An: Welcome back, everyone. Thank you all for your continued support! I really appreciate every single one of you who come back every chapter! I know I've said it before, but I mean it!
Just a word of WARNING to you going forward! To those who were hoping to see a happier chapter after the feels-trip-roller-coaster from the last installment: IT DOES NOT "GET BETTER" FROM HERE! There is no super special magic montage that happens and suddenly everyone is okay! There is pain. There is depression. There are dark and controversial subject matters. This is why I tentatively rated this fic T.
That being said, please enjoy. There's still so much story to tell! ^_~
Chapter 7
Part 2: We All Fall Down
Monster funerals tend to be relatively short. Usually, only a few close friends and loved ones are in attendance for the support of the surviving family as they say goodbye to their fallen member. Someone will say a few words for the deceased before their dust is spread. Then, some of the gathering will stay to offer condolences or a thoughtful gift before they part ways. Someone will almost always offer to see the family home to make sure they get there safely.
Skeleton funerals tend to be even shorter. Since there weren't very many Skeletons in the Underground to begin with, there were fewer people to show up and speak.
For Corbel Harrington Gaster, however, this was not the case. No, the funeral wasn't a very big one, but for a Skeleton, the sheer number of people who did show up was a little surprising. Joining his parents were three other Skeletons, whom were all shrouded and covered to the point no one could see their faces. Even the Gaster family was unsure of exactly who they were, but if they really were Skeletons, they were grateful for their presence regardless. In addition to the unknown Skeletons were Corbel's classmates and their families as well as a few of Nyala's colleagues from the school, all of whom came to wish the family peace in their time of sorrow. The students seemed to be understandably curious. Many of them had never been to a funeral before and they didn't quite understand why they were there. When their parents explained that someone died and they were there to offer support, the children seemed to sober up a bit, but a few were still curious and asking questions.
Among these was a young girl, only a little older than Corbel. The Gasters recognized her almost immediately. She was the one who would come around every so often and ask Corbel if he wanted to play heroes and villains with her and the ghost family who lived next door. She was often a bit rough in her approach though and she intimidated Corbel to the point he was always hesitant about accepting her offer. But the girl never took "no" for an answer and would insist he come along by means of a big toothy grin and by dragging Corbel away by his wrist before he could squeeze out a goodbye to his parents.
She had her arms crossed while she stood with her mother. Her bright red hair had been pulled into twin braids that hung low behind her fin-ears and she shifted from foot to foot as she frowned downward at her outfit.
"I still don't get why I have to wear this." She pouted. "I hate dresses!"
"Shh," Her mother scolded, "Have some respect! Someone has died."
"So?" The girl groaned, scratching at the scales on her arm, "Why do I have to dress up because some old jerk bit the big one?" She went quiet for a moment as she thought about who it could have possibly been. "Aw man! Don't tell me it was old man Gerson! No way, that old fart's really friggin' tough. I thought he'd live forever!"
"Quiet, Undyne!" The mother reiterated in a harsh whisper, smacking the girl in the back of the head for good measure. Perhaps she was where Undyne picked up some of the more violent of her loving habits, "It was the Skeleton boy, the one you and the Blook boys always played with."
Undyne went quiet again and she lowered her head and stared at the ground, "Aw, man . . ." She repeated in a much softer tone, "Poor Puff— I mean . . . Poor Corbel. I mean, I knew he was sick. The kid was always coughing and having to stop and take breaks and stuff . . . but I didn't know it was that bad . . . When did he die?"
"Sometime last week." The mother answered shortly, "Now, shush. King Asgore is going to speak."
Undyne turned her attention to the two Skeletons standing near the front of the gathering. Those were Corbel's parents, weren't they? Aw man, they looked sad. His father was standing very near his mother with an arm wrapped around her shoulder. They wore all dark colors just like everyone else, but they were also holding a small blue vase with them. Was that . . . Corbel's dust . . . ?
Undyne didn't mean to stare, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. She was having a hard time wrestling with the thought that her friend was gone and that she'd never see him again. She couldn't even imagine how it must have felt to be where the parents were. Losing a family member was different than losing a friend. They couldn't escape it once they left here. They had to live with that loss from now on.
She didn't even know she was staring until Corbel's father made a sweep of the crowd around them and caught her eyes. She turned her gaze away to avoid facing him. Even when he gave her a small smile and a smaller wave, Undyne couldn't bring herself to respond, instead looking anywhere except at him and Corbel's mom. She felt too badly for them to look them in the eyes.
She only looked up again when the king stood forward and addressed the Skeleton family.
"My friends," Asgore began, "When I first met you and your son, I was filled with pride for the future of our kind. Your boy was one of the most delightful and observant children I have ever had the pleasure to meet. He was so curious and inquisitive that I was sure he would make one of the brightest minds of the next generation."
The king paused for a moment as he reflected on the boy and his family and he let out a long breath.
"He was so young." He sighed, "Only five years old . . . It hardly seems fair, does it, for us to be here now remembering a life which only just begun. He had so much in front of him to look forward to . . . our hearts go out to you and your family, Dr. Gaster. The hearts of all of Monster-kind ache for the loss of Corbel."
