The following day, Anton does not show up for work. Gaster watches silently as his remaining assistants talk amongst themselves, faces pinched with concern.
"He would have called if he wasn't feeling well." Saul says, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.
"Anton stayed late last night. I asked if he wanted to walk out with me, but he said he wanted to finish a few things up first." Em's voice lifts in hope. "Perhaps he stayed up too late last night and slept through his alarm?"
"I'll call him," Sans says decisively, punching in the cat monster's number to his phone. The call cuts straight to voicemail; Sans, dismayed, snaps his cell phone shut to the robotic tones of the answering machine. The three of them turn to Gaster, silently asking what they should do next.
"We'll mark today as a fluke." Gaster makes the call. "If he does not show tomorrow, someone will be sent to his house to investigate."
"Oh dead, oh dear, I do hope he's alright." Saul hugs himself, a self-comforting gesture.
Gaster turns to leave the room.
"Come now. There's still work to be done, with or without Anton."
"Guess the barrier won't shatter itself, huh?"
Sans falls into step beside Gaster, though he has to take two steps for every single stride of Gaster's long legs.
"So what are we doing today?"
Gaster glances down at his youngest assistant.
"You're going in today."
Sans stops short. Saul and Em, who were bringing up the rear, nearly bump into him.
"What?" Sans wants a confirmation, not willing to grow excited until he knows without a doubt that Gaster is promising him what he most wants.
"You heard me. It's your turn with the constructs today."
"Dr. Gaster!" Em gasps. "Please, reconsider."
But Gaster shakes his head.
"The king himself called me in for a meeting last week. To say he was disappointed at our lack of progress would be an understatement."
And oh, how it riles Gaster to be subject to King Asgore's whims. The king, a monster who constantly tries to instruct Gaster on the methods and timeframes by which experiments should be completed, though he himself has no knowledge of or appreciation for the intricacies of science.
"He wants results within the next few months, or he'll seriously consider pulling the plug on Project BOMB."
Even Sans doesn't crack a joke about how "Project BOMB" has "bombed". All of them have invested too much in trying to make this work to find failure humorous.
"We are left with little choice but our last option. Prepare yourself, Sans. This is your chance."
Sans says little as they navigate the halls of the lab, and Gaster does not speak either, leaving Sans to his mental preparations. They reach the storage room, where various cannons float in suspension. Sans looks around the room until he locates the same canine skull from that fateful afternoon.
Saul scuttles over to the computer, pressing a few keys to drain the fluid in the tube. The beast recovers from its stasis slowly enough that Gaster is able to cage it easily. His assistants follow as he tugs along the construct from its cell to the testing chamber.
Gaster sets the cage down in the room, but does not dispel the magic just yet. Sans' hands are clenched in trembling fists, sweat beading on the sides of his skull.
"Are you ready, Sans?"
The small skeleton manages a jerky nod.
Em flashes a pleading look at Gaster, tail flicking with agitation.
"Let one of us stay in the room with him, at least."
But Gaster denies her.
"We can't. It would disturb the results, as you very well know. Now come."
Saul gives Sans' shoulder a squeeze, Em gives him a reassuring nod, and they move with Gaster to the observation room. Gaster allows Sans a moment more to gather himself before he releases the cage.
Em and Saul all but have their faces pressed to the glass, watching raptly and ready to intervene on Sans' behalf at a moment's notice.
The massive canine skull flickers to life, its glowing eyelights pinning Sans down.
Sans straightens up, for what that extra two inches is worth.
"Come over here." Sans instructs, unable to keep the slight quiver from his voice. He wanted this, but it's one thing to desire something in the abstract, and another to actually have it.
The cannon growls lowly, but does start to drift slowly towards Sans.
"That's it, buddy, just like that. Nice and easy now…" Sans does not extend his hand out, as Anton had, not keen on the prospect of having to snatch it away from the beast's jaws.
Sans stands his ground, and the beast's growls morph into low warbling as it gets closer. Once it's but a few feet away from Sans, it glides gently to the floor. Jaws shut, pliant. A demonstration of obedience.
Even now, Sans doesn't dare take his eyes from the beast to glance in their direction.
"Seems like the big lug remembers me. Any, uh, suggestions on what to do next?"
Gaster presses the intercom speaker, hardly believing what he's seeing. To think, they've been stonewalled all these months, and because of what? Because the construct had already selected its master?
"See if it will obey you."
