7. Restoration

[[File 7.1 SA-20150706-0-#]]

Bleary eyes peered at the outline of a window. A glowing halo of light circled dark shades, indicating day had begun long ago, and he was waking sometime in the afternoon again. Today, though, Papyrus would entertain no visitors: Undyne would not return until she completed pressing duties in the capital; none of the Royal Guard would reinvestigate their kitchen; and that obliterated human certainly would not step inside their house again. Sans would not hear any strange conversations downstairs as he struggled, as per every afternoon, to wake up.

Days would be returning to their typical, uneventful, quiet monotony.

An enormous, thunderous boom echoed downstairs, the sort of noise that would only occur if an elephant were playing jump rope.

what the hell?

Papyrus was apparently up to something.

Sans, curious, pulled himself away from his crumpled covers, slipped on his jacket, slid his feet into slippers, and dragged himself to the bedroom door. He needed to reach for the doorknob twice before he successfully grabbed it; then, upon stumbling outside, he attempted to make his way to the staircase.

He almost bumped straight into an enormous stack of cardboard boxes.

"uhhh… what?"

A flourishing cardboard city, complete with skyscrapers and a dramatic skyline, overtook the living room. Ceiling-high stacks engulfed every inch of what should have been carpet space. Apart from the couch, which wore more of a suit of armor of boxes than was actually in a box, Sans could see none of the furniture. Even the ceiling-high leaning tower of pop cans had disappeared, replaced by a pillar of small, pop can-sized boxes, all meticulously stacked on top of one another in the exact arrangement the tin cans had been assembled. Only a narrow path weaved in between buildings, allowing careful godzillas to slip from the staircase to the door.

"what?" Sans spoke again. Sleepiness did not muddy this question; now widely awake, he asked the question with a sharpness he hoped could be heard by the person thumping in the kitchen.

"OH! YOU'RE AWAKE! FINALLY! ! !" Sans spied Papyrus tumble out of the kitchen. His brother nearly knocked over a twelve foot tall eastern district of the new cardboard city. Exuberantly, in an obviously good mood – both regarding what he was doing, and finally spying his late-rising brother – Papyrus exclaimed, "GOOD AFTERNOON, MY LAZYBONES BROTHER!"

"papyrus, could you please tell me what the hell is going on? why did you pack up the entire house? (and how did you do it so quickly? wow. do ya ever take a break?)"

"WE'RE MOVING!" This time Papyrus' excited gesture did knock over items. His sweeping gloves smashed into the leaning tower of packed pop cans, scattering them everywhere, and showering the world in boxes.

"gee, bro, i know that yesterday upset you, but –"

"NO, NO, IT'S NOT THAT, SILLY! YOU'RE A HERO! YOU DID IT! ! ! THE UNDERGROUND IS FREE!"

For the infinite time since he had woken up, Sans said, "what?"

"I ADMIT. I'M STILL A LITTLE WEIRDED OUT THAT YOU ATTACKED THAT HUMAN LIKE THAT.

"WAS THAT NECESSARY! ! ?

"THEY WEREN'T DOING ANY HARM.

"AND HONESTLY, YOU ACTED IN EXTRAORDINARILY POOR HOSPITALITY, ATTACKING PEOPLE LIKE THAT.

"BUT ANYWAY!

"YOU CAN'T CHANGE THAT NOW!

"AND IT TURNS OUT THAT THE SHATTERED SOUL CAN BE USED TO OPEN THE BARRIER.

"ASGORE WILL OFFICIALLY BUST US OUT OF HERE ON FRIDAY!

"SO EVERYONE IS PACKING! ! !

"IT'S THE SURFACE FOR US! SNOWDIN 'SNOW' MORE!"

Snowdin snow more…

Not blinking, barely seeing anything, Sans mumbled, "we're… free…"

Even though he had known attacking the human could lead to Asgore acquiring the seventh soul, that had not been his motivation in the moment. Furthermore, since the guards knew little of human SOULs and how long they could be preserved outside the body, there had been question about whether or not the latest human SOUL could be utilized in opening the barrier. To hear that the SOUL had arrived to New Home, that it could be used along with Asgore's other six souls… that the dream Sans had dreamt his entire life would be realized… he could hardly believe it. It was actually happening.

"WE'RE FREE!"

He needed to verify for himself that the underground monsters were, indeed, leaving. Maybe it could help him process the news he had just learned.

"i'm ah, i'm uh… going outside. 'kay, papyrus?"