After a moment or two passed, Asgore continued. His tone changed ever so slightly as his role shifted from King to Fellow Monster, "I also just wanted to let you know, that to Tori and me, you are more than just 'the Royal Scientist.' We would like to consider you and Nyala friends. So, as your friend, please know that you have our love and our support. I can't even begin to imagine what you two must be feeling right now to have lost a son so soon after meeting him, but know that if you should ever need our counsel, we will be here at your service. Feel free to stop by at any time and we will gladly receive you. All you need to do is ask."
Gaster stepped forward then and took Asgore's hand to shake, thanking him for his kind words, but the king drew him in for a lengthy and sincere embrace.
"I am so sorry for your loss." The low voice rumbled to the point that it nearly shook his skull.
"Thank you, your majesty." Gaster answered with a nod of his head. As soon as the king released him, the father turned once again to face the small crowd and announce what the parents were planning to do with Corbel's dust.
"There was nothing our son loved more than his home." Gaster mused, "Like so many us, the Underground was the only home he ever knew and he was fascinated with learning everything he could about the different regions and the monsters who live there. From the icy forests of Snowdin, to the intensity of Hotland, and the tranquility of Waterfall, he loved them all! And so to honor that love, we have decided that he should be able to experience everything the Underground has to offer. We will be taking a walk through the Underground, spreading Corbel's dust throughout. I think he would have wanted a chance to be a part of every life in the Underground and this way is the best way we can think of to give that to him. Thank you all for your thoughts and for your support. Just you being here has helped to fulfill that final wish."
At that point, many monsters nodded at Gaster and took their leave. Others stopped by to offer to help the Gasters spread Corbel's dust. They knew a few places in the Underground that they felt the child would have enjoyed. The offer was politely declined, not by a verbal response, but in the way Nyala clung to the blue vase in her arms. She didn't speak . . . in fact, she hadn't spoken a single word since that day . . . but her answer was clear nonetheless. She was unwilling to part with Corbel if it meant she would be handing him off to other monsters like cookies at a bake sale. Even when her husband reached out toward her to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulder, she flinched slightly. The gathering was starting to get to her and she was becoming more and more uncomfortable around the crowd.
Only a few more and then they could be on their way.
Undyne and her mother came and left quickly and the Blook family did the same. Even the King and Queen stopped by; King Asgore giving the father another huge hug and reissuing his offer that they would be available to help them if they should need anything.
"In fact," Asgore continued, "why don't you both come by for a cup of tea sometime?"
Gaster offered the king a small smile before turning to get Nyala's input. She had lowered her head in what was meant to have been a polite bow, but after it stayed a bit too low for a bit too long, again, the intent was clear.
"Sometime, perhaps." Gaster answered, the gaze on his wife becoming more worried the longer he watched her. "But right now, there's still so much to do."
Queen Toriel, who had seen the pain in the mother's eyes stepped forward and took Asgore's arm, "He's right." She added, "It has been a long and trying day already and they still have such a long journey to make. Come along, dear. Perhaps we should be on our way as well."
Asgore sighed sympathetically as he looked between Nyala and Wingdings.
"Perhaps you're right, Tori. Let's give them their space. Just know, my friends, if you need anything at all . . ."
"All we have to do is ask. Yes, you've said that twice already."
"That's just how sincerely I meant it."
"We truly appreciate it." Gaster gave a polite nod, "And if we have a need for your generosity, we will be sure to call on you."
Asgore and Gaster exchanged smiles and with that, Toriel led her husband away to begin their walk home.
As the remaining crowd thinned out, the Gaster family stayed to greet one final group who approached: the three Skeletons who were silently standing off to the side during the ceremony. In the group, there was one male and two females, all with shrouding hoods. They stopped directly in front of the pair and stood before them without uttering a single sound.
The male Skeleton was the first to make a move. He reached within his cloak and wordlessly pulled out a spray can. He started rattling it vigorously, preparing it for use.
At first, Gaster tensed. Just what could he possibly be planning to do with a spray can!?
The Skeleton stooped down to the ground and started to spray his can directly toward the rocks beneath, making small and precise sweeping motions. He was drawing something. A bouquet . . . a bouquet of miniature echo flowers.
At the same time, one of the female Skeletons brandished a thin stick- a conductor's baton- and held it expertly in her fingers. She too began to make sweeping motions, flicking her wrist in a three beat pulse. Her teal magic began to circle them and a soft melodic chiming sounded. It sounded like a lullaby being played through a music box. The swirling staff and the bell-like notes floated through the air and visibly started to fall to the ground where they melded with the sprayed paint of the echo flowers until the flowers began to carry the melody and harmonies on their own.
The male Skeleton reached out to peel the flowers from the ground one by one. Each flower became a three-dimensional object until finally, all of the echo flowers chimed in his hands.