Sans stares at the construct, unsure.
"Um. Roll over?"
The beast grumbles, but obeys, flopping itself upside down.
"Go over to the corner of the room." Sans points. It ambles over. "Come back." It does.
Em summons targets on the far end of the room, away from Sans and the observation window.
"Tell it to shoot the targets!" She says, Saul helpfully pressing the intercom button for her.
Sans rocks back on the balls of his feet, gesturing for the beast to take it away.
"Go for it. Fire away."
But the beast, for once, does not listen.
"Hey, buddy. C'mon. Do a guy a favor and shoot the targets, won't you?"
But the beast's jaws remain clamped shut, no magic building inside it.
"Frighten it," Says Gaster. "Attack it until it's forced to retaliate."
Leashing the construct serves no purpose if it refuses to do what it was designed for.
"I'll do it, but, fair warning. There's not much to my magic."
Sans sends several bone attacks careening towards the construct. Those it doesn't dodge it snaps apart in its teeth. Sans launches a second wave, the pattern more intricate than the first. A few manage to brush against the beast, but they do damage so negligible they may as well have not hit. The construct rumbles happily, as if this is some game.
"Saul, go in."
Gaster's assistant snaps off his customary salute before entering the room with Sans. Saul gives the beast a lame little wave, tense and ready to call forth his own magic. The construct eyes him, but then flicks its gaze away, disinterested. A far cry from the raging beast that had once wrecked two rooms in the lab.
Saul separates himself from Sans and hurls his magic at the construct, trying to goad it into battle. Although Saul's magic does a bit more damage than Sans', it's like a raindrop trying to erode a mountain. Gaster had built the constructs as the ultimate forces of war: they all house immeasurable attacking power and defense. A monster's attacks won't have any real effect; they were built to withstand the might of a human if need be. Gaster had hoped their magic would be enough to irritate it into firing, but that does not seem to be the case.
Gaster turns to Em. "Help them switch out the construct. Let's see how far the others are willing to listen."
Failure.
Trials on every functioning construct are performed, but though most of them have latched on to Sans, none of them will launch attacks when it's requested of them. Gaster runs his assistants ragged, into the early hours of the morning (Sans is forced to step out momentarily to call a babysitter) before finally admitting defeat. Gaster sends them all home, generously giving them a few extra hours to sleep before being called back in.
Gaster himself doesn't leave, remaining behind in the lab to burn through the hours in between with his own research. His exhausted brain is unable to dredge up anything useful—the only correlation he can find between Sans and the constructs is their physical bodies. Gaster had designed the beasts to resemble skeletons for a handful of reasons; it was simpler to assemble, more intimidating than a simple cannon. Perhaps they incorrectly perceived Sans as one of their own. Then, there's the issue of their free will. They were carved out of the magic of several monsters for one sole purpose: destruction. And yet, when bidden, they refuse.
Gaster pulls older files, from back when the beasts were first given form. It had been a big ordeal, a large hullabaloo; guards, scientists, civilians, even the king himself, all donated to a large well of magic for the royal science team to pull from. For the first time in a very long time, monsters walked the streets with hope in their eyes. Together, united, they would overcome the humans' curse.
If Gaster could just figure out how to get the damned things to listen.
"I see you got far." Comes a wry voice from the doorway.
It's Sans, in the same rumpled clothes from yesterday. With one hand he smothers a yawn, the other clutching a paper bag. The scent of fresh donuts wafts through the room.
"You're here early." It's still an hour before the delayed call time. If anything, he expected Sans to arrive even later.
Sans shrugs. "Had to walk Pap to school anyway."
He shuffles across the room, offering the bag to Gaster. Despite his usual aversion to sweets, Gaster can't remember the last time he's eaten, so he picks a donut out of the bag, one that looks to have the least amount of sugar.
Sans picks up one of the sheets of paper scattered about, chewing obnoxiously on his own donut.
"Monster records? What are these for?"
"It's—"
"Oh, fuck." Suddenly, Sans is much more awake. "I almost forgot. Has Anton shown up yet? He wouldn't have known about the shifted schedule."
Gaster blinks, really selling the surprised expression on his face. "…I haven't seen him. I was rather distracted with all this."
"I'm going to check around. See if anyone's seen him."
Sans jogs out of the room, worry hurrying his pace.
