In another world, Sans and Papyrus were nice. Though they, Papyrus especially, asked a lot of awkward questions, they didn't mind Wing Dings' face. They didn't mind his voice. They didn't mind his hands. They didn't mind any of the other things that set him apart from the few other skeletons they'd met besides themselves.

In another world, Wing Dings didn't mind those things so much either. Papyrus didn't mind sharing with Sans, didn't hate Wing Dings for taking his room.

In another world Grandpa Semi didn't use his cane for anything more than wild gestures and Wing Dings didn't hide in his room and pretend he couldn't hear Sans and Papyrus getting disciplined, disciplined in a way that he, as a guest, apparently wasn't to be as long as he was good. Uncle Aster didn't use his fists for anything but emphatic slamming on desks and counter tops, and Wing Dings didn't flinch and hide in his cloak.

Although in this world, too, it was still dark and cold in New Home.

In this world, too, there were still rules. This world was still a prison.

He knew so because his father's job was to make it as comfortable a prison as possible. Or, that was how he described it in his own morbid terms, helping to build houses for the monsters trickling across the few places they called "towns" underground. New Home was a particular one, started some time ago and due for expansion as more and more monsters started moving in. The design of the buildings and streets were fine, but based on tainted memories.

And without much light, the grey buildings were awfully dreary.

Wing Dings stared out the kitchen window at it as he tapped his pencil against the table, a half-finished sheet of problems going neglected. If their whole world was a prison, it only made sense that it was going to come out looking gloomy.

Like the gas lamps and dimly glowing crystals that were all to light their way. It was brighter in Hotland and Snowdin, but places like Waterfall and New Home itself were almost impossible to navigate sometimes. Sometimes books or CDs would wash up in the dump that talked about electricity, something brighter and evidently far more plentiful than gas or batteries, and less strenuous to obtain than magic lights. It would be nice to have something like that.

Not that he minded doing homework in low lighting; too bright would give him a headache.

"Hey, what's that?" Wing Dings jerked his head back around. He hadn't even heard the door open, but apparently Sans and Grandpa Semi were back, Sans smiling innocently at him from over the edge of the table.

"OH IT'S JUST MY HOMEWORK FOR-" Wing Dings started, before catching Sans lack of comprehension. Oops! He hadn't taught him that much wingdings yet. "IT'S HOMEWORK."

Sans inched along the table until he was able to get a better look. "But school hasn't even started..."

"YES." Wing Dings hesitated, translating himself in his head, and added, "EXTRA CREDIT."

"Doing that bad in school huh?" Sans giggled at Wing Dings' horrified expression, as if it was of utmost importance that his cousin not think he was a slackoff.

"NO. I'M - DOING VERY WELL. IT'S AN... ACCELERATED COURSE."

Sans picked the sheet up in both hands and squinted at the problems. "What is this anyway? Looks hard."

"YES." And then Wing Dings sputtered, "PHYSICS."

Off in the living room, Papyrus was showing Grandpa Semi a new trick he learned that involved putting dental floss through his eyes. Sans' gaze was still fixed to the sheet of paper, even as Wing Dings gently took it back. "I wanna try," he said.

"TAKE PHYSICS!" Wing Dings stuck his eraser end in his crooked, certainly-not-at-all-creepy wound-shaped mouth. "If you took physics next year you could probably get a head start on Calculus too, but that assumes that you'd do well in it; you haven't taken algebra or geometry and this is hard even for me, especially because a lot of it is based on human textbooks that wash down here which are-"

"What?"

Again that blank expression in Sans' smile. Wing Dings closed one eye - the half lidded one, which was the only eye he could close all the way. He was determined to get himself understood before his stay at Grandpa Semi's was over.

For right now, though, he only smiled at Sans. After a moment his cousin said, "I bet I could take physics if I really wanted to."

Wing Dings considered this for a moment, and then returned his gaze to his worksheet. Only about a third done. He leaned towards Sans. "WANT TO SEE-SOMETHING FUN?"