Somehow Sans careened through the city of cardboard, reached the front entrance, and staggered outdoors. The crisp, cold air of Snowdin assaulted him in the face, and the harsh brightness of the snow shining in mid-afternoon light forced him into a pained squint. He did not wait for his body to adjust, though; he advanced down the city street toward the center of town, staring wide-socketed at the abundant changes already accumulating throughout Snowdin.

The sleepy, small village had metamorphosed into a clambering world of over-ecstatic chaos, rabbits rushing over ice with mattresses carted over their ears, slimes rolling rugs out the front entrance, mice tumbling out of doors with stacked boxes, children rushing through the streets screeching excitedly rather than assisting in any of the packing. Half of everyone's belongings were pulled out of doors, set in the snow on top of towels and sheets. Doors swung up as more monsters tumbled outside with their belongings. Everyone jabbered as they worked. Noisy voices ricocheted through the open air. "We're finally going to see the stars, Marcy! The stars!" "No more fear! No more uncertainty! The surface awaits!" "The king is victorious! ASGORE saved us all!" "I can't believe it!" "I feel like a kid again!" "Aren't you happy?" "We're going to be free!" "What are you going to do when –" "Have you packed all the boxes in the –" "Don't forget to make an appointment with the River Person before –" "Come over here so we can –" "Tomorrow we'll –" "Oh my GOD, I can't wait to see the barrier officially broken! ! !"

Louder exclamations burst when he stepped past the villagers. "It's him!" Snowdin's sole shopkeeper exclaimed, pointing a white paw at him.

"Sans!"

"Sansy, you did it!"

"We can't thank you enough!"

A monster child rushed straight up to Sans, running so quickly they tripped on their feet and nearly crashed into his belly. "Yo!" they shouted out, dancing around the skeleton, completely unconcerned they had almost collided into someone else. "You fought a human!? Dude, you're sooooo cool!"

"heh, yeah, thanks kid." Sans smiled, waved, and attempted to squeeze past the conglomerating crowd. More than a few monsters – over half of them adults – ran directly up to Sans, reaching for him with excited paws and hands, shouts accompanying their gestures.

"I can't believe it! You saved us!"

"no prob." He tried forcing himself to move a little faster – a fast walk which made him almost trip on his slippers, but at the same time helped him successfully escape from Snowdin's residents. He turned around backwards, crashed into a mouse, choked out an apology, continued turning around, turning away from everyone, turning toward some open space where he could breathe, and then finally trotted off. Individuals he had known for years in Snowdin and had never interacted with; old drinking companions who considered Sans a lazy bag of trash; even monsters who previously eyed the skeleton with distaste – all of them clambered toward him frantically.

Overnight, his reputation had morphed from lazy sentry to monsterkind's greatest celebrity.

He needed escape. Escape now. Amidst the screams of "Thank you Sans!" and "We love you Sans!" and "You're going to free us, Sans!" he added his voice.

"i gotta go, you understand? see you guys all later?"

Somehow, they heard him. The scrambling continued, though thankfully with a little less fervor. Sans could locate the gaps in the crowd and maneuver through them.

He headed north into a quieter neighborhood district, forcing himself to keep his pace at a seemingly calm stroll, but let out an enormous, relieved exhale when he fled the main mass of monsters. He tended to maintain privacy over his ability to teleport, yet had he suffered through that any longer, he might have opted to vanish before everyone's eyes. Better that then watch someone like Grillby greet him with enthusiastic thanks.

god. i mean… grillby… really?

Was any of this real?

Sans stumbled further north. He needed silence to process all the information and drama. Still, even here in relative calm of the quiet residencies, he received many hearty waves and heartfelt thanks and signs of awkward hero worship. Every inch of the village had become overrun with monsters, all the streets well-worn with footprints, and even the bank of the riverside had become crowded with aspiring travelers. There would be no full escape… only patches of slightly fewer residents.

The one mob which failed to pursue him swarmed around a tall, black-cloaked figure, who sometimes responded to their requests for travel, but who at other times murmured absent-minded, seemingly nonsensical comments. That individual seemed completely unaware of the momentous news. "Hmm. I should have worn a million more pants today," they said instead. "Tra la la. The water is dry today." They could not have cared less that the entire underground would be leaving to the surface. They turned, glanced at the skeleton who stood at a distance, and made another off-hand nonsensical comment. "Beware the man who came from the other world."

Sans took two steps backward. He and Papyrus would need to speak to the River Person about transportation eventually, but he would need to steel himself for the occasion.

"Excuse me, mister skeleton sir… are you okay?"