Gaster sighs, and gathers the papers into some semblance of order. He'll have to go through all of this at a later date. He has everything neatly sorted when Sans reenters, slightly out of breath.
"I can't find him anywhere, and he still won't pick up when I call."
Gaster stands. "Perhaps a personal visit is in order."
He looks up Anton's home address, and the pair make their way to the cat monster's apartment in New Home. Sans shoots off messages to Em and Saul to inform them of what's going on.
Their walk to the apartment is punctuated by the occasional nervous chatter from Sans. No doubt the young monster's imagination is conjuring up all sorts of possibilities for Anton's abrupt disappearance. Gaster regrets that he did not snatch a few hours of sleep when he had the chance—the guard proceedings would be difficult and taxing enough even if he didn't have something to hide.
They ultimately reach the apartment. It's one of the sorts with a buzzer for each apartment. Sans jams on the button for 7F for a whole minute; nothing. They're let into the stairwell by a kindly monster on their way out, and they laboriously climb all the way up to the seventh floor.
Panting for breath, Sans beats on the door to Anton's apartment. When there's no response, he fishes out a hairpin from his shoe and starts to pick the lock.
"You know how to pick locks?" Gaster asks, knowing what the ability implies.
Sans gives away nothing, winking at him. "Just one of my many talents."
With a definitive click the door unlocks, and Sans pushes it open. Gaster upturns his nose at the rank stench of the place; takeout boxes with half-rotten food in them lay strewn about the place. Disgusted, Gaster opens the nearby window, letting the smell be filtered out by the open air.
Sans and Gaster search the entire apartment, but Anton is absent. Sans then rummages in the kitchen drawers until he finds an address book. Locating Anton's sister, he dials her number and waits for the call to connect.
Gaster, in the meanwhile, circles back around to Anton's desk. He appears to have brought his work home with him, his own theories on the constructs scrawled across the pages of a notebook. Gaster flicks through the pages, but cannot glean anything from them that he does not already know.
"Ivana? This is Sans. I'm, uh, a friend of Anton's. From work."
Chatter on the other end of the line.
"That's the thing—he didn't come into work today or yesterday. We were kind of hopin' he might be with you."
Another pause, Sans' face darkening by the second.
"I—I see. No, we'll do it. Take care of yourself."
Sans looks to Gaster.
"He's gone. Ivana doesn't know where he is, and neither do we."
Sans is shaken up by this. Gaster calls the royal guard himself to report the incident.
Not ready to get a slap on the wrist for breaking and entering, Gaster and Sans leave Anton's apartment and return to the lab. Sans fills Em and Saul in on what they found. The mood is heavy, and although Gaster is itching to get back to work on the construct problem, he has to give up on getting any work done today. His assistants huddle together, murmuring assurances to each other until she enters the room. They all instinctively straighten—she has that kind of commanding presence that demands discipline.
Flaming red hair, hard yellow eyes, pointed teeth that jut free from her mouth, tattered facial fins, polished black armor—this is Mira, captain of the royal guard. She had been a child when they were sealed underground. But training and hard work lead her to climb the ranks swiftly. Gaster has made a concerted effort to avoid her at every one of the king's parties that they've both been invited to. Her over-inflated sense of right and wrong does not mesh well with the sacrifices demanded for the advancement of real science.
"You're the science team Anton Belikov was working with?" She wastes no time with pleasantries.
"That's right." Em confirms.
Mira joins them at the table, sitting down heavily. Another guard shuffles into the room, holding a small spiral notebook and pen dexterously in his large claws. He's a dragon monster, with orange scales like unfurled flowers across his body.
"Name's Mira, and that there is my second-in-command, Snapdragon."
"Isn't it a bit much for the captain of the royal guard to investigate one monster's disappearance?" A common guard, Gaster could walk circles around. This woman, he isn't so sure.
"I don't believe you understand the full gravity of the situation," She says, stirring Gaster's ire with her patronizing tone. "The Underground is in a rut of stagnation and boredom. And now there's a high profile scientist who's missing, possibly dead—"
Saul gasps, and Mira has the decency to look apologetic.
"—My point is, the longer we let this drag on, the more the press, slavering for anything to report, is going to make both the royal guards and scientists look like fools. So the sooner we solve this case, the better for all of us. I know this city, I know how people think. If someone did something to this monster, I'll find out who." Her gaze flicks to Gaster. "Or would you rather I put someone less experienced on the job?"
"I was simply curious." Gaster all but bares his neck in submission.