"Yeah!"

Wing Dings' eyelights flickered, and he stood up from the table with a squeak. He only needed a handful of things, all of them in the cabinets. A fork and spoon, a cup, and a toothpick. Sans turned around in circles as he rifled around, observing as if he were a teacher, and Wing Dings was beaming. "WE DID LOTS OF LITTLE TRICKS LIKE THIS IN SCHOOL! I always like the experiments more than the worksheets, Ms. Bits says that it's because I'm more of a HANDS ON person! BUT this is a lot simpler than calculating velocity anyway..." he said, mostly to himself since Sans could only understand a couple of the letters.

As Wing Dings slotted the fork tines over the bowl of the spoon together, Sans said, "Are you gonna set stuff on fire?"

"NO SETTING THINGS ON FIRE!" Grandpa Semi called from the living room, his boom of a voice making the boys jump. But that was his only interference for now. Wing Dings shrugged at his cousin. Then he carefully stuck one end of the toothpick in the middle of the entwined utensils, so that it almost resembled someone holding a candle with both hands.

Finally, he balanced the center of the toothpick on the rim of the glass, utensil side out. When he was sure that it was going to stay up, he released it and drew both hands far away from it. While the toothpick wobbled, and the utensils it was stuck between bobbed, it stayed balanced on the rim of the cup despite lacking a counterweight.

A simple trick, but Sans 'ooohed' it all the same. "How are you getting it to do that? Do you know blue magic already?"

"NO! BLUE, BLUE... BLUE MAGIC CAN'T DO THAT," said Wing Dings. "JUST PHYSICS. I wish Grandpa Semi hadn't said we can't burn things, because when you burn the toothpick IT'S KIND OF AMAZING HOW IT DOESN'T TIP OVER EVEN THOUGH YOU'D THINK IT WOULD? BUT THE FLAME JUST GOES OUT AFTER A WHILE I WATCHED IT HAPPEN. AND THAT'S EVEN IF YOU BURN BOTH ENDS. Well you have to work hard to get it right, but still-"

He cleared his throat. Sans was looking more confused than impressed again. "CENTER OF. GRAVITY. IT'S." God this was so hard, he grasped the pencil he'd discarded earlier and clicked on it with his fingertips. "LOWER THAN... THE TOOTHPICK'S, PIVOT POINT. FROM THE CURVED UTENSILS. SO DOESN'T FALL!"

"Ooooh, actual gravity." said Sans. Then he tilted the fork and spoon with one finger, until it had completely capsized off the side of the glass. His smile grew. "Hey, that was pretty cool."

And then, just as his cousin was sitting back down to stare at the number problems, Sans said, "You wanna hear a joke?"

A joke? Puns and all manners of wordplay filled the kingdom of monsters, whether clever or otherwise. But Wing Dings hesitated. He cocked his head to the side, tapping the eraser of his pencil repeatedly on the table. "OH. SURE?"

Sans smiled wide. "Knock knock," he said. Wing Dings looked to the door, and didn't say anything. Sans' smile faltered, but he pressed onwards with a small gesture. "You gotta say 'who's there'. Like you're gonna answer the door."

"CAN'T I - LOOK THROUGH-" A frown. "THE PEEPHOLE?"

"N-no." Sans' smile was still a smile, but it more closely resembled a frown. Wing Dings shut his mouth. "You gotta ask who's there or the joke won't work."

"WHY?"

"Come on, just ask."

"WH WHO'S THERE?"

Then the smile turned back into a real one, and with his eyes bright Sans replied, "Boo."

"BOO WHO?"

"Oh gee," Sans said, "you don't have to cry about it." Wing Dings blinked, checking his eyes for tears, and he quickly added, "It's a pun. Cause you said boo hoo and all. Get it?"

Halting. "BUT I SAID-" And then the pun clicked, and Wing Dings put a hand to his face. "OHH." Hands clinging to the table, Sans was smiling brightly again, and Wing Dings laughed almost from his cousin's enthusiasm alone. "I WANT TO TRY."

