposed to, and he is largely taking them in stride while investigating in more subtle ways, but is not always successful. When he was first let close to the snow, he took a bite and gave himself brain freeze. I'm curious to see if he'll try again just to see if it gives brain freeze every time, or if he's learned his lesson about putting unknown objects in his mouth."

000

CS-1 was awake when Gaster returned to the room, sitting upright in bed, looking positively betrayed.

…Gaster supposed he deserved that.

Still, he approached the bed slowly, with arms outspread and fingers clicking.

I didn't leave. I was just downstairs, did very little to remedy the situation. Are you hungry again? Do you want to see the outside? didn't quite remedy things, but—CS-1's eyes sparked with something that wasn't anger, and that was a start. Curiosity was a powerful thing, and after several months cooped up in the same room of the lab, CS-1 clearly ready for just about anything new and interesting.

There's a shop beside the inn, Gaster said as he helped CS-1 into his braces and crutches. Stay close. Look around. Indicate what you want. Clear?

CS-1 affirmed with a quick gesture that was only a little bit hindered by his crutches. He stayed upright. He was learning quickly.

(Gaster was a little jealous.)

Not quickly enough to walk on his own just yet. But still. His balance was much better than he had been only a few days ago. Was that normal?

Gaster wished he had a control subject.

The stairs were—skipped. Gaster kept CS-1 floating about an inch or two above them at all times, and only set him down on the last few steps, once they were visible to anyone who might be in the lobby. He waved to the desk attendant and ushered CS-1 out into the icy streets.

That was. One of the things he'd wished he'd thought through a bit better before choosing to come to Snowdin. Not that he would have changed his mind—it was as far from Hotland as one could get, and that was about what he needed. But it probably would have done better for CS-1 to not have to contend with so much… everything on the ground.

Still.

The more the snow hindered CS-1? The more determined the boy seemed to walk through it on his own.

Shaky and uneven in his gate now that they were off familiar terrain, CS-1 wobbled and skidded very slightly on every icy patch he came across, to the point where Gaster had to walk beside him with one hand on CS-1's shoulder to help keep him steady. There was only so much Gaster's magic could do without becoming visible, after all. Maybe he'd try to help CS-1 practice somewhere a little less public. For now, on the way to the shop, they kept to the relatively-clear streets and slush, following the beacon of lit orange windows glowing out into a field of dark, dark blue snow.

Snowdin really was beautiful. Eerie. Its infrastructure was much less well maintained than Gaster was used to back in the Capital, so while blackouts there were frequent, out here, it was a nightly thing, and the whole area reflected that. There were candles in windows and glowstones set along footpaths. The colored glow crystals and fireplaces roaring in houses and shops set the snow alight with colors in town, while further into the distance, out into the dark woods, it faded all to blue.

…they reached the shop beside the inn in short order, the cold giving way to a wall of warmth, and the muffled, snowy silence broken by the ringing of a bell over the door.

"Oh my," the shopkeeper said as they entered, the words almost lost with how quietly she said them. But they weren't lost, and Gaster immediately ducked his head, pretending to focus solely on helping CS-1 over the lip of the doorstep while actually straining for any sign of danger.

There. There wasn't any danger. He knew there probably wasn't going to be. But still. He just. He kept listening anyway, glancing out of his peripheral vision, arms tensed. It didn't make him feel better. But it was what he did.

CS-1 made it through the doorstep without any complications, eyes wide and grinning at the sight of the shop's interior. He looked around with an eagerness that fully outpaced his ability to walk, and wobbled dangerously as he moved forward, making a beeline for one of the shelves along the wall and relying on Gaster's magic to support him.

Gaster supposed that was a good sign. At least CS-1 trusted him to not let him fall again.

Gaster figured having no other choice was probably a good motivator to trust, though.

Still. It was a nice shop, and after nothing bad happened for a few moments, he was able to close the door behind himself and glance up to see the shopkeeper smiling indulgently at CS-1. Things were probably going to be okay.

The shopkeeper stayed at a distance, behind the register—which consisted of a note-pad to record each sale, and a wooden box covered in sequins that looked like it had been decorated by a toddler. Behind her was a fireplace, burning bright and filling the whole area with a warm orange glow, to the point where the few yellow red glowing crystals near the corners of the room were mostly useful for stabilizing the shadows rather than providing light themselves. Each wall of the one-room shop was covered with shelves of the mundane and specialized, from extra gloves and bailer twine to different sized light bulbs and ground spices. But the main attraction was clearly the shelf to the right of the registrar.

A display of baked goods.