All that was left was to wrap them. For this, the third Skeleton stepped forward, wielding a fountain pen with a wave, she summoned parchment and with a visible flourish, she used her magic to compose lyrical stanzas and lines on the parchment. Once she was through, she sent the parchment toward the male and it gently wrapped around the flowers completing the gift. The flowers seemed to absorb the lyrics and began to sing.
Together, the three Skeletons turned toward the grieving parents and held out the singing flowers as an offering to their sorrow. In unison, they bowed their heads.
"For Corbel." They announced simultaneously.
The parents were dumbfounded by the gift and Gaster's mouth even fell open slightly. The last thing he had been expecting was this absolutely beautiful and chilling tribute to his son. The flowers chimed and sang while he and Nyala listened intently.
When the song finished, an almost crushing silence took over as Gaster reached out and accepted the bouquet. There were no words that were appropriate enough for what he was feeling. He bowed his head right back at the Skeletons as they stood.
Behind him, Nyala's head lowered as well, showing her thanks for the gift in her way. There was very little in her mind that could have even come close to what her son deserved . . . this song . . . this gift from three complete strangers was one of those few unexpected things that lived up to her standards.
Before she could stop herself, tears began to seep from her eyes and roll down her face. As she kept her head lowered, she raised an arm to shield her face.
Gaster turned toward her then, offering his support as, not for the first time, her emotions got the better of her. Holding the vase between them, Nyala buried her face in Gaster's chest.
Slowly and a little awkwardly, Gaster rocked with his wife as he tried to comfort her. Moments later, he turned to look over his shoulder at the three Skeletons.
"Thank you." He acknowledged in a near whisper, "Your gift was beautiful and your thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated."
Once again, the three Skeletons tilted their heads before turning on their heels and talking their leave.
Nyala and Gaster didn't even know their names or what they looked like.
After several more moments, Nyala seemed well enough and composed enough to leave, so with a touch, they reactivated the echo flowers' song and together, they turned to begin on their journey through the Underground.
As they walked through the door, the pressures and the expectations of the day seemed to slip from their shoulders and fall solidly to the floor like a heavy coat.
For a long time, there was nothing but silence. It was hard to believe that only a few short days ago, this house had been filled with laughter and everyone in it had been so happy.
The child was still alive three days ago.
Now, all that was left of him were handfuls of dust scattered throughout the Underground and the memory of what his voice sounded like when he laughed.
The sound played on repeat in his parents' skulls. They refused to remember him in his final moments, coughing and gasping and struggling to breathe. Corbel was their son! He was so much more to them than the disease that claimed his life. He was their light. He was their joy. He was their reason for constantly striving to be just a little bit better. It was all for him.
And now that he was gone. The parents struggled to figure out what to do next.
So, for several minutes afterward, they stood and sat in silence as they held the vase which now carried the singing flowers.
Nyala stepped forward and walked wordlessly toward Corbel's room, taking the flowers with her. Gaster knew better than to ask what she was doing. He knew he wouldn't get a response. So, instead, he followed her to the door where she seemed frozen. Corbel's bedroom door had been shut since that day and neither parent felt strong enough to enter it since. With a few long and steadying breaths, Nyala opened the door and she stepped inside.
Nothing had changed at all in the child's room, not that she had expected it to . . . in fact, she preferred it never change. This was Corbel's room, everything was exactly where it should be. If anything were to change, it wouldn't be his room anymore.
Taking a look around, Nyala approached the small bed and sat on the edge in the spot she always sat when she would read to Corbel or when she would sing him to sleep. She placed the flowers down on the night stand beside her and she sat staring at them. She didn't seem to move after that. She was frozen to that spot, a part of the still painting.
Gaster was silent as he stood against the door frame and stared back into his son's room unable to bring himself to enter. Fewer than three days ago, he had been sitting right there with Nyala, reading a story with his son.
And then . . .
And then he'd . . .
It had all been in good fun and it wasn't as if they hadn't played that way in the past. Corbel loved the shock and the thrill of being surprised. That time was supposed to be just like all of the other times.
Except it wasn't.
Except that time, the shock that sent him into laughter also triggered his most severe reaction which ultimately killed him.
If he hadn't been laughing so hard, he wouldn't have started coughing.
If he hadn't been shocked so suddenly, he wouldn't have started laughing.
If Gaster hadn't scared him while they were reading Fluffy Bunny, none of it would have happened.
If not for him, his son would still be alive and he would have had at least one more night with his parents.
This was all his fault. The whole thing was because of him.
Not only that, but Corbel had only been suffering because he was unlucky enough to inherit the same disease Gaster had. Every piece of the puzzle led back to all of this being his fault.
He forced himself to look way. He had to focus . . . on something . . . anything that wasn't the painted testimony to his guilt. But everywhere he looked, there was another reminder of what he lost. The books on the far shelf. The chest of drawers full of small clothing, the box in the corner with his toys, the tiny shoes that lined the wall, the pictures that hung above them.
This was his room, after all. Of course it would be filled with his things.
