A strange house full of strangers. But they weren't technically strangers because they were your family members. But somehow that was hard to keep in mind, so the twinge of anxiety you were trying to stuff down somewhere just stayed where it was. And when you finally entered that house full of strangers, with all those strangers turning to look at you, it grew into a full knot around your neck.

That was what it was like. He entered the house, following on his father's heels, and just as soon as he was out of the danger of being outside in the capital, he found... found that his father had stepped to the side of him. And now he being stared at by the little group that crowded the grubby entryway; one old man and two other children. So he couldn't speak for a moment.

"THIS MUST BE HIM THEN," said the gruff old man in a harsh, booming voice. And he froze up at that. "WELL," he continued, nudging two other little ones with his cane. "INTRODUCE YOURSELVES, BRATS."

He flinched, just a little. They were both glaring at him, arms folded. One of them had his mouth turned down in a sulky expression, while the other was smiling nastily. The sulky one spoke first, after a moment. "'m Papyrus."

The smiling one needed a second, harder nudge from the cane before he said, "Sans." Then he looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Still smiling.

And then, oh god, it was his turn to introduce himself now. He'd clutched at his cloak, the large black one, with sleeves long enough to cover his hands and the... oddities of them. The cloak large enough to cover most of his oddities. Except his face. He couldn't hide his face.

"My name is-" he started, but it came out wrong.

His father's knuckles came down on his skull. This time it was just a light rap, but he still flinched. "In aster," his father said.

The knuckles were hard. "I'm-" Started it right this time. "-Wing Dings-" Almost there. "-Aster."

And that was it. Sans, Papyrus, and - ? wait, none of the adults had introduced themselves - were suddenly done. And he was ashamed that it had become the big knot in his throat as his father left his side, gently closing the door behind them both.

"Go play, my dear, Grandpa and I are going to talk," he said.

"-Okay," Wing Dings replied. In aster.

His father and (was it his grandpa or his father's grandpa?) Grandpa went into the kitchen, presumably to talk about him. Presumably, as he couldn't hear what they were saying exactly. His father was always softspoken, but for Grandpa it must have been quite a feat, as he imagined someone with a big voice like that wasn't used to whispering or muttering his thoughts.

Sans and Papyrus started to look at him again. Papyrus' eyes were cold, but Sans relaxed his shoulders and eased his glaring eyes.

This house, lit as it was by gas light like some Victorian fantasy, was grubby. Wing Dings didn't want to step any farther into it. There were stains on the rug, trash like cans and bottles littered in corners and under the couch, and the wallpaper was also starting to peel. It was only those two who may have looked like they fit in, with old clothes and their sour dispositions.

They were the same size, but their structure was very different. The one called Sans had a squatter, fused face, accounting for the (it appeared) permanent expression, while the one called Papyrus had a moving jaw and, it was likely, a lot more free segments elsewhere on his bones. Were those parts removable? He'd heard that other skeletons could-

"Hey are you gonna say nothin or what?"

Wing Dings blinked (or rather, he winked and his open left eye twitched half-closed.) It was Sans who spoke, his expression having made the complete shift from nasty to bored. Papyrus was retreating to the corner, ignoring either of them to play with a spinning top. Despite their similarity in size, it seemed like there was a clear difference in age between them, Sans not having that youthful squeak of his brother.

Wing Dings shook his head. No, he was not going to talk. Talking took work. Well, talking the right way took work.

But Sans' smile turned nasty again, and he approached suddenly. Sans and Papyrus were both much shorter than him. Wing Dings pressed against the door. "Not a talker huh. You hidin somethin?"

There were plenty of things he had to hide. Wing Dings gave him a broken smile.

"What's wrong with his face?" Papyrus piped up from the corner, and the smile became strained.

"Yeah what's wrong with your face."

"Um," Wing Dings said, in wing dings.

"Oh yeah shit what's wrong with your voice?"

"I," Wing Dings tried again, in aster.

He clutched at his cloak, and that was a mistake because the sleeve slid down his arm as he did. Suddenly, Sans was grabbing him by the wrist and looking at his hand, Wing Dings too startled by the invasive gesture to pull away. "What's wrong with your hand?" He poked the black spot on the back, which dipped ever so slightly like a crater on a cave floor. "You could put a marble in that."

"Like Chinese checkers?" Papyrus squeaked.

"Yeah, like Chinese checkers."