The younger skeleton bounced up and down on his feet. "Okay, shoot."

Over in the living room, Papyrus and Grandpa Semi had turned to look their way somewhat, with Papyrus all done showing off his various skull tricks. "DING DONG," said Wing Dings, with careful enunciation.

"Huh?"

Now it was his turn to explain. "DOORBELL."

"Ohh."

"DING DONG!"

"Who's there?"

"...INSURANCE SALESMAN."

Sans narrowed his eyes, as if trying to look beyond them to take a peek at the punchline. "Insurance salesman who?"

"YOU'LL YOU'LL SLEEP EASIER AT NIGHT KN KNOWING YOU'RE COVERED FOR THE WORST TO HAPPEN," said Wing Dings.

And that sounded right in his head, but it didn't sound right when it came out of his mouth. Was it because most of it was in aster? It was wingdings in his head. He twitched his fingers and clasped his hands together.

But no sooner had his anxiety risen than was Sans laughing across the table, a giggle that spread his permanent smile wide across his face. And Wing Dings tilted his head, just watching it and suddenly grinning, himself.

It wasn't to last, though. Movement came in from the outer reaches of his vision. "OOH, YOU CALL THAT A JOKE?" boomed Grandpa Semi from the living room, charging to the table with Papyrus scurrying behind him. "THAT'S NOTHING! LET AN OLD MASTER TELL ONE!"

"You're no old master, you're just an old bones," Sans replied, his eyes still crinkled.

Grandpa Semi harrumphed and brought himself up to his full height, before quickly returning to his usual stoop. "NOW LISTEN HERE, WHIPPERSNAPPER!" He banged his cane against the floor. Wing Dings pulled his hood over his head. "THIS YOUNG MAN WALKS INTO A BAR WITH A DOG FOLLOWING AT HIS HEELS..."

For the rest of the evening after that, it was Grandpa Semi telling the jokes; when he told jokes, he made long involved stories. They sometimes involved surface things none of the children had ever heard of, or monster things that they were too young to get, like alcohol for starters. But no one wanted to hurt his feelings, so they each laughed anyway.

Unlike the doorbell joke, apparently. That had been Wing Dings' first shot and only Sans had laughed, in the end. He would have to make a better one. Someday.

It joined his swirl of thoughts on school, the Underground, and this family.

Uncle Aster would drop by on some evenings, just to check on how things were going. He didn't question if his child was getting along all right, he was certain he was. He didn't get mad when Wing Dings occasionally slipped up his speech, he would gently encourage him to get it right next time. He was happy to see the progress that Wing Dings was making on his extra studies. He was ecstatic to see the progress Sans and Papyrus were making on their own schooling, but Wing Dings didn't take that personally. In this world.

Each time, Wing Dings would miss him for an hour after he left. Then that feeling would vanish, and he'd start getting bored. Grandpa Semi didn't let them go outside unless it was with him, and he only went out when there was something to do, like shopping. But Wing Dings didn't like the monotony of picking out the same things over and over again.

One time Semi left Wing Dings alone to watch Papyrus while he went out with Sans to pick new clothes, and Wing Dings was left to contemplate the undeniable sameness of his own black cloak, warm as it was.

Papyrus was a reds person, even in a world like this where monsters wore all kinds of colors. Red is the color of heroics; that was the reason, he thought he had heard someone say. But he wasn't sure if someone Papyrus' age could really be called "heroic." What sort of feats was a mere child capable of?

"HEY," he said, attracting his younger cousin's attention immediately. "CAN YOU DO MAGIC?"

'What!" Papyrus, who had been in the middle of playing with a toy car, bounded over to him. "I can do magic! What kind of magic?"

A smirk. "BULLETS." To demonstrate, Wing Dings summoned a small bone attack into his palm, holding it out for the other to see. It was crooked and rough, like something had been gnawing on it. "CAN YOU DO... THAT YET?"