He looked back toward Nyala and held out his hand. "Nyala, honey," He began, trying to mask a slight quaver to his voice, "It's getting late and it's been such a long day. Shouldn't we be getting to bed?"
Nyala blinked slowly and forced herself to look away from the flowers. She turned to look at Gaster, but what he didn't expect to see was the furious scowl that came with her attention.
Still, she didn't speak. Still, she didn't need to. Instead, she pointed harshly to the small area between Gaster and the door to the room, demanding he leave her alone. Just because he couldn't handle being in here with his sins crawling on his back, didn't mean he had the right to pull her away from her son!
Gaster retracted his hand and lowered it to his side as he backed away. She was absolutely right and as he looked back at his wife's furious expression, there was something there that struck him deeply and it felt as if his very soul could collapse in on itself. Nyala's pain hit him in a way that it hadn't before and it hurt him just as badly as it would have if she'd hit him with a physical or a magical attack.
Gaster, instead, clutched at the fabric of his shirt as he exited. That accusatory glare followed him all the way out.
Nyala stayed in Corbel's room that night.
And the night afterward . . .
And the next . . .
Even when Gaster returned to work weeks later, Nyala stayed in Corbel's room, refusing to leave his side. Gaster couldn't bring himself to remind her that Corbel was no longer in the room; that she was only keeping his things company, not him. He already knew she wouldn't listen. She could be pretty stubborn when she wanted to be and he knew better than to cross her when she got that way.
So, he kept his distance, letting her carry on how she wanted.
In this case, the way she wanted was to sit in Corbel's room holding the vase of echo flowers and refusing any kind of interaction. She barely slept anymore and whatever food that was offered to her was pushed away.
Gaster was beyond worried. It was as if she had shut down completely and nothing he could say or do could help pull her out of that rut. He'd tried again and again to get her to leave the room and he tried numerous tactics from convincing her with logic and reasoning, to staying with her and trying to ease her away, to waiting until she finally fell asleep and carrying her out. Every attempt was met with the same furious reactions and the same result. She would return to sit on Corbel's bed, unwilling to leave him.
It pained Gaster to see her so miserable and inconsolable. And even while he was at work, his mind would wander back to her and how she was doing. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The last time he had a feeling like that . . .
Gaster gathered his things deciding to head home early. After all, he was alone in the lab and the head of the project . . . And besides, how could he be expected to make any progress on the Core if he was constantly distracted?
Fishing through his pockets, Gaster was sure to remove his stolen contraband. He couldn't risk bringing them home and Nyala finding them.
He opened the drawer to his desk and quietly deposited two test-tubes worth of dust he'd marked "C.H. Gaster"
"Good night, son." He whispered to the dust as he closed the drawer again.
From that moment on, he was on mission mode. He had to get home. He had to check on Nyala. Even on his way home, he was brainstorming. There had to be a better way to contact her. Maybe someday soon, phones could be of use to all monsters. They had them on the surface, why not Underground as well?
But until he could get the Core up and running, that would be impossible. For now, that meant rushing home while the lamps were still lit.
Even with him moving as quickly as he could at a speed just shy of running, it seemed to him like he wasn't moving quickly enough.
Eventually, he'd made it home and as he reached out to turn the handle and enter the grey door, the handle turned and opened from the inside.
There she was, looking more alert and put-together than she had in weeks. She was gripping a couple of chiming flowers and adjusting her sweater over her shoulders as she prepared to leave.
"Nyala?" Gaster questioned, unable to hide the surprise and excitement in his voice. "Nyala, you're up! And you're dressed!"
The woman nodded her response, still not daring to look Gaster in the eye. She didn't seem to be as excited or as proud as her husband was. In fact, her features seemed to fall when she saw him.
"That's fantastic!" He tried to encourage her. "It's good to see you out and about again!" He wrapped his long arms around her and held her closer than he had been able to before. After few moments, the woman in his arms shifted in discomfort and tried to pull away. Gaster let her go, remembering that she seemed to be on her way out.
"That's right!" He grinned, stepping aside and giving Nyala the space she needed, "You were going somewhere, right?"
She nodded, adjusting her cardigan again.
"Hang on." Gaster pressed, moving past Nyala to enter the house. "Let me put my things down and I'll come with you."
The response was almost immediate. No sooner had Gaster crossed the threshold, did Nyala grab firmly onto his shirt sleeve.
"No." Her broken voice pushed. It had been so long since she'd used it that the sound was almost foreign. It was airy and raspy and it seemed to be actually physically painful for her to use.
Gaster stopped dead in his steps and he turned to see the tightened grip on his sleeve. He had to stop and look back, the timid sound of the voice compelling him to listen.
It was the first word she'd spoken in almost a month, but it was the tone behind that word that was the most concerning.
"Hey," Gaster sighed turning back to face her. He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Are you okay?"
Nyala nodded again, "I'm . . . just," She stopped for a moment, her raspy voice taking a toll on her, "A walk to . . . see Corbel." She pointed back toward the bedroom, "H-he . . . he's not . . ."