He blinked, gathering he must have been grimacing at the distant River Person. Glancing toward the bear who now loomed to his left, he responded, somewhat distracted, "yeh. yeh. 'sall cool."

Sans backtracked down the streets, avoiding eye contact and hoping no one would bother him. He had seen enough. Papyrus was right. Everyone was packing to leave to the surface. Now… he needed time alone.

Able to breathe at last, he whirled to the back of his house and stumbled through accumulated, crunchy snowdrifts. Behind their main residence, he had built a small shop, one which few knew about, and of which only one person had seen the inside. The key to the shop he always carried on hand; he produced that key from his pocket now and fiddled with the door's sticky lock. It gave way after a moment's meddling. With a creak, it swung on its hinge, light sliding into an incredibly dark, tiled chamber.

Sans stepped inside.

Shut the door.

Flicked on the lights with the switch to his left side.

Incandescent bulbs flashed on, emitting both light and a faint buzzing sound. Shadows vanished, yet the musty sense of dark secrets remained. Sans slipped toward the counter drawers, also on his left side, and pulled out the nearest filing cabinet.

Though he had crammed innumerable papers into the small containment space, all jumbled, out of order, and crumpled with lack of care, the two sheets he needed rested regally on top of the junk. Neither paper bore creases nor crumples; the only sign of wear came from the natural fading of old photographs. Even then, he could still spy ever familiar face from Gaster's old team: the head Royal Scientist standing in the center of the back row, impeccably neat in laboratory white; Rain standing to the doctor's left with a hood half-covering his face; and Sans standing before both of them in the front row; more monsters, about two dozen in total, arranged neatly around them: Alphys, Donus, Huberta, Calibri, Marlett, Cynthia, everyone. All the researchers, Gaster included, were smiling.

Gingerly, Sans set the photograph down on the counter, then held the second slip of paper with both hands on the bottom corners. A child-like drawing depicted three individuals, though only Sans today knew who the artist had intended to sketch. Everyone else would only see pathetic blobby faces, sticks for arms, and some scribbles implying either jackets, fur coats, or an army of squirrels on each individual's arms.

At the bottom of the page, near some white space, Sans had added two words to the art.

"never forget."

He murmured the two words aloud now, staring at the pathetic illustration as though it were the perfect representation of his past, and that, if he reached out toward the drawing a little more, he could reenter a world he had left years ago.

Left physically, anyway, if not mentally.

Emotionally, he had never left this past behind.

A slow smile slipped onto his jaws. "hey guys, guess what," he informed the artwork. His tone was soft. "we did it. not the way any of us had planned, but… welp. we still did it."

Sans shook his head, closed his eyes, and laughed. It shook from deep inside his belly, but the chuckle did not travel all the way to his mind. He felt bittersweet more than happy in this moment.

"and right about the time i thought i had given up."

[[File 7.2 GA-19900901-19990526 0-# MW #]]

He had never expected nine years at the university would be easy. Had never been so foolish as to believe it, even in part. Sans had in fact entered his planned degree trajectory with a level-headed acknowledgement his goal would be extraordinarily challenging to undertake and highly unlikely to be accomplished. If he were to successfully conquer even a quarter of his planned aspirations, then he would be beating all statistical odds.

They were large "ifs". Very large "ifs". All he knew was he wanted to try. Thus far, all his pursuits had been enjoyable – why not head off for some more enjoyment and a chance to live his dreams? Regardless of whether or not he succeeded, his experienced would come to gain. And if he succeeded – in that rare, fat chance he succeeded – he could meet his long-admired hero face-to-face. It was time for him to try and pursue W. D. Gaster's footsteps. The Royal Scientist had been barred by no one, nothing, not even prior scientific theoretical knowledge, and if Sans wished to follow the great W. D. Gaster's path, then he could not let hindrances like statistical likelihoods deter his dreams.

Thus he was here.

On the far side of New Home standing on college campus.

His farewell to family had felt odd. Not as though he were leaving them completely behind… he still planned to visit weekends, to return home and bunk down in his old room for holidays… yet far different it would be to sleep most nights in university housing rather than stay with his mothers and brother.

Part of him thought he would like the quiet. A very young brother, in the midst of his toddler stage, usually caused quite a raucous… tantrums when angry, shrieks when excited, no babbling ever expressed in anything quieter than a boisterous shout… it detracted from Sans' preferred chill lifestyle. And in a place like college, he would have to begrudgingly work on homework between his snacks and free time. That would have been difficult with a crying three-year-old in the next room. Yet the first night in the dorm, staring up in the ceiling, he found himself unable to sleep. Mind ran amok with contradictory thoughts. Excitement to meet and mingle with classmates clashed with anxious thoughts and fears of failure. What was he getting himself into? He did not even know if he could succeed. School had been easy before… he had always casually coasted through classes and cracked jokes to fluster teachers… now would he had to find determination he'd never used to pass?