Cinnamon rolls labeled 'cinnamon bunnies' and shaped to have been baked with two small folds branching off to form ears, two enormous glass jars filled to the brim with cookies, aluminum tins filled with potato bread, oat-and-sugar covered muffins with chopped fruit baked in, and golden braid of a flaky sort of bread roll with a bright red strawberry jam filling. Next to the display on the counter were multicolored jars of jam, red, yellow, pink, and purple, all labeled with their flavor and that they were made by a Berthilda Bunny, with a smiley-face beside the name.

Gaster wasn't at all surprised when CS-1 made a beeline to the display. From her laugh, the salesbunny wasn't all that surprised, either. When Gaster followed CS-1 up to the display, she began to speak.

"Nice to see some new faces around. Anything you two are lookin' for in particular?"

"Just some breakfast," Gaster said, managing a flickering smile back. The salesbunny accepted it with grace, leaning against the table in front of her and watching CS-1 stare wide-eyed at the treats.

"Your son?"

"Yes. Sans," Gaster said. The name was… probably not a real name at all. But when the bunny at the Inn had asked for it the night before, Gaster had panicked—two anxiety attacks and no sleep for forty-some hours was not a sustainable combination—and… CS-1's hissing sounds had formed something that worked well enough. It wasn't too different from his designation. Easy enough to remember. Sans. "He hasn't quite gotten the hang of speaking yet, so if he doesn't respond, that's all it is."

"Still a young thing?"

"Yes," Gaster said, "Very."

Gaster wondered what he'd looked like at a little under a year old. Probably nothing like CS-1.

A small click brought his attention away. He looked down to find CS-1 gesturing towards the display booth, indicating he wanted something, and…. Indicating to everything in the display. Gaster snorted. He couldn't help himself. What a kid.

"You can't have everything," he told CS-1, speaking out loud for the benefit of the salesbunny, who he did not want to get on the bad side of just yet. "I can't carry that much, and there's no way you'll eat all of it in one go."

"I can get a bag, if you need it," she said.

"We probably will," Gaster glanced back up towards her as he spoke. "Um. C-can you tell us which might last for later?"

"Sure thing." She stopped leaning so heavily on the counter, getting up instead to stand by the display and gesture to a few things. "Everything's best fresh, o'course, but the cookies and rolls will probably last longest. Just keep 'em covered up."

Gaster nodded and glanced back over at the display, considering. If CS-1 liked the rolls, that would also simplify the whole idea of breakfast in general—like usual, his hands moved faster than his mouth, and before he could think of how to form words, he'd told CS-1 in Wingdings that they could get the cookies and bread for later, and eventually come back to try more, but for now he should just pick out one of the jars and one of the other foods to eat.

While CS-1 narrowed his eyes at the row of jars and seemed to scan them back and forth intently, Gaster glanced back at the salesbunny, who was watching curiously, and stuttered a moment without actually forming anything that made sense.

"Sorry," she said, covering her mouth with a paw a moment later, "Is it rude to look?"

"No, no, I, uh, I didn't mean to do that without speaking," he said. "It's just—like I said, he doesn't, um, quite talk yet, so it's just a way to communicate is all."

The bunny nodded slowly with an 'ah,' sound, as if that explained everything with no more questions asked. Then CS-1 clicked at him again, and Gaster turned to look.

"He, um. …he wants to know if you have any jars of blue jam?" A third of his mind was wondering why blue jam, another conjuring images of a surreally luminescent bright blue jelly, and a final part was stuck on the implication that CS-1 had seen the jars, noticed the variety of colors, and inferred that there would be more colors, and then asked for them, despite no indication being given that they would be provided, if there even were more colors at all.

That was. That was something, he realized. That CS-1 assumed it was alright to ask for more than what was right in front of him.

That wasn't a bad thing, not at all, but—Gaster couldn't think of anything he'd done to help instill that assumption. Was it innate? Was it something learned elsewhere? Did he unintentionally help with that assumption without realizing it?

He remembered kids from his youth, kids from the children's shelter, who despite otherwise having grown to be sound and healthy, never even thought to ask for more. Not out of fear, not out of carelessness, they simply—didn't think of it. Forgot there might be something more for them.

"Sorry, sweetie," the bunny said. "These types are all we've got right now."

CS-1 gave a little huff at that, but leaned himself against the counter and put all his weight onto one crutch so he could lift up a hand high enough to point at the purple jar.

On the top, it said Blackberry Preserves in a tight, neat script. The bunny smiled and nodded at him, before ducking underneath the counter, pulling out a nearly identical jar and setting it on the counter. "What else, hun?"

Despite his apparent assurance that he would get what he wanted, CS-1 still glanced back and forth between the display case, the bunny, and Gaster, before settling on staring at Gaster while gesturing to a fat cinnamon bunny in the corner.

Gaster nodded and turned to the salesbunny, whose ears perked up attentively.

"Two cinnamon bunnies," he said, and ignored CS-1's blink, "Two of each sort of cookie, and a tin of rolls."