"Snap and I are here now to get your initial statements. We want to know everything; who Anton is, who his friends are, when you last saw him. Also—"
Snapdragon pushes a form and pen towards Gaster.
"We need your permission to take the sifting prototypes from the lab and put them to use."
Gaster looks to Em, a touch embarrassed. Something was in development in his lab, and he, so wrapped up in his own work, had most likely blindly signed the approval paperwork months ago.
"It's a magical skimmer of sorts," Em explains. "It'll collect dust particles mixed into water. Too many monsters have gotten away with murder by disposing of the evidence." Em turns to Mira. "But you don't really think Anton is…dead…right?"
"We just want to make sure we're covering all our bases," Mira says, not unkindly. "Doctor, we need your signed permission to remove the prototypes."
Gaster picks up the pen and signs. There's little else he can do, really.
"Now," Says Mira, as Snapdragon tucks the signed form away. "Tell me everything."
Credit where credit is due—Captain Mira was mercilessly thorough, grilling the assembled scientists on anything and everything, Snapdragon dutifully taking it all down. Em was the last one of the group to see him; he was still at the lab when she went home for the night. Mira's next step is to requisition the tapes from the cameras for the front doorway; Gaster allows this. He had opportunity enough to sabotage the tapes, but did not see the point. Em could reliably confirm Anton left after her, and to mess with the tapes would only tip the guard off that someone within the lab had something to hide. No, it was better to seem innocent and let the guard sweep through without any trouble. If Gaster is especially fortunate, Anton has some jilted lover from years ago with a score to settle.
Admittedly, Gaster had not anticipated the existence of the sifters. And oh, how ironic it would be, for him to be undone by a tool created in his own lab! But so what if they manage to find Anton's dust within the river. So what? There's still nothing to link Gaster to the murder. Gaster burned Anton's cellphone and clothing the night of the crime, then gathered up the ash from his fireplace and dumped it in the magma. He effectively disposed of any evidence that proved Anton was around him.
Gaster has no known motive to kill Anton, and, best of all—he has a witness to cement his alibi at the time of the crime.
Said alibi sits before him on his bed, fidgeting. A week has passed by since the initial questioning, enough for any suspicion to slide off Gaster's back, enough for him to feel safe enough to pull this stunt. Gaster takes the day off from work, calling in to express his apologies, citing exhaustion. His assistants are understanding, Em even remarking that he needs to take more vacation days. Gaster also arranged for Papyrus to skip school, waving goodbye to his brother and then abandoning the school gates for Gaster's home.
Now his pretty prize sits uncomfortably atop Gaster's sheets, with nervous anticipation for whatever Gaster's about to do next.
"Oh, how I've missed you." Gaster sighs gustily into Papyrus' collarbone, delighting in how it makes him shiver.
Papyrus no longer resists his advances, the threats against his brother making him pliant. Gaster should have threatened Sans sooner.
Gaster licks at Papyrus' sensitive neck, a hand winding down to rub against his sacrum. The boy tries to be unhappy about this, but it's hard for him to focus on frowning under Gaster's assault. The lights in his eye sockets glaze over as he's consumed by the sensations.
Papyrus bucks against Gaster's hand, a slave to his desire. Gaster's gaze lingers hungrily on Papyrus' smooth, exposed collarbone—and he bites down, hard enough to draw marrow, which wells to the roof of his mouth. The simultaneous jolts of pain and pleasure must be overwhelming—the boy's soul pulses hard in his chest. Magic drips down from it shamelessly, soiling Gaster's hand. Papyrus shudders, staring up at him with want, and Gaster needs—he needs—
Gaster disentangles himself from Papyrus, pushing himself upright on the bed. Concentrating, he summons forth his own soul, a dark violet. It is already slightly sticky with his arousal. He holds it out.
"Take it."
"I—I shouldn't. I'm not supposed to…"
But Papyrus reaches forward regardless, limbs still quivering from stimulation. He squeezes too hard with his inexperienced grasp. Gaster can't help but moan loudly, and Papyrus releases his soul as if it burned him.
"Did that h-hurt? I don't—I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Get off the bed." Gaster rasps.
Papyrus obeys.
"On your knees."
Uneasily, Papyrus kneels on the plush carpet. Gaster guides his soul back into Papyrus' hands. If the boy were the vengeful type, he could try to crush the soul in his grip, inflict devastating pain upon Gaster. But it is precisely because he knows Papyrus would never do it that he trusts him with his soul.
