Prompt: Gaster is genuinely good. Then, Papyrus wakes up.


They didn't have a garden.

That's the funny thing, the thing that really should have tipped him off. Of course they didn't have one.

They had tile walls and tile floors and tile ceilings. And grates in the side of the room and a door with a little slot in it for food. And no names.

But now they have a garden. One with stones and small heaps of moss that are perfect for Papyrus to drive his little race cars over. He pushes them up the makeshift hills, then watches them roll down the other side because of momentum, a simple science thing his dad taught him.

His dad is very smart. He's a scientist.

His brother is very smart too. Papyrus looks up and Sans is right there. He's sitting on the ground and is helping him push the cars and he's smiling.

And none of his bones are broken.

They play with the toys for what seems like hours, until the colors blur together and Papyrus feels giddy inside.

Then their dad calls for them. He's inside the house, so they have to get up and clean up their toys because they're good kids.

Dad is very proud of them for being so good.

He pats Sans on the head and hugs Papyrus real tight and he never ever hurts them.

He made them food, oatmeal with dinosaur eggs, Papyrus's favorite, and if they eat it all they're allowed seconds. Or even thirds.

Because there's more than enough.

Papyrus cleans the dishes because he likes to help and he likes the way dad smiles at him and asks him if he wants a goodnight story. Something about a bunny perhaps.

Then he wakes up. It's just tiles again. And numbers for names. And lots of broken bones.

And no dad. Just their father.


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