"Sure thing, hun," the bunny said before turning back to the display case, pulling a napkin out from behind the counter, and opening the jars of cookies.

While she was getting them, Gaster gathered his resolve and asked, "Could you tell us a bit about Snodwin? We're…"

"…not from around?" she finished for him once it was clear he was searching for words and having a pretty terrible time finding them. She started packing the cookies, jam, and potato rolls into a brown paper bag as he nodded. "I figured. You don't really look like you've got any relatives around to visit, either, so I'm assuming you're just poking around?"

"Something like that," he said, very, very aware of what don't look like you've got any relatives around meant. "And, yeah, there, uh. There aren't many skeletons outside of the Capital. But ss-Sans's health being what it was, we wondered if maybe getting him out of the city might be beneficial. Even if we didn't really know anyone."

It was strange hearing the lie come out. Usually, he said there were other skeletons at Snowdin, since few monsters traveled too far from home. Still, it seemed people in Snowdin kept to themselves about as much as people in the Capital did, and the salesbunny swallowed the lie easily.

"Well, if you're looking for a full meal, Grillby's is pretty good. The Inn next door's run by my sister, if you haven't already found somewhere to sleep. If she offers ya dinner, don't be afraid to say 'yes.' Otherwise, not too much to do out here. You can do some presents for Gyftmas out in the town square, and the library's got a kid's corner if your little one needs some puzzles to do."

"Thank you very much," Gaster said, taking the paper bag once everything was set snug inside it, and pulled out his wallet to pay. Not the healthiest meal he'd ever gotten, but it seemed like most of his day was going to be trying to scout out other places in town and appeasing CS-1, so he still tried to count it as a success.

He wished the salesbunny a good day and heard her do the same as he refocused his magic back on CS-1 and helped him walk slowly towards the door.

Back out in the snow, CS-1 had about as much luck as he had before, and Gaster paused a moment to decide that even though the walk was short, he'd rather carry a lot than get another headache. So he gave up pretense. Let his eyes glow—tried to keep them a little bit closed, so at the very least the light wouldn't travel far—and levitated the bag while he stooped to pick up CS-1 and carry him on his hip back towards the hotel.

Nod at the desk attendant. Eyes down. If he kept the floating bag close to his side, maybe people wouldn't notice it very much. Please don't ask questions.

Halfway up the stairs he found himself going over the conversation with the salesbunny in his head, wondering where the catch was, when he'd worn out his welcome, if she were suspicious of anything—

—he stopped even attempting to hide the glow of his magic and opened the door to their room before he was anywhere near it.

He was. He was being ridiculous. Maybe being in a new place where he didn't know things by heart was stressful, sure, but CS-1 was handling it stunningly well by just going along with things, and he was the one with things to actually be afraid of, so Gaster really had to stop being the more dramatic of the two.

He set CS-1 back down on the bed, stepping over the discarded pillow he'd used for his own rest, and a moment later set the bag of food down on the table. Shut the door from halfway across the room. CS-1's crutches slid away from his arms and set themselves upright against the bedfame. His leg braces unbuckled and unwrapped themselves with practiced ease. The canvas bag and the bag of borrowed electronics and parts were still by the door, lying listless against each other. Gaster levitated them both up off the floor, setting the bag of electronics on the table beside the snacks and the canvas bag on the floor by the chair.

Even if he were uncomfortable using magic somewhere no one was used to him, he was still going to do it in the privacy of their temporary residence.

He hoped there was a cave wall nearby. A cliff. Something sturdy. Maybe he could burn out some of the nerves that had been gnawing on him ever since stepping into the shop, ever since talking with Ursama, since arriving in Snowdin at all, since he'd woken up and come face to face with an intern acting suspicious in CS-1's room—

Yeah. Yeah, he needed to. Do something that involved more magic than usual.

No one would come for them. Not nearly yet. He couldn't be this fidgety about things that weren't even about to happen. Ursama would hold down the fort back home. She'd look into things properly. And if she didn't manage to keep a guard being sent out for them, they'd still have to get through him—

CS-1 was still on his bed. Frozen. Watching Gaster with wide, wide eyes.

…Gaster restrained his magic.

It was like trying to put on clothing that was just a little too tight. Sleeves a little too small. Pressure in the wrong places. Made him feel like everyone could see it, see that things were just a little bit too off.

But that didn't mean he was allowed to scare CS-1. Not after he'd already been given far too much of the kid's trust. Even the occasional dark glance he'd been getting was far less than he deserved.

Silently, he turned back to the paper bag and rifled around inside, producing the two cinnamon bunnies, and handing them over along with a paper napkin. "Here."

CS-1 took the cinnamon bunnies, one stacked up on the other. They were so large he could hardly hold one without using both hands.

Surprisingly, he didn't tear into the still-warm treat immediately, as Gaster expected he would. Instead, CS-1 glanced back up at Gaster and made a small sound. One a bit different ones he tended to make. Closer to a grunt or a warble. Then, clumsily, he extended one hand holding a cinnamon bunny back to Gaster.

"Don't want it?" Gaster asked, and CS-1 shook his head, then nodded, then just set the other cinnamon bunny down on the bed so he could speak with one hand—something which took several tries, since his hand was suddenly sticky with glaze and melted sugar.

For you, he said.

Gaster closed his eyes and pursed his lips.

Thank you, he said, folding the cinnamon bunny back into its wrapping. But I don't need to eat. If you want this one later on, let me know. I'll get it for you.

He set the rejected cinnamon bunny down on the table and crossed the room without any further ado. There were some clean hand towels in the closet of the washroom, he remembered that much from the morning. He'd take one and have it to help wipe off the frosting and sugar of the rolls and anything that flaked onto the bed. He charted out the rest of the day in his head.

He had to ask CS-1 what happened in the lab, but he'd have to help reassure CS-1 of his safety in Snowdin first. So perhaps the first order of business was to just. Keep relaying information. Talk him through the differences between the lab and the outside world. Why Gaster was calling him 'Sans' instead of CS-1 when speaking aloud.

They could go to the library.

Maybe. Maybe there were things in the local library that Gaster hadn't ever read before.

That. That would be nice. If he found something new. He didn't have much paper to copy things down, but he could probably find somewhere that at least sold notecards for the younger children in school, or if all else failed, he could write his notes out on napkins.

Yeah. Okay. That could work just fine.

They were probably going to be in Snowdin a while. They'd have to do physical therapy and continue speech education here. Maybe, maybe expand some, though it would be hard to know exactly what direction to go in when Gaster would have to call Ursama up every time he wanted to double check something, but—

But CS-1 was a prototype. Far from completion, far from perfect.

As long as Gaster documented his progression, that was what mattered. Any sort of growth and change could be beneficial. And CS-1 could learn what he would learn, and it would be okay for him, at least. Because CS-1 wasn't going into combat, wouldn't have been anyway, probably wouldn't even live long enough to see the barrier broken at all, so—

So it was all okay. Gaster could do his duties and just. See how the kid handled Snowdin. Just keep him safe and happy and rebuild what trust might've been there already.

Yeah. He could probably do this.

When Gaster returned to the room, washcloth in hand, CS-1 was halfway through the cinnamon bunny, glaze smeared over his cheek, and looking content in his spot on the bed. He looked up when Gaster re-entered the room, and ever so slightly, his shoulders became more relaxed.

Yeah. Maybe things were going to be alright.

000

Yay, snowdin! We'll be here for a while, hopefully, I think.

No OCs this time, but thank you to everyone who's sent them in in the meantime! I'm so sorry if I haven't gotten back to you yet :(

So. Um. The rest of this A/N will be a hellish demonstration of my devotion to rural areas. Because if people hadn't realized it yet. I am from. Not-the-city USA. Haha.

(Please talk to me about rural areas. I'll talk your ear off. )

Gaster's methods of getting water/fire/food/warm/things/stuff/etc. in the first part are brought to you courtesy of someone who grew up in the middle of nowhere and distinctly remembers going outside to gather snow so we could melt it and let the dirt all sink to the bottom before using the clear water on top for stuff like watering animals and people. It should be noted that it takes a lot of snow—ten inches of snow is equivalent to one inch of water, and snow captures airborne pollutants from things like car exhaust, etc., so keep this as a thought in your arsenal, but always boil first or try to find another source of water first.

You may have seen a manual hand-pump faucet in movies such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves! They are the best. They are so much fun. There's nothing quite like the middle of summer, your hands covered in honey, mud, and wax (please don't ask) and taking turns with the other cousins to work the hand pump. It's still widely used both in the US, other first world nations, third world nations, etc. etc. and is often the basis of electric pumping systems… and in things like the ketchup dispenser at your local mcdonalds :0

The hotel is based on a) what we see in-game as canon, and b) a mish-mash of Sacred Hospitality (give 'em whatever they'll need and keep a polite distance, ask about the fam) , the old dorm special rooms at UVA (which I have not ever been in and do not attend, but have heard they have the original fireplaces still in and you get more wood outside your door each morning or s/t), and hostels (all bed, no breakfast.)

Jam and jelly are not the same thing in the USA. At least, not in my part of the USA. Jam still has chunks of fruit or seeds in it, while jelly is smooth and inferior.

All methods of doing things without electricity in this chapter are as authentic as I could give you. And are not nearly as far-removed from our modern era as you may think upon initially reading. Also, if/when the apocalypse comes, y'all are gonna need to know this shit. :\ Get studyin'.