"Rub it again, but gently." Gaster instructs.
Papyrus' thumbs glide across the soul, in a rhythm unsteady at first, that gradually grows more confidant.
"That's it, that's it. Keep that up."
Despite his coaxing, Papyrus' fingers falter as Gaster disrobes, his growing erection on full display.
"Keep going," Gaster growls. Papyrus hurries to obey, stroking the soul at a faster and rougher pace than before, to make up for the momentary lapse.
"Now, whatever you do," Gaster pushes Papyrus' mouth open, as wide as it will go. "Don't bite down."
Gripping the sides of Papyrus' skull with both hands, he slides his erection into Papyrus' mouth.
Papyrus gags before he's even halfway in, reflexively clenching Gaster's soul in his hand. The rush of direct pleasure to his soul makes Gaster thrust instinctively, forcing himself completely into Papyrus' mouth. Papyrus is crying now, but his soul still drips with desire. Gaster gets into a rhythm, sliding out until the tip of his erection is all that remains inside Papyrus' mouth, before sliding fully in again. Papyrus, moaning around Gaster's erection, presses the pulsating soul to his pelvis and bucks against it frantically.
"So good, Papyrus, you're so good—"
Gaster comes, semen splattering down Papyrus' mouth and ribs, his soul shooting out a gush of magic against Papyrus' pelvis. Papyrus swiftly follows after him, with a groan muffled by the erection still wedged inside his mouth.
Gaster slips out of him, and Papyrus collapses to the floor. Gaster reclaims his soul, pushing it back inside his chest, and sits back to admire his handiwork. Papyrus is coated from head to hips in mixed fluids, looking positively wrecked. He's incapable of coherent speech, murmuring half-formed phrases that are lost after leaving his mouth.
Gaster bends over him, peppering kisses on his skull.
"Wonderful, Papyrus. Wonderful. You did so well. You're so good."
He pauses his ministrations, glances at the clock hung on the wall. Minutes left until the stroke of eleven. They still have hours to go.
He'll permit Papyrus a few minutes to recover. His soul jumps eagerly in his chest, already anticipating the next round.
Gaster's day with Papyrus leaves him sated and content. He walks to work the following day with a bit of a spring in his step. The morning air of New Home is crisp, but his coat and brisk pace stave off the cold. He's forced to unbutton the coat as he nears the lab, Hotland's ever-present heat making him start to sweat.
His good mood evaporates as he reaches the front of the lab. Blocking the way to the entrance is a throng of news-hungry reporters, cameras already rolling. They catch sight of him and rush over, and suddenly Gaster has fifteen microphones shoved in his face.
"Dr. Gaster? What is your response to Anton's death? Were you two close?"
"Does this have something to do with Project BOMB?"
"Do the guard have any leads? What are your suspicions?"
On and on go the questions. Scowl on his face, Gaster forcibly pushes through the crowd.
"Get out of my way."
Still they cling and swarm, desperate for a crumb of information. The flash from cameras is nearly blinding. He's here to work, not deal with this.
Finally, he gets to the door. Gaster grasps the handle, but it won't budge. Locked. Cursing, he fumbles for his employee card. He's saved from having to locate it when the door opens the slightest of cracks, the receptionist peeking out at him. She opens the door just enough for Gaster to squeeze through and then slams it shut again, nearly squashing reporters' hands in the door jamb.
"Sorry, Dr. Gaster. I locked it as soon as the crowd started to gather, to keep them from disturbing anyone inside."
"You did well, Ms. Stanton." Gaster straightens his tousled attire. "But tell me—do you know why they all say Anton is dead?"
Stanton's face falls. "You didn't catch the news last night, did you, sir?"
He hadn't. After Papyrus was cleaned up and sent back home, Gaster spent the remainder of the day in a euphoric haze, before passing into a dreamless sleep.
Gaster bids farewell to the receptionist and lets himself into the longue area on his usual floor. Grabbing a remote, he turns on the television set, switching to the channel that shows reruns of yesterday's programming.
That insufferable captain stands before gathered monsters in a press conference.
"….from several sources." Mira is in the middle of an explanation. "We discovered dust from, as of now, sixteen different monsters, all reported missing. Anton Belikov was confirmed to be one of them."
The room erupts into questions. Mira calmly holds up her hand, and the ground gradually falls silent again.