It was time to dive into textbooks. New equations, new theories, new information, new knowledge. Time to pour over practice sets and grow comfortable with variables. Protons, photons, neutrons, baryons. Wave vectors. Electromagnetic force. Inertia and angular acceleration and rotational power and density and drag and torque. Text book lines wavered from late night exhaustion; his eyelids began closing, him nodding off to near-sleep. He would force himself to continue working, avoiding eyesocket contact with the clock as its numbers changed from twelves to ones, regretting yet again for hanging out in the commons and cracking jokes with students until nine at night. Ugh. But he preferred those moments on campus to the ones with textbooks in the dorm room.

He must have been working hard enough, though. Classmates commented upon it. "Dude, those are good grades. How do you work so hard and have so much time to hang out?"

He preferred the hanging out. Certainly never skimped in that department. But grades mattered. They mattered to enter the university, and they would matter for graduate admissions. There would be no time for electives … not when the Bachelors would be only the beginning of the journey. Sans forced himself to study.

At least the weekends – sometimes – offered respite. Sans would not let college pass him by – he had to have some good fun. After classes ended for the week, he could head the undergraduate university hot spots, the cafés where all the young adult students gathered, and mingle with the crowd. There would be drinks, greasy pizza, and laughter there. Always good to step outside campus for something like that, especially as he was the one who typically provided all the stories and laughter. Sometimes, if the homework load truly were low, he could delve into other random explorations outside of obligated school assignments – practice a few hand signs, just the basics, PLEASE and THANK YOU and HELLO and YOU and I – or rent a tape from the library of one of Doctor Gaster's rare old public lectures. He would eagerly consume the subtitles on the bottom of the screen, every mention of the newly-constructed CORE and the projections on how its power generation would revolutionize monster society, despite the fact Sans currently comprehended a mere fraction of the physics terminology. It still excited him. This was Doctor Gaster – THE Doctor Gaster. And of course, at irregular intervals, he could return home to the hoots of an overecstatic brother, excited to see him once more. Wow, but Papyrus was growing fast.

And it is not as though university semesters were void of fun. Even amidst laboratory reports and half-hearted TA recitations and multiple choice exams and ignored "required" readings, he could always find time for pranks. Hell, he could apply his latest coursework content in the ends of tormenting his roommate. He did not know which unit he enjoyed more when it came to dorm room mischief: lasers or acoustics. Probably acoustics. No one in the north dorm wing – first, second, third, and fourth floors – forgave him for that stunt with the trombone. The south wing probably hated him, too. The flatulent noises had carried… uh… further than anticipated.

An introductory level physics course paved way to deeper studies. Electricity and Magnetism. Advanced Classical Mechanics. Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics. And those, in turn, built upwards. Mathematics advanced. Calculus III and Differential Equations. The nights lengthened, sleep decreased.

Yet still he would find time to hang out in the commons, cracking jokes with companions. And yet still he would find the time to slink to the dormitory commons room, slip in a tape, and again watch Doctor W. D. Gaster on the television screen. Even if it were the same tape as he had watched the prior year, he could comprehend the information more deeply with subsequent viewings… from new knowledge from courses, or better practice with sign language… the semi-vague jumble of scientific jargon took concrete shape.

Birthdays passed, and semesters. It was time to start attending colloquia – they encouraged it, for the upper class undergraduates, especially those seeking to continue onto a Masters and PhD. And it was time for the Honors Thesis, and seeking out an advisor, and a topic to research on his own. Could he complete a Concurrent Masters and Bachelors at the same time in four years? He needed to make with his adviser again about degree requirements. And after all that work, he would need to write and submit an application to the one and only graduate program in the tiny underground. Four years nearly finished. At least four more to go.

"Wanting to work under Doctor Gaster? Wow, that'd be something."

He remembered shaking in his bedroom at home, family hovering outside, as he handled an envelope in his hand from the University of the Underground Monster Kingdom. His fingers bones rattled so shakily he could barely tear open the seal. The paper just kept slipping. Slipping, over and over. When his phalanges finally cooperated enough to manage the task of opening up the envelope, something which took well over five painful minutes, his fingers fumbled over the stationary inside and dropped it to the ground. Of course. He bent down, picked it up, and smoothed the paper out to read the top line carefully. With a barking laugh he rushed out of his room and nearly crashed into Papyrus, who, just recently turned seven, could not quite comprehend the ecstatic hubbub. Yet his brother nevertheless beamed widely, and shouted with all his might, "YAY SANS! GOOD JOB! ! ! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! ! !"