"No oh my gosh!" Papyrus reached out for the bone attack and Wing Dings quickly yanked it away, fearing even the 1 HP's worth of damage it might do to the touch. Papyrus retreated. "Um, I haven't tried that yet. But! Oh, Grandpa says we can start practicing soon! When school starts! I can't wait!"

"HM. I BET YOU COULD DO IT NOW IF YOU REALLY WANTED TO, IF YOU FOCUSED ENOUGH. MAGIC IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT TO DO, YOU KNOW. I wonder what would happen if it was something other than a regular bone. A bone ball? A skull? Maybe a foot." To Papyrus he said, "DON'T WAIT. TRY NOW!"

Papyrus put a finger to his not-lips. "What! Right now?" When Wing Dings nodded, he said, "Okay! How do I do it?"

Using the explanation he'd learned in school was impossible in aster, so Wing Dings replied, "MAGIC IS. WHAT YOU WANT. SO JUST... WANT IT. LIKE THIS." To demonstrate, Wing Dings repeatedly brought his bone bullet in and out of sight, moving it from hand to hand, gently encouraging his magic in and out of the shape. As Papyrus was noting this, he quickly added, "BUT TRY DIFFERENT. FROM MINE."

"Oh! Okay!" But Papyrus' enthusiasm didn't mean that he was going to be able to do something immediately. He focused on his hand, like Wing Dings appeared to have done, staring as hard as his little eyesockets could muster. His fingers twitched, but there was no magic manifesting within them.

That wasn't a surprise. The first time Wing Dings summoned his first bullet, he was a little bit older than Papyrus was right now. It was hard, it had been small and useless. It was like flexing a muscle that he had never flexed before; even though expressing yourself that way was supposed to come naturally to monsters, it was as hard and as time consuming as learning to walk.

To the point that even now, he was still stumbling around with his bullet patterns, which would easily be evident if he were to summon more than one.

So, a minute passed.

Then another.

And another.

And Wing Dings asked Papyrus if he wanted to take a break and get a snack, but Papyrus adamantly shook his head. He'd made up his mind to do this! He was going to make a bullet!

So another minute passed.

And then several minutes passed.

And Wing Dings was starting to get bored, until...

A little sparkling bone unfolded into existence from the wooden floorboards.

Papyrus screeched, and Wing Dings, whose head had been drooping, almost fell over from the noise. "I DID IT! I DID IT! DID YOU SEE THAT?" The bone folded back down into the ground, not having moved much at all, but Papyrus was jumping up and down. "I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT!"

"You did it? How did you do that?" Wing Dings leaned forward hard, pressing his hands into the ground. His eyelights searched Papyrus' face as the child wiggled with triumph. "YOU DID. VERY FAST."

"YEAH! Um! Although I couldn't make it different. 'Cause I was copying you."

"That's okay do it again, again," Wing Dings said.

"Okay!" The bone rose again from the floor. Just a tiny little thing, but it was there, and it was magic. It didn't move but it didn't tremble, either, and Wing Dings wondered what it felt like. Papyrus scooped it up from the floor as if it were a kitten or a puppy that wanted holding, squealing. "I can't believe it! I didn't need to wait at all! Wait till I show Grandpa and Sans!"

Wing Dings sat up straighter and summoned his own bullet back into his palm, comparing the two with a squint of one eye. Papyrus' bullet was neater. "We should see what else you can do."

Once Papyrus understood, it turned out that what else he could do was "nothing," at least so far. He couldn't slide the bullet across the floor or arc it through the air - it wasn't much of a bullet, then. And trying to make the bone any different only ended in headaches and confusion.

But that didn't matter once Semi and Sans came back home. Then there was only pride, and getting to go out to eat for dinner.

And that was nice.

There were twinges of feelings, unsatisfying or unpleasant ones that Wing Dings pressed to the side. During the day it was fine.

Then there was the night, when the monotony was at a high and Wing Dings' piling thoughts were overwhelming. It became hard to sleep, and when he slept it was never long enough, which had also been the issue at home come to think of it. And he was pretty sure that sometimes he saw his own reflection in the ceiling of Papyrus' room, even if Grandpa Semi banged on it once with his cane and said that whatever he saw was gone now.