"My best guards are out investigating the other murders, and I personally am handling the Belikov case. These criminals will be caught swiftly and face due justice. Our prayers are with the lost monsters' loved ones."
Mira leaves the conference, and the feed cuts back to the news anchor table.
"We have reached out to King Asgore for a comment, but he has declined at this point. We will keep you updated as—"
Gaster shuts off the television, having seen enough. Anton has been confirmed dead, faster than he expected. But it is no matter. The river is huge and well known; just about anyone could have dumped the ashes in the rushing water.
Determined to not let his nerves take a hold of him, Gaster brews a pot of coffee and gets to work. He was hoping the files of the monsters who donated magic might give him some insight into the constructs' mentalities, but he hasn't been met with much success.
Em, Saul, and Sans slowly file in, expressions downcast.
"I see you've all heard the news."
"I had my suspicions, but I never thought…" Em shakes her head. "It just doesn't seem real, somehow."
"I just don't understand why." Sans says, sounding heartbroken and frustrated. "He never seemed like the type to make enemies. So why would he be killed?"
"That's what I'd like to find out."
They turn to find Mira in the doorway, some papers tucked under her arm.
"Captain Mira," Gaster greets her, trying his best to mask his agitation with her presence.
Mira grunts at him and slaps down five binder-clipped stacks of paper on the table.
"These are summons for all of you to attend a formal questioning tomorrow, along with copies of your rights."
"Haven't we already told you everything you know?"
Mira glowers at Gaster, yellow eyes flashing. "Perhaps the formality of the meeting will help jog your memory for any additional details."
The captain breaks eye contact with Gaster to lock in on Sans.
"Sans, was it?"
"That's my name, don't wear it out."
Mira picks two stacks from the pile and holds them out to the small skeleton.
"You'll have to bring your brother along with you tomorrow."
Sans' grin grows strained. "Excuse me?"
"Aside from the sister and her family, the four of you were the ones he had the most contact with. If anyone was responsible for this, one of you knows something about it. Maybe one of you even did it."
"That's outrageous!" Saul jumps up, hands balling into fists. "We would never hurt him."
"Papyrus is too young for something like this," Sans says, voice like steel. "You have no right to drag him into it."
"If his story matches up with Gaster here, that's all well and good. But if it does not, and Gaster stepped out for a minute or two just to "grab something"—Papyrus would know."
"I do not appreciate what you are implying, captain." Gaster says, coolly.
Mira snorts. "I don't give a rat's ass what you appreciate. But if any of you don't show up tomorrow, I will not hesitate to drag you, physically and publically, to the guard station. Anyone else have anything to say?"
The room is silent.
"Read your rights. I'll be seeing you all tomorrow."
Mira stomps from the room.
"I can't believe her nerve!" Saul sits back in his chair with a huff. "What a rude person—to insinuate that you, Dr. Gaster, of all people—!"
"I'm sure she's under tremendous pressure to find a culprit," Em cuts in. "Still, the way she spoke to all of us was highly uncalled for."
Em drapes her tail around Sans' shoulder, her version of a one-armed hug. Sans has crinkled the corner of the summons in his fist.
"Papyrus will be fine. It'll just be a few questions."
"That better be all it is. Or they'll have me to answer to." Sans vows.
The following morning finds Gaster in a waiting room at the guard station. Em is the first one brought in for questioning, leaving the rest of them waiting. On Gaster's right sits Saul, tapping away at a game on his phone to take his mind off of the stressful situation. On his left is Sans, Papyrus at his side. The boy has brought a book of difficult Sudoku puzzles along, but he can't seem to focus properly to solve them, spending more time erasing mistakes than writing correct numbers.
A camera is positioned in a top corner of the room, recording their every word and movement. Even if Gaster wanted to take Papyrus aside, he couldn't. Nevertheless, Gaster is sure of his conditioning. He went over the alibi with Papyrus until he could recite it by heart, and the ever-present threat against his brother is sure to guarantee his silence.
On the other side of the room sit Ivana and her family. Ivana wears a hand-knitted sweater, of similar make to those Anton used to wear. Her daughter's head is pillowed in her lap, and Ivana scratches the top of her head soothingly. Her husband eyes the lot of them distrustfully. Evidently he was buying into the tales the media has been spinning about the scientists.
After Em, Ivana's family is called in one by one. Em sticks around for moral support, teaming up with Saul to engage Papyrus in conversation and out of his shell.