"He's not in the room anymore." Gaster answered for her, stroking her fingers with his thumb, "He's out in the Underground and you wanted to go see him?"
Nyala nodded.
"And . . . You're sure you don't want me to come with you?"
Nyala nodded again taking her hand back, "I . . . need to talk to him."
Gaster's expression fell as Nyala turned her face away once again. What was weighing on her mind so much that she didn't even want him around? She didn't even want to look at him anymore and any attempt he gave to comfort or support her, she would pull away and shut herself off. If he hadn't left work early and rushed here, he wouldn't have seen her at all . . . and he was absolutely sure that was the way she'd wanted it.
This went way beyond stubbornness, this was something deeper.
Was he being too overprotective? Was he smothering her? Is that why she felt she needed to get away from him? Or maybe there was something he wasn't doing?
"Nyala . . . ?" Gaster questioned again, an air of self doubt falling over him, "Did . . . Did I do something wrong?"
She sighed with her head lowered, still refusing to look at her husband. There was no way she could possibly explain what was going through her mind, what had been going through her mind since the day Corbel died.
It hurt. All of it was physically painful. Her body was sore and her spirits were steadily dissipating. Whenever she looked around this house, she felt a stinging reminder that it was far from being "home" anymore. Not without Corbel. She thought that by staying in the boy's room, it would give her the comfort she needed. She needed to be reminded of her son and that however short his life had been, she'd done her best to make it a happy one.
But no matter what she tried, all of the times she listened to the flowers and read through Corbel's books or folded and refolded and organized and reorganized his clothes. She couldn't feel the same sense of purpose. She felt empty. She felt alone. She felt broken and shattered.
And Wingdings . . .
He had been trying so hard to keep his little family together. He put on false smiles and kept up paper-thin appearances to give off some small sense of normality. She was the only one who could see past those defenses. She was the only one who knew just how deeply he was hurting.
And what had she done to help him?
What had she done to help Corbel when he was in pain and falling apart?
Absolutely nothing.
She had fallen apart herself- shut herself off from everyone and everything. She had wrapped herself up in her own mind and refused to let anyone in . . . even him . . .
She didn't deserve his kindness or his concern. She didn't deserve to stay here with him when she was nothing but a burden to him. Surely, he blamed her for the things she didn't do when it came to saving Corbel and the things she didn't do after he died. There he was, trying to piece their lives back together, going back to work on the Core, making progress to improve life for ALL monsters. THAT'S what Corbel would have wanted to see. He would have wanted to know that his parents were still doing the best they possibly could!
Instead, she sat around his room, crying until she felt her sockets would split and making no progress toward anything- not even her own recovery. She didn't go back to teaching . . . she didn't even go back to her own room. She was less than useless. She was a waste of space.
And Wingdings thought their disconnection was because of something he did? Of course he did. She hadn't given him anything else to believe.
"Do you . . . Do you hate me, Nyala?" He sighed in a despondent whisper, "You must . . . After all, Corbel . . . he's gone because of me."
It was the confession that did it! Nyala couldn't have him blaming himself for all of this. This was her fault! He felt this way because of her! Because she had shut him out, because she had made him feel guilty, because she'd screamed at him and fought with him . . . and after he had done nothing but try to help her! She closed the gap between them and instead embraced him. At the motion, Gaster touched his skull to hers in a show of comfort and affection. He was still trying to make her feel better? Damn it! She couldn't stand it! Damn it!
She decided then, with absolute certainty, what she needed to do and a new resolve filled her as she did. She would find some way to make amends. She would somehow make all of this right again. Gaster had been fighting so hard to keep them both stable and now, it was up to her. She refused to be the source of his pain any longer. He would be able to continue his great works and he would be able to devote more time to his own happiness. He could go on without having to worry about her. He deserved that much.
"I don't hate you," She whispered. With the lack of tone in her voice, it didn't hurt as much to speak. "I love you so much, Wingdings Gaster . . . And from now on, you won't ever have to suffer like this. I promise."
She stood up, taller than she had in a long time, and "kissed" his cheek before releasing him.
He held on, not quite ready to let go yet. She was trembling in his arms and he didn't feel right letting her go. But at the way she pulled, he had little choice but to respect her wishes. She stepped outside then, leaving him in the house. She offered him a quiet smile- also the first in weeks. Just that weak show was enough to get Gaster to smile too. Good. That's the image she wanted to take on her walk with her.
As soon as her back was turned, her smile faded. She had a long journey ahead of her.
Gaster remained behind, watching her walk off with two echo flowers clutched in her hands. Somehow, he couldn't get his own hands to stop shaking. Why was he so uptight? Why couldn't he calm his nerves?
But she wanted to go alone, and he wasn't going to deny her of what she wanted. Not now.
Instead, he took to pacing. He would wait for her to come back. As he paced, he thought. It was so incredible to see some of Nyala's old self come back! She had been in such a dark place for so long that he was starting to doubt whether or not she would be able to pull out of it. And for a while, it didn't look like she wanted to. It was such a relief to see her smile again!