Wing Dings yanked his own hand away, his skull flushing red. "Sorry. Sorry."

Sans regarded him curiously, hand still half-raised, and so did Papyrus. Both attracted by the slip up he kept making in fonts. Over in the kitchen, mercifully, it seemed like his father and Grandpa hadn't noticed, still absorbed in their discussion. "That like some kind of code or something? That first thing you said."

"I... speak... wingdings."

Sans turned to flash his brother a lazy smile as Wing Dings trembled. "Bet Gramps can't understand that. Ay yo, Wingnut," the next sentence was to him, Sans was talking to him again. "Mind if we try?"

"...What."

"Tryin wingdings. If you're gonna be livin with us, might as well make yourself useful and teach us something new."

Papyrus screeched from the corner, "HE'S WHAT?"

"Correct." The children stiffened as the two adults came out of the kitchen. Wing Dings' father didn't even look at him as he faced the boys. "I thought this had been brought up with everyone involved, but just to go over it again..." Papyrus fidgeted. "The expansion of New Home will be keeping me busy for the next few months. I don't have time to come home early and watch Wing Dings, so he will be staying here with you three until my work load is lighter, and until school starts up again."

Papyrus' eyes burned into Wing Dings, and the tiny skeleton jumped up and ran towards Grandpa. "What! I don't want him to stay here! We don't even have room for hi-"

Smack! "QUIET, BOY! THERE'S PLENTY OF ROOM! WE'LL JUST SET HIM UP WITH YOUR BED."

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE YOU STARTED SCREAMING!"

Grandpa and Papyrus began going back and forth, with Sans watching them in mean-spirited amusement. Wing Dings could only observe them for a moment before his father stepped in front of him, blocking his view. His father knelt. He looked his child over, and uttered, "Don't make things difficult for your Grandpa Semi."

Oh, it was his Grandpa, after all.

"I w I won't."

Then, and without the others really watching, his father took him by the front of his cloak and leaned in closer. Through gritted teeth, he added, "Don't. Make things difficult for your cousins."

Here Wing Dings' face twitched, and a bubble of resentment rose and popped before he could answer properly. "I. Won't."

"Good."

But he didn't seem convinced, even when he finally left.

...

It had already been close to lights-out for everybody. They could only use the lamps for so long if they didn't want to run out of fuel and stay stuck in the dark. So Grandpa Semi had fixed Wing Dings, Sans and Papyrus plates of something chewy and meaty, and then after an awkward and quiet dinner they all went to their rooms.

Wing Dings wasn't comfortable in his. For one thing, it smelled like someone had been burning things in it. Papyrus also hadn't gotten a chance to move all of his belongings into Sans' room, so there were clothes and stray toys everywhere that he wasn't keen to step on. The bed in the corner was shaped like a race car and it was hard, only a little better than sleeping on the floor. On the other hand, though that bed belonged to Papyrus, it was surprisingly not too small for him. That should have been enough.

He sat against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. Wrapping himself in the black of his cloak.

New Home was so dark. It was so dark all the time. There was no sun, so crystals to light the way. Just the lamps. In this house, at this time of night, it was more of the same of that; this room had a window, but he had absolutely no idea what the view was. It was oppressive, humbling. But he might not have minded the incessant darkness if it weren't followed by the cold. Too cold in here.

...He must be the only skeleton in the underground to care about that. (Not that there were many left.)

Well there was still one source of light around here. Wing Dings retrieved a tiny flashlight from somewhere in that cloak; there was no telling how much juice was left in these discarded batteries, so he shook it up a bit. He had heard that shaking it helps. The light that flickered to life when he pressed the switch was weak, but steady as he roved it over the walls and ceiling. Papyrus' room was about as dingy as the rest of the house, but luckily it was too dark to tell. He just barely made out the cracks and odd bumps with what light he had.

No wonder it was cold. Maybe a draft was coming in.

"Yo, Ding dong," said a voice behind the door, and Wing Dings half-jumped. "You still up?"

He hadn't expected to hear another peep from anyone that night, let alone Sans. He swallowed a bubble in his not-throat. "Umm." Then he answered, "Yes?"

"Cool." The door thudded against his back, and Wing Dings yelped. Sans' voice became harsher. "Sh! C'mon get away from the door."