After the cat family is sent out, Saul is called in. Then Sans. All three scientists promise to watch over Papyrus in the meantime. Sans pats his brother on the skull and steps inside. His session with the guard lasts nearly as long as Em's and Saul's combined, but eventually he emerges from the room. Snapdragon steps out with him, staring down impassively at a clipboard.
"Dr. Gaster."
All eyes are on Gaster as he fluidly stands, making his way over. Snapdragon leads him down the hall to a room empty save for Mira, a table, and three chairs.
Snapdragon reclaims his seat by the captain's side, leaving Gaster to take the chair directly under the lamp, a classic gambit to make a suspect uncomfortable. Gaster merely rolls up his sleeves.
"Wingdings Gaster. Born above surface, migrated down when the barrier was sealed. One of the last of your species. Never married. Didn't want to further the line?"
"I had more on my mind than begetting children."
"Yes, yes," Mira says, unimpressed, as she scans his file. "Dr. Gaster, the great savior of the Underground, who harnessed the Core's power to give us all the electricity we use to light our homes." She looks up from her notes. "You know, I donated to Project BOMB myself. I gave so much magic that day, I passed out."
"Are you expecting a medal?"
"It must really rile you," Mira barrels on. "You've been on top for so long, and now you're scrambling to make this next project work."
Mira leans over the table, glaring him down. Gaster stares up defiantly into those yellow eyes.
"Anton Belikov stayed late that night to do further research. He discovered something, and couldn't wait until tomorrow. So he rushes to your house to tell you his findings. Maybe he found the solution that you were so desperately searching for. Or maybe he had an altogether different plan for shattering the barrier. Either way, you couldn't take it. Who was he, your lowly assistant, to succeed where you failed? To steal the credit that you deserved?"
If she's expecting an angry outburst, she won't get one. Gaster folds his hands calmly on the table.
"All of this is speculation. Anton was an exceptional employee, and I am deeply sorry he's no longer with us."
Mira sinks back down into her chair.
"Are you sure he was actually killed?" Gaster continues.
"Dust doesn't lie."
"No, I mean—Anton was an amiable monster, but it was always clear to me there was something beneath the surface. Perhaps he was stressed and unhappy, and decided to, well…take matters into his own hands."
"And what?" Mira arches one red eyebrow. "His dust magically got dumped into the river?"
"It could have blown in."
"You don't seem to know Anton as well as the others seem to." Mira steers the conversation back to where she wants it.
"It is true that I was not as close to Anton as the others were, but I was somewhat distant to all three of them. My position as their boss created an insurmountable gap."
"Except for Sans." Snapdragon taps his pen against his teeth, thoughtfully. "You seem to show an interest in him and his brother."
"Yes, tell us, Gaster." Mira is on the attack again. "How would you describe your relationship with Sans and Papyrus?"
This is the real moment of truth. Gaster takes a deep breath.
"To be perfectly frank with you, Sans can be something of a little shit at work. He distracts the staff with pranks and puns—endless puns. But, he has drive and ambition, and the talent to back them up. Despite the grief he gives me, I hired him for good reason."
"And Papyrus?" Mira prompts.
"I've told Sans before what I'm telling you now. I haven't pried too far, but it's clear Sans is the only "adult" in the picture for Papyrus. I suppose I see myself as a surrogate parental figure for the boy."
"And the gifts?"
"What parent wouldn't want to see their child properly clothed and fed?"
Mira and Snapdragon continue to barrage him with questions—even insinuating, at one point, that Gaster and Sans were engaged in an affair, to Gaster's amusement—but no matter how they poke and prod they can't get around his impeccable poker face and perfect responses. It's with great frustration and reluctance that Mira dismisses him, and Gaster walks back with Snapdragon to the waiting room.
"Papyrus." The royal guard summons. Sans leads his younger brother to the door, but Snapdragon bars the way.
"Only Papyrus."
"Why can't I go in with him?" Sans challenges. Papyrus grips the hem of his shirt, twisting it anxiously, wide eyes darting between Sans and Snapdragon.
"We want him to feel safe enough to speak freely."
"He's safe with me—he tells me everything!"
"Sans." Gaster puts a hand on the skeleton's shoulder. "It will go all the more faster if you simply cooperate."
Biting back a frustrated sigh, Sans crouches down in front of Papyrus.