Of course he had to have faith in her! Of course she could pull out of her funk. He was ashamed for ever having doubted her!
He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening, cleaning up around the house and marking some things off of the fix-it list that had been steadily growing for a while now. Before now, there had been no time and no motivation to get them done, but for Nyala's return, it was worth doing.
Hours passed and she still didn't come back. It was dark and the lamps had gone out.
Well, the Underground was bigger than most gave it credit for being. Perhaps, she was still out talking to Corbel. He was sure she had a lot to say . . . or knowing her, she probably sat there for a long while before she even began to speak . . . Not to mention, Corbel's dust was spread everywhere. It was impossible to know for sure which site she went to visit . . . if not multiple sites.
He decided he was being too overprotective and too paranoid. Once he allowed himself to relax, he realized just how tired he was. He needed rest too.
So with that, he resigned himself to bed. Perhaps Nyala would be back in the morning.
It was the rapid and urgent pounding on his door that woke him. He had no idea how long they had been out there, but he did know that it was way too early to be bothering anyone! Whatever it was, it had better have been important!
Groggy and shuffling, he made his way to the front door, stifling a yawn as he reached out to open it.
Immediately, a booming voice caught him off guard, "Is this the home of Nyala Gaster?"
Through droopy eyes, Gaster fought to focus, "Mmm-hmm." He answered instinctively, "I mean, yes . . . yes it is."
"Then you must be her husband. Wingdings Gaster?"
The fog was finally lifting, freeing him from his delirium. Something was going on. Something serious. They didn't send the Royal Guard for just anything.
Why did they ask him about Nyala?
"Yes," he answered solidly, fully awake now, "Dr. W.D. Gaster. How can I help you?"
The two guards looked at each other for a moment before turning their attention back to the Skeleton who was obviously not ready for company.
"Dr. Gaster." The first guard said solemnly and solidly, "Your presence is required in the throne room immediately."
"Is that so?" Gaster raised a brow, "There was absolutely no way this could have waited until morning when I was already going to work?"
"Afraid not, Doctor. Now, if you like, we can wait here while you dress."
It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually they'd made it to the throne room where King Asgore and Queen Toriel stood in full robes waiting for him.
The guards and Gaster bowed in a sign of respect even as Asgore raised his large paw to stop them. He hated formalities . . . especially in times like these.
"My friend." The Goat monster addressed. He didn't seem to be very cheerful, which was odd for him. "Now's not the time for that. Please, come closer."
So far, Gaster did not like the feeling of this inconvenient and impromptu meeting.
"Is it safe to assume you have not been told why you have been brought here?" Toriel asked, taking a stand next to Asgore.
"I have not." Gaster replied, and frankly, he was beginning to tire of all of the secrecy.
"Then you have our deepest apologies, Doctor." She continued, "Perhaps you would care to take a seat?"
"Thank you, but no." Gaster refused, "Please, I would just like to know for what purpose you need me and for what reason this could not wait until I came in to work. You see, I'm expecting my wife home at anytime and I would rather her not return to an empty house."
The King and Queen hesitated just like the guards had, taking a moment to look at one another before turning their attention back to Gaster . . . Would people please stop doing that!? It was never a good sign, was it?
"Please." Asgore pressed insistently, "Have a seat."
Definitely not a good sign.
Once Dr. Gaster was seated in the chair provided, straight-backed with his hands fisted over his knees, the king and queen decided it best to just come forward.
"Dr. Gaster." Asgore started.
He hated the tone the king was using.
"We are so very sorry." Toriel continued.
He hated the words she was using . . . and the sympathetic looks they were both giving him.
There was a table between them that had a box resting atop the polished wood. How was it that he hadn't noticed it before? What was in the box?
Asgore grabbed the box in both hands and presented it to the doctor. Gaster didn't even realize how much his hands were shaking until he reached out to take it.
The box was very light, in all honesty.
"Earlier this morning," Asgore explained, "One of the patrol dogs in Snowdin noticed a Skeleton woman wandering through the forest. At first, she thought nothing of it. After all, walking through the forest is hardly a crime. But then, the woman stopped at the edge of the wooden bridge that connects the forest and the town and the patrol dog could hear her crying and whispering apologies."
"From the reports, she sounded so remorseful," Toriel stepped in, continuing the story, "She was overcome with grief and sadness and she truly seemed to blame herself for the pain she said she caused you. She was endlessly repeating your name. Your name and Corbel's."
As he listened to the story, Gaster's grip turned to steel while he held the wooden box in his hands. There was a reason why it was so light, wasn't there? He didn't want to draw conclusions, but hearing the story, it was impossible not to.
"She collapsed there on the bridge crying her apologies to the snow." Asgore came back in, his voice low, "She didn't even try to stop herself as she fell over the edge."
Gaster drew in a sharp breath and his grip cracked the edges of the box. They were lying! They had to be! There's no way Nyala would . . . She was strong! She was dedicated! She was getting better damn it! She was recovering! She was smiling when she left!