It was five more years of education, five more years in cramped student housing on the far side of New Home. It was five more years tripping through a grimy apartment floor piled in mountains of printed research articles, hardcover library books, and dirty laundry. It was five years of increased responsibilities; of running laboratories and tests for university funded research; of teaching assistanceships, office hours, recitations, and grading assignments; of near-sleepless nights and coffee binges; of colloquia and conferences and department meetings and private office times with professors.

Undergraduate had been simple. Undergraduate had been nice. There had been time to head to the movie theatre in central New Home on Friday nights, or an occasional party off-campus, or at least a great prank with which to wreak the dorm halls. It might have felt busy – it was busy in comparison to high school – yet nothing could have prepared him for the onslaught of the doctoral program. Responsibilities overwhelmed. Teaching, studying, personal researching… he could not find the time for even one of those tasks, let alone all three.

am i good enough to do this? do i even want to do this? is five years of misery worth it… just for the possibility of interning in the royal labs?

It was an easy question to ask, and an even harder one to answer. Sans had known his dreams would be hard. But that didn't mean he enjoyed this reality.

And as the question cycled through, he continued through the barrage of tasks. The second year generals paper somehow completed itself. He found himself in his adviser's office, proposing a dissertation topic. He remembered her gaping back at him, jaw slack, and emphasizing, "It will either be groundbreaking research… or a bust."

Had the great Royal Scientist Doctor Gaster ever felt like this?

He felt subconscious of the name on his latest publication. C. S. Serif. A mimic of W. D. Gaster. Of his chosen subfield, Quantum Mechanics – a field in which Doctor Gaster had recently begun serious undertakings. The one, one, elective he had chosen – to finally learn sign language formally – in preparation of a career he might never begin, let alone develop. The crushing weight of dissertation responsibilities overwhelmed.

It was easy to lose sight of himself in this world.

Somehow something always renewed him. He continued through the academic onslaught, this academic hell, with last-minute renewed vigors fueling him. A compliment from his adviser buoyed him to read another five papers that week on his self-chosen research pursuits. An ambitious student expressed interest in Sans' ideas. And even once the Royal Scientist himself deigned to present at the university.

He and one other researcher from the New Home Royal Laboratory Branch stepped into the lecture hall with a sense of collected familiarity. Sans had heard the name of the other presenter, too, an esteemed elderly physicist called Doctor Donus, yet his eyesockets could not peel away from the Royal Scientist – his hero here in life. Doctor Wings Dings Gaster, stoic as he appeared in the tapes, glanced up unconcernedly, with almost disinterest, toward the gathering student crowd, while at the same time adjusted a neat black tie hanging from his neck. Despite his tall height, Gaster almost appeared… smaller… than expected – perhaps because of his spindly skeletal width. But the intelligent, calculating expression in his eyesockets; the steady gaze behind the glasses; the confident, straight-backed poise; the smooth swoop of his hands as he signed: it was all for which had Sans had hoped, and more.

The slides from the lecture passed too quickly. Too soon did Gaser and his interpreting colleague step away from the podium. The question-and-answer session from the crowd quickly lapsed into Gaster packing his supplies and heading, with a gracious and even nod, out of the building. Donus stayed longer for the reception, and at this period answered questions; Sans shuffled up to introduce himself, knowing any networking could be the difference between failed expectations and a goal achieved. At least externally, he could keep his nervousness in check.

"You want to work in the Royal Labs? That's quite an undertaking! What's your field of study?" "Sounds like quite the ambitious dissertation. Impressive." "Let's see… there's internships that occasionally pop up at the labs that recent graduates could take. It could happen? Keep your eyes open, you never know, son."

But an even more inspiring comment came later.

"Absolutely keep pursuing your goal. You could get it, right, maybe, son? I don't know anyone who hates the Royal Labs. Working under Gaster? It's a treat. It's a real treat. Don't let his passive glare make the wrong impression – he's the best Royal Scientist since I've been around, and not just because of his research. Great guy. You keep it up. Okay? Good meeting you – was it – Sans, was it?"

Back to the drone of everyday graduate student research – but he felt as though he were floating through clouds. Anything felt achievable. Leaving the underground. Working with Doctor W. D. Gaster. A realm of infinite possibilities opened.