"Look, bro. You've done nothing wrong and won't get in trouble. Just tell the guards the truth, alright?"
Papyrus nods. Sans leans in and gives his brother a quick hug.
"I'll be waiting right here for you when you're done, okay?" Sans promises.
"Okay," Papyrus says, meekly.
Sans backs off, and Snapdragon leads Papyrus back to the interrogation room.
"Sit and calm yourself." Gaster steers Sans back into one of the plastic chairs. He only notices now that they're alone in the room. "Where have Em and Saul gone?"
"I told 'em to go home." Sans says, his weariness palpable. "Not much else for them to do here."
Gaster takes a seat beside Sans.
"I will remain with you until Papyrus returns."
"Aw, doc. You don't have to."
"I don't mind. I imagine this is hard for you."
And he needs to know what Papyrus says to them. If he tells the truth—the real truth—Mira will charge into the waiting area, magic drawn. Gaster is sure he'd be able to evade her long enough to get away. But if Gaster wasn't here, it would give the hot-headed captain time to cool down, to carefully plan out his capture. Given that, she might succeed.
Sans clears his throat, awkwardly.
"Listen, doc. I don't mean any offense, but…I think it'd be best if Papyrus stopped coming to your place for language lessons."
"I understand—"
"I'm not accusing you of anything, really! I just think—"
"Sans, it's alright. Truly. I'm not offended." Besides, with Papyrus skipping class now and again, Gaster has been managing to get his fix in other ways for some time now.
"I just want to keep him close, until this all blows over. The media crowd has been nice enough to leave him alone for now, but still."
"I have taught Papyrus several memorization techniques. He should be fine."
Sans tips back in his chair, balancing his body weight by its back two legs alone.
"This is crazy, isn't it? I hope they find whoever did this soon."
"With someone like her on the case, I'm sure they will."
That manages to get a short chuckle out of Sans.
After an agonizing wait for the two of them, Papyrus returns with Snapdragon in tow.
"How'd it go?" Sans takes Papyrus' hand.
"Fine." Papyrus says.
"They didn't give you a hard time, did they?"
Papyrus shakes his head. "They were really nice."
"You're all set for today," Snapdragon says. "If we need anything else, we'll be in touch."
Sans looks down at his brother.
"How does ice cream for lunch sound?"
"Sans!" Papyrus scolds him, though without the usual heat. "That's unhealthy!"
"A milkshake, then." Sans leads his brother to the door, Gaster trailing behind the pair. "There's milk in it. Calcium. For strong bones."
"I suppose a milkshake is acceptable."
As they're about to walk out the door, Papyrus glances back at Gaster, and gives him the smallest of nods.
It's several days before Gaster feels secure enough to meet with Papyrus again. The frenzied media started to follow him back to his house. Gaster complained to the guard—he's a monster that requires peace and quiet to work—and the guard issued a mandate that the press can only hound him in New Home proper and around the entrance to the lab.
A few daring reporters ignored the warning, tromping onto Gaster's private property in the hopes of snapping an exclusive picture. Gaster was brought to the point where he was forced to weave a perimeter spell around the borders of his property. Now, the first steps into his turf by an unauthorized monster will inflict them with frostbite; continuing further will freeze them solid. The reporters got the hint and stopped showing up, glaring sullen daggers at him each day as he enters the lab.
Once his perimeter is firmly established, he arranges for Papyrus to meet him.
"Did anyone see you?" Gaster asks, as he lets Papyrus in.
"No. I took the path through the woods, like you said."
Gaster kneels down and kisses the side of Papyrus' skull, fingers reverently stroking the boy's mandible. The first of many rewards he intends to bestow upon Papyrus today.
"Dr. Gaster? There's—There's something I want to say."
"Go on then."
Papyrus fidgets, gathering his courage. Then, he blurts:
"I think we should stop this. I won't tell anyone. Not Sans, not Captain Mira, no one. I promise."
Gaster sighs. "And to think, today I was going to reward you for your good behavior at the guard station."
"I don't want to do this any more. I just don't!"
Gaster idly traces the contours of Papyrus' skull with his long fingers.
"You surprise me, Papyrus, with your utter selfishness."
Papyrus is taken aback, face crinkling with hurt. "W-What?"
"No wonder they never want to play with you on the school ground. No wonder they all hate you. You never think of anyone besides yourself."
"That's n-not true! I—"
"Who do you care about? Truly? Who