"No . . ." Gaster droned in an even tone, shaking his head, "No . . . that's a lie." When he looked up from the top of the small wooden box, there was a sardonic smile on his face.
"Your patrol dog doesn't know what she's talking about!" Gaster protested and even as he said it, he was increasingly aware of the tears forming and falling from his eye sockets. "She got the wrong information! She tracked the wrong Skeleton! It wasn't Nyala! It couldn't have been!"
"A team went down to where the Skeleton fell. The wind had already blown the dust away, but everything they were able to recover was put in that box."
"No!" Gaster repeated, his even demeanor and his voice shattering as he clutched the box closer, "You don't understand! Nyala was just out taking a walk! She was going to . . . going to see . . . Corbel!"
Suddenly, Gaster was glad he was sitting, if he hadn't been, without a doubt, he would have fallen right then and there. His hands stroked the wooden box and the cracks he'd made in it. The last conversation he had with his wife began to play in his head.
The last words she had spoken to him was a promise . . . a promise that he would never again have to suffer the way he did when he lost Corbel.
How had he been so BLIND! He should have known something was wrong . . . he did know! He felt it, but once again, he had done nothing about it! He'd let this happen! Once again, it was his fault . . . if he had just followed her! If he had trusted his instincts and looked after her . . . he would have been there.
"I could have stopped her." Gaster squeezed out. "This is all my fault. First Corbel . . . I killed him . . . And now . . ."
Gaster curled in on the box, clutching to it for dear life. The moment, he did, he knew he didn't have to open it. The chiming of the echo flowers was enough confirmation. Whatever was left of Nyala was inside that box and there was no denying it.
From then on, everything seemed to go in a foggy slow motion blur. His entire life screeched to a halt and when it started up again, it was as if it was progressing in frame-by-frame still shots. He opened the box to find Nyala's cardigan and two synthetic echo flowers all covered in her dust. Against his own wishes, he had broken down, clutching onto the objects in the box as his entire form seized. His mind, his heart, his soul. They all stopped in that moment and it felt as if they had all been forcefully ripped from inside him and crushed.
He might have cried out in pain. He might have screamed, he didn't quite remember.
He did remember the solid wall of fur that was King Asgore's embrace. Gaster had been rendered completely motionless as the king held him in one piece. Behind the king was Toriel who stood with her hands covering her mouth while steady streams of tears flowed from her eyes. No, she couldn't possibly understand what Gaster was feeling in that moment, but she was nothing if not empathetic toward him. Just bearing witness to that level of pain and heartache was enough to overwhelm her.
No one could quite remember how long they stayed that way. It was long enough for Gaster to fall completely numb and eventually his tears stopped, but only because he had lost consciousness. The king and queen made arrangements for him to stay in their New Home and there Gaster slept for a few hours.
He didn't remember the walk home or if he had interacted with anyone on the way. He just kept walking with the wooden box clutched to his chest as the chimes of the echo flowers played on repeat. He was home before he realized what was happening, and he stood in front of the grey door wordlessly and motionlessly for what felt like several hours.
This place . . . it was no longer his. It was the house of the man he used to be. A man who had a family and the love of said family. This was a place of laughter and dancing and playing airplanes reading Fluffy Bunny.
This is where Wingdings used to live with his wife and his boy.
Dr. W.D. Gaster no longer belonged.
There was just . . . one thing he needed to get.
When he opened the door, he was engulfed in sights and smells and feelings that seemed so familiar to him, but so foreign. When they washed over him, Gaster remained unmoved. They weren't his anymore and he had already accepted this. Time to let it go.
Stepping through the house with the narrowest of tunnel visions, Gaster walked forward until he found Corbel's room. He pushed through and grabbed the vase of flowers.
On his way out, he noticed the box of toys and the clothing and the books and the bed and the shoes. They looked so familiar. That's right, those belonged to the little boy who used to live here . . .
But he was gone now . . .
And his mother was gone now . . .
And his father . . . didn't exist anymore.
Gaster left the grey door behind and didn't look back. Instead, he kept walking with the vase of flowers and he listened to their song as he walked. His mind fogged over completely as he kept onward and onward. Nothing seemed to register. Not the change in temperature, or the number of steps he'd taken, or even the path he walked.
He didn't even really know where he was going until he reached the lab. For some reason, he had walked to work . . . maybe it was the one thing that made him feel like he was doing something. Or maybe it was the one part of his life that he'd managed to keep separate from all of the other mess. It was him without having the burden and sorrow of the other him from beyond the grey door.
This would be his home.
And so it was.
Years passed since he lost Corbel and Nyala and the only thing that kept him going was knowing that the work he was doing as a scientist was somehow useful. He was productive. He was helpful . . .
He had finally completed the Core. It took all of his strength and all of his concentration, especially since he had been working alone, but it was done! In no time, the Underground would finally be able to enjoy a more stable and permanent power source. Lights, communication, entertainment. This is what they all had been waiting for and now they finally had it. Still it might have taken a bit long, and it may take longer still to spread it throughout the Underground, but it was a start.