And slowly. Slowly. Very slowly. The research developed. A grant from the royal family provided breathing room from teaching, allowing more time to squelch through variables and constants. One did not research an entire subfield of quantum physics for a dissertation, but a small subject, a tiny, tiny subject, which could be expanded in depth to infinite proportion. He had found his topic. Had found his element. Integrating unconventional uses of monster magic with the principles of quantum teleportation appeared promising… very… very… promising.

He could feel the same excitement soaring when he returned two years later from the interview. Sans could hardly care he had forgotten some simple signs. In his nervousness, he had barely even found enough presence of mind to fingerspell physics – it might have come out pysict – but the meeting's ending comments overrode any embarrassing errors he had made. He rushed home to his apartment, only to change into more comfortable clothing, and then rushed to the department offices to peal out the good news.

The secretary's landline was ringing when Sans stepped toward his adviser. It was hard not to trot, he felt so giddy. This was it. This was it. After nine years of striving for the impossible, he had made it. He had made it officially into the Royal Labs. Here was finally the moment of incredible news; nothing could spoil this moment.

The secretary's voice was mere white noise in the background as he tripped over the unbelievable news to his old professor. Only when he was tapped on the back of his shoulder did he turn around. The secretary was holding out the phone to him.

"Sans? Sans? They say you have to take the call now. They've been trying to contact you for an hour."

Who was "they" and what did they need from him?

"It's urgent."

He placed the receiver near the external acoustic meatus of his skull and listened to a voice he did not recognize. His eyesockets gutted to black.

The funeral was scheduled a week later.

[[File 7.3 GA-19991214]]

He shuffled at the doorway, adjusting his tie for at least the twelfth time. It was unlike him to fidget, yet the formal attire restricted his neck too much for comfort, and fiddling with it allowed him focus on something other than the impending end of the year evaluation. He would be surprised if that evaluation were any more pleasant than the collared shirt and slacks beneath his lab jacket. It would be worse. Sans dared not look inside the folder he held with his other hand, down at his side; it would need to be opened soon enough, and he would suffer with the contents then, those unpleasant sheets of paper. And so here he anxiously stood, on the other side of Doctor W. D. Gaster's thick blue office door, awaiting an ill-omened experience.

In the half-year since he had begun working in the Royal Laboratory New Home Facility, he had learned little of his supervisor, the highly esteemed Royal Scientist W. D. Gaster. He knew a few things, sure. He favored formality, signing precisely if fluently, and treated coworkers with professional dignity. He remained cool and collected. He received great respect and loyalty from his teams. He maintained a meticulously neat laboratory station and office, not a flask or paper out of place. He drank tea, not coffee. He liked turtlenecks. He left his office door opened a crack when he worked inside, allowing him to catch sight of any scientists who wished to step in and discuss something with him. Only for private meetings, or when he was out of office, did he shut the door completely.

Sans knew that mundane information, plus what the common populace knew of Doctor Gaster. He created the CORE, revolutionized energy throughout the underground. He was a genius. Best Royal Scientist in a century, some stated. Best Royal Scientist since the position had been instituted, others believed. Regardless, a remarkable man, if one rather closed off and difficult to comprehend. But even with his limited knowledge of Doctor Gaster, Sans suspected tonight he would receive the doctor's less pleasant side… however that would play out.

He could feel the manila folder burning at his side.

The door opened.

An elderly biologist – Dr. Albertus, Sans believed – waddled out the door with a wave to Gaster. The Royal Scientist himself had opened the door, and now stood there, peering at Sans from the other side of the door frame, evaluating the shorter skeleton head to toe. Sans stood there self-consciously for a moment before tucking his folder under his arms and signing, hesitantly, good afternoon. He realized after he had signed, he probably should have added a "sir" – yet even during his long tenure in academia, he had never been one to be formal, and that habit had never been established.

too late now, Sans though as Wings Dings Gaster turned aside and silently stepped back to his office desk. As always, only a few papers rested on its wood; the only items present now, resting dead center, was an opened file and its contents, several laboratory reports paper clipped together.

Sans tugged at his collar one more time before taking a seat across from Gaster. The tie wasn't tightening, was it?

His supervisor reached out a hand for Sans' folder and took it without comment. He opened it, added it to the papers already on his desk, and perused it calmly for a moment. Sans sought to read the expression beneath Gaster's rectangular glasses. Nothing. He could read nothing. Stoic passiveness, through and through, as always.

At last the Royal Scientist lifted up his neck and looked Sans eyesocket to eyesocket.

"How would you describe your first half year working with the Royal Laboratories?" Doctor Gaster finally inquired.