One night, after weeks and weeks where he was sure it was just his imagination, it appeared again and it did not go away. Wing Dings lay in bed staring at the ceiling, suddenly choked and curling up his hands into fists from tension. The face that stared at him, one good eye and one bad eye, did not change and did not sweat like he did. It was just there. Wing Dings thought that he might die (or at least, scream really loudly) if it actually said something.

But instead of saying something, it changed shape. Slowly, at first, to the point where Wing Dings only realized it once he'd been staring at it for half an hour. It turned completely white, obscuring the facial features he'd recognized as his own, and suddenly it looked more like an orb than a face.

Then it fell from the ceiling.

Wing Dings screamed and vaulted out of bed, expecting a smack. No such smack came. But as he was rising, a blob of white blurred across his vision in an arc, a single bounce, and it disappeared through the door out of the room. The ceiling was empty of any anomalous shapes, and the door was still quite intact, no trace of the strange thing remaining anywhere in the room.

Yet, that didn't mean that it hadn't been real; Wing Dings pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and crept outside.

It took only a few seconds to locate the thing out in the living room, and no sooner had he laid eyes on it than it had moved out the next door, sliding like it was being gently brushed aside by an invisible hand. Again, the door was fine even after it had disappeared. But now it was surely outside.

Wing Dings clattered to the front door and unlocked the knob. Outside it was darker than during the day, just by virtue of the lamplight that illuminated the colorless streets being turned down or snuffed out. Yet he thought that if he looked close enough, maybe...

"Hey."

Wing Dings gave a start. He must not have been quiet enough. Sans stood in the living room watching him, and then he scrambled over. "Are you going out?"

He grasped the knob tightly, smiling sheepishly over at his cousin. He was pretty sure that question had an obvious answer.

"...Hey we're not supposed to go out without Grandpa, that's against the rules," Sans said, pulling on Wing Dings' sleeve. And when he said it, Wing Dings spent a long moment looking at him as if to convey through gaze alone that yes, he knew that part.

But Sans looked unconvinced by the look alone, so he said, "I know. I-I saw. Something. Go out there." Tonight his voice felt just as halting in wingdings as it was in aster.

And he was so glad that Sans seemed to understand by now, because he also looked towards the door and whispered, "Saw what? An intruder?"

"I guess." But he didn't think so. He inclined his head towards the open door. "It went out there."

Sans tugged on his sleeve again. "So it's gone right? So we don't have to worry about it." His permanent smile twisted into a grimace. "Besides, maybe you were dreaming. Come on, let's just go back to bed."

"Let's?" Wing Dings' mouth curled into a smile, but immediately he shook his head and turned back. Even forgetting the strange thing that he might have dreamed up. He already wanted to go outside. He didn't want to go back to sleep. He already wanted to break a rule. "You can go back to sleep. I'll just go out and check for a little while."

Sans grimaced harder.

But Wing Dings was already walking out as if it were natural, his black cloak sweeping the threshold. He didn't see that white shape anymore, but that was fine - if it was still around, it couldn't have gotten too far, right? And while he was looking for it, he could get to see the rest of this city. (Maybe he could even go out somewhere where there was actual color, if he was quick enough. Someplace warm like Hotland.)

He almost closed the door, but Sans' little body stopped him; his little cousin briefly got in the way to step outside next to him, ill at ease but no longer protesting. "I'll help you look, okay? And make sure we don't get lost."

Gaster smiled wide. "Let's go."

He closed the door and that was it. He went forward with a determined, albeit crooked expression, searching for that whiteness in the deep shadows of New Home. Sans followed, constantly turning back towards the little house they lived in as it receded from view. "Okay but we're not gonna get in trouble, right?"

"We won't get in trouble."

In the sputtering rain, Frisk found a grey door where it wasn't supposed to be.

Next Chapter: The Dummied-Out Content