The only problem was that the Core tended to overheat. There had to be a way to prevent it. After all, what good would the Core be if it was rendered inoperable because of the searing heat in Hotland?
He had been out doing detail work and surveys on the Core, trying to right this issue when he heard something . . . footsteps . . . a low groaning . . . a fall.
"Who's there!?" Gaster demanded, "This area is restricted except for authorized personnel! Show yourself or I will be forced to call the Royal Guard!"
It took another moment or two and another threat, but eventually, a voice called out, "Hey, woah there, buddy. Just . . . just hang on a sec. There's no need to get all . . . hotheaded over this!"
Gaster was admittedly taken aback. The other was obviously not in a good spot. He sounded weak, possibly on the verge of losing consciousness. But still, he found the strength to crack a pun.
"Show yourself!" Gaster repeated, "I won't ask you again."
"Fine," The other voice answered and in uneven steps, the second figure appeared, visibly struggling to stand and leaning on the wall for support.
When Gaster saw him, his jaw dropped and he focused on him more than he had focused on anything in years.
The other figure was only a kid . . . or a kid by his standards . . . maybe he was closer to a teen . . . a young adult, maybe, if he was pushing the extremes?
And he was a Skeleton!
Gaster couldn't help but think. If Corbel were still around, he would probably have been about this age. Part of him slapped the other part for thinking of Corbel now. He had left that life behind over a decade ago. He was supposed to be over that by now.
Focus, Gaster! Back to reality. Back to the present.
How the Hell did this Skeleton boy end up all the way out here? And what was wrong with him that he was in the state he was? How did he end up so beaten?
Gaster rushed forward to see him more clearly. He was short in stature and he seemed to be wearing a constant smile, despite his obvious discomfort. He had most likely been through a really bad time to end up this way.
Not two seconds after he caught up to the younger Skeleton, the boy fell to his knees. His eyes went pitch black and his smile faltered.
"Hey! Hey, there!" Gaster called, taking him by the shoulders and sitting him up, "Stay with me!"
The boy chuckled with an empty sound, "Well, if you're askin' . . . How could I possibly say no?"
His voice was low and lacking conviction. Something about the way he spoke led Gaster to believe that he thought he didn't have much time left.
As a last resort, Gaster called forth his magic. Usually, this was just reserved for battle scenarios, but this was an emergency. Gaster CHECKED the boy.
Well, that explained why he seemed so uncoordinated and loopy. He only had 3 HP left in his gauge. His Max was only 20 HP to begin with.
He had to do something before the boy died out here . . . and he would not be responsible for another Skeleton's death.
Damn it, Gaster! Stop bringing the past back up!
"Hey there," He addressed the boy instead, "I'm not going to hurt you, but to help, I need to know more about you. Please, tell me your name."
The boy laughed again. "Didn't it tell you when you CHECKED me out just now? Heh, whatever. Guess it wouldn't hurt to answer. The name's Comic Sans Serif. Call me Sans."
AN: And scene! Quite honestly, this was NOT where I wanted to end, but these chapters keep running longer than I mean them to run. Really, last chapter, this chapter and the next chapter were all supposed to be one . . . and well, you can see why I opted not to go that route. Could you imagine? I mean, it wouldn't just have been the length, but meeting and losing both Nyala and Corbel in ONE chapter! No . . . just no . . .
Also, I feel like I owe you all an explanation. I know it isn't in the practice of good writing, but there really is no other way to get this across. The narrative doesn't allow for it:
Nyala never meant to jump. Yes, she was depressed to the point that she COULD have been suicidal. But Gaster was right. She never would have done it on her own. At most, she wanted to distance herself from Gaster until she was strong enough to face him again. When she collapsed, it was at the worst possible moment and in the worst possible spot. And when she started to slip over the edge, she didn't stop herself from falling. She didn't jump.
Welp, we're nearly all caught up now on Gaster and why he is the way he is. Just one more chapter and we can get back to the main story! I'm sorry about all of this detour stuff (also not in the practice of good writing to apologize for your actions, btw) But I felt it was really important to know where these characters come from and the motivation behind what they're doing.
*Finally one last thing! This is probably the last time I do something like this in this story.
The three Skeletons who showed up at Corbel's funeral. I admit, I was a little self indulgent and inserted some fontsona Skellies! My brother was the male with the spray can. His name is Calligraffiti. The female with the pen was PotentiallyHarmful's character, Freestyle Script (Ript for short) And the conductor with the baton was my personal fontsona, Jazz.
And the song of the echo flowers that the Skeletons made for the Gaster family is an original composition called "Azure Lore" The song is available for you to listen to via SoundCloud if you like. It's a simple little song, but I'm really proud of it. Just go to the site and type in "Siren - Song - Jes" (all one word. Keep the dashes, but lose the spaces between the words) It's the only thing on there. You don't have to, but know that it's there if you're curious.
Okay, that's it for me. I've rambled enough. I promise I'll get back down to business soon.
There I go again, making promises I can't guarantee I'll keep.
Heh, anyway, see you next chapter.