Though he had anticipated the question, even anticipated this would be the opening question, Sans still did not relish answering it. The response would be a half-truth, at best, not cocky, but certainly favoring the better sides of his half year than honestly looking at his mistakes. Not only was this the job position he had dreamed of for a decade, but he needed it. He needed it. He thought of the cramped apartment back home.

In broken sign, with more than a few finger-spelled words, Sans answered, "it's been a great learning experience. i feel like i've gotten settled in the labs. i should be able to keep building my skills for greater success. i think last project's… learning experience…" a euphemism for 'failure' "…could give me better ideas for…" What could he say? He restarted with a new sentence. "i can…"

Not rudely, but still with poise, Doctor Gaster held up his hand and signaled Sans to quit speaking. "You and I both know you are not pleased with your first months at the laboratory. I understand the professional tactic of speaking about mistakes as 'learning experiences' and focusing on the positive to save face, but there is no need for that delicacy here. We can continue henceforth with this evaluation meeting speaking bluntly about the specifics of your performance quality."

Sans spelled out two letters. "OK."

"You would agree, I think," said Gaster, glancing down again at the papers on his desk, "that you could have performed better and more consistently. Your reports demonstrate signs of being hastily written, marked in typos, sentence fragments, and a marked lack of capitalization. More concerning, the quality of work is substandard to laboratory measurements, with a lot of mathematical errors, miscalculations, and deficient literature reviews. Several experimental trials within your teams have been discarded due to preventable errors you committed. Little progress and headway has been made in your assigned areas, and while any research runs into rough patches that cannot be predicted, the lack of progress here moreso appears to come from lack of time spent working on the task. Are these all fair claims to make?"

Sans covered an eyesocket and rubbed at his forehead, forcing himself to inhale and exhale steadily. At last he rose his left hand, placed it into a fist, and bobbed it up and down at the wrist. "YES." As doleful of a list Gaster had presented, nothing had been presented unfairly. It was, by all accounts, a rather accurate summary of Sans' first half year as a government funded researcher.

He waited for the reprimand.

"I can nevertheless tell you are trying hard," said Gaster instead.

Sans, who had begun to slump, straightened in his seat. He frowned in surprise.

"I see you enter the laboratory tired every morning, and watch you leave long after most of the members on your team have turned off the lights of their stations. You're working significant overtime. I have spoken to your colleagues, and they share with me you seem stressed and burdened with more than occupational concerns." He paused for a moment to tap thoughtfully at his desk. He continued. "I have reason to suspect your mediocre performance is not based on any lack of integrity on your part; I know you are capable of much, having seen the work you produced at your university. That was exemplary. Groundbreaking, even. Your attention is divided, and there are other situations putting you behind on work."

Sans did not know how to respond. He found himself awkwardly bobbing his head, somewhat in a shake, somewhat in a nod. He did not quite know what he was doing.

Delicately, W. D. Gaster closed the folders and set them aside. He clasped his hands briefly together, stared out of the corner of his glasses in thought, and then said, "I hold much faith in your abilities, Sans. It is impossible for anyone, even the most determined of individuals, to pursue their work steadily with no mistake. All experience rough patches. As your supervisor, it is none of my professional business to know that with which you struggle. That said, if I know, perhaps I can assist you with accommodations to quicker help you back on your feet."

With wide eyesockets, Sans stared at the doctor. He had… he had not expected this. Of all the possible transpirings he had anticipated, this… definitely had not been one of them.

"i guess…" he answered slowly, "…i would like that."

"Shall we do it over tea and coffee?" The Royal Scientist was already standing, shucking off his laboratory coat, and replacing it with a long brown jacket.

"what about your other meetings?"

"I scheduled yours last in the day. If you remember, I insisted upon it, for precisely this anticipated reason."

Overwhelmed, embarrassed, but simultaneously touched, Sans signed, simply, "THANKS."

They headed out the laboratory doors together – or rather, Doctor Gaster strode on ahead, with Sans a few feet behind him – until at least Gaster lingered in the door, holding it open for Sans, and waiting for his colleague to catch up. They stepped together out into the cold, gray New Home cobbled streets, five story high buildings rising to either side of them, stores crammed next to apartment complexes squeezed between studios and offices. A sense of cold, drippy dampness blanketed the area – an almost constant weather, given the structure of the cave they lived in. Gaster calmly placed hands in pockets and strolled down the street in a clearly pre-planned direction, turned left at a block, and only at that point glanced back to ascertain Sans had followed him. On his shorter legs, Sans had trotted to keep up, but had indeed maintained pace with the doctor.