Wing Dings made a scramble for the bed, and was settling himself on it when Sans peeked in with an impish smile. Wing Dings could just barely make out the light from his eyes, the two little white dots of his eyesockets. "Heya," his cousin said.

"It's It's late. What... do you want?"

"I already said din't I? I wanna learn how to speak wingdings. You can show me, right?"

Oh, that was more than just idle chatter then. In that case, he was even more taken aback by the suggestion. "It would... just... get you.. in trouble," he replied slowly.

"Maybe, but if he don't speak it and we do that means we'll have something," Sans said, and as Wing Dings struggled to understand the meaning of that the younger boy's expression turned closer to a scowl. "So are you gonna show me more of it or am I gonna have to make you?"

He wished he was tired enough to say he wanted to go to sleep, and for Sans to try again later. "Uh, what do you wan-"

"Hold on," Sans said suddenly, gently closing the door behind himself. "Kinda dark in here. Hard to see what yer sayin." From his ratty pocket, he pulled out a tiny flashlight on a key-chain and switched it on. The light was decently bright, covered a wider area, although it bobbed around erratically as Sans approached the bed, stopping before he got too close.

"That-?"

Wing Dings pointed to the thing and hoped that the rest of his sentence would be evident enough. Fortunately, it was. Sans held the flashlight up as Wing Dings quietly put his away. "Oh yeah, this is a human thing. Uncle Aster gave us these. Makes it a lot easier to get around at night."

Uncle Aster. In other words, his father.

Things started to click in his head. Even though it'd never before gotten to a point of being formally introduced to them, he'd known of having cousins for all of his life. Oh, because apart from everything else, he had heard about them.

Or rather, he had overheard things about them. Things his father said on the phone, or to a friend, about his nephews.

Sans is so bright.

Papyrus was so bright.

And it didn't mean anything before, but now Wing Dings found himself frowning - it was easy, one eye was already partially lidded anyway - while Sans waved that stronger flashlight at their faces. He struggled to push past it; Sans didn't seem to think anything of what he just revealed, permanent grin aside.

"...Talking in wingdings is like this," Wing Dings said. "It's the same as other fonts. I'm speaking English right now, but it just doesn't sound like English."

Sans squinted, perhaps trying to pick out words from his tone of voice alone, but he clearly didn't understand the meaning. He scratched his head. "Kinda seems like, uhh. How do you say 'A' in wingdings?"

"A."

"How do you say B?"

"B."

"How do you say-"

He covered his face with one hand. "C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J-"

"Slow down, jeeze!" Sans shoved him, and it was unexpected enough that he yelped as he rolled over. "I'm not an idiot, just say em one at a time."

Wing Dings found the hood of his cloak and pulled it up over his head, so suddenly he was almost completely wrapped in black. The shove had shattered his nerve. "Really... don't," he said. "It's... the rules."

"What rules? Gramps never set any rules about it."

While there were a whole set of unspoken rules in life and 'I assumed you'd never be a bad enough kid to do that's, Wing Dings had no patience to explain those concepts in aster. "Dad's. Rules."

"So what? He ain't here either."

Sans switched the flashlight over on him like a stage light and Wing Dings grimaced, raising an arm against his face. He took a deep breath; eventually Sans got tired of his flinching and turned the light away again with a giggle. Wing Dings plucked at his hood as he finally continued, to Sans' further delight, "K... L..."

Every uninterrupted letter made his heart hitch, reminding him of the strange territory he was in and that, even though this wasn't school, his father was nowhere to be found. That the was in fact breaking the rules. But Sans was paying rapt attention as they moved from letters to phonemes, then to words and sentences. He didn't know how much of it this other kid was actually retaining, of course, but still.

And it was weird, and it was uncomfortable.

And he thought maybe he could like Sans. And maybe Papyrus as well, while he was at it. As long as they weren't going to make a habit of shoving him.

But he had a wicked itch, too.

And when they'd burned a good part of the night through, Sans sneaked back off to his room to tell Papyrus while Wing Dings sat there trying to push past it. It was another bubble in his not-throat.

And then he realized, sitting up in bed, that just as Sans had gotten that flashlight as a gift while he'd scrounged up his own, Sans learning to speak something that was against the rules, because there was no rule laid out for it where Sans lived, was just like-

Cheating.

Author's Note: That one creepy cousin you're kinda sorta afraid will kill you in your sleep.

Portraying Wingdings with an underline for now.

Next Chapter: The Forest of No Return