It seemed strange to find Doctor Gaster in an environment outside the laboratory floors, wearing something other than white, attending to other business besides physics and research journals. He remained stoic, still, and calm… though perhaps more personable than the neutral-faced skeleton reading p-values.

A small café hunkered beneath oversized gray eaves. Two worn, circular maroon-topped tables stood on either side of the restaurant entrance, which was itself painted in the same faded maroon. Gaster leaned into the door to open it, then gestured for Sans to step in first. Sans' black shoes clopped against black tiles indoors. "Tea or coffee?" Gaster asked.

It took him a moment to process Gaster had asked him a question. Sans had been too busy glancing around the interior, taking in the small dark gray front counter, the dainty round tables and chairs, black and white checkered floor, and the furry long-eared store owner attending to her apron. He hastily responded. "coffee. just plain black is not fine. wait." Sans shook his head. "you're not paying, are y…"

Yet W. D. Gaster had already sauntered up to the barista and written down his order, handing the sheet of paper to a monster who clearly recognized him. She nodded once before turning to her machines and preparing the drinks.

"This is, as far as I see it, a 'work meeting'," Gaster excused. "I cannot have employees paying for the provisions. Find us a table, preferably one near the windows."

Sans, increasingly flabbergasted, and trying to hide his surprise with a polite smile, turned away from his boss and headed toward the corner of the room. Yet another round maroon table greeted him there. He sat down on a chair, glanced over at Gaster, and waited. In his head, he rehearsed what he would need to say.

When Gaster sat down with the mugs, he was ready. Sans still felt awkward admitting this aloud to Doctor Gaster – of all individuals – yet at the same time, it would feel relieving to discuss why he had struggled in work of late. By explaining this, Sans could reestablish himself as a credible worker to the Royal Scientist, rather than an individual who had been lacking. In truth, even if Gaster had not so kindly offered… all of this… Sans might have tried to squeak in the excuse to make himself look better. But now, here, in this situation, he could finally end the cringing and poor excuses which had characterized his last six months.

"it's… i'm fine. basically, i'm not taking care of just myself. i've got to look after family."

"Son or daughter?"

Sans barked a short laugh at the thought, though he supposed he was more than old enough to be a father. Weird. He couldn't imagine it. "no. younger brother," he corrected. "we have… a bit of an age gap. fourteen years. so…"

"A teenager."

"thereabouts. twelve. so, anyway." Sans heaved out a large breath. "it's the two of us." It had only recently come down to just two of them, though Sans did not need to speak that candidly with Gaster.

The doctor looked into his cup of tea but did not drink from it. He nodded thoughtfully as he adjusted his glasses. "Your choices and actions are commendable," he told Sans. "I understand. Firsthand I know it is challenging work caring, in addition to oneself, dependents and family."

"you have kids…?" Sans trailed in shock. For some reason, he had not envisioned Gaster as a family man. Hurriedly, he corrected himself, "sorry. that was personal. my mistake."

"Two daughters and a son." He pulled out a photo from his wallet, for just a second, to show a smiling family. Well, maybe Gaster's expression did not constitute a smile. His jaw was no more a smile than normal, though perhaps his eyes seemed more relaxed and less reserved than he appeared in the workplace. Even with his family, it appeared he only knew one facial expression. Sort of cute. "But I don't do it alone. I can understand why you are distracted and tired when you come to the labs. You work yourself hard."

An off-handed wave. "i guess so."

"Certainly so. I propose a solution. Though a new employee to the Royal Laboratories, you have been designated a part of multiple ambitious projects. Quantity of work, however, falls second to quality. I will take you off two of your current teams and leave you with the most pertinent project. This should give you less strain keeping on top of the project, as well as give you more space at home after work hours to spend time with your brother. He's welcome in your work station, by the way, so long as he does not tamper or in any way… modify… the current research, or distract others at work. So, then, Doctor Serif, how do you find this plan?"

"you didn't have to do this for me." Sans found himself rubbing both hands on his forehead again.

"On the contrary, I find this very important," said Gaster. "The Royal Laboratories improve the lives of citizens throughout the underground, and the greatest projects even seek a means of breaking the barrier early. Our work is more than research. It is service. I want nothing more than to save every life in the underground. The least I can do is relieve some stress from a colleague.

"Work hard, Sans. Do not overexert. Do not worry about where this will head. You will do well. I have my suspicions you shall lead the way to one of the underground's greatest discoveries. But we'll do this together. It is always important to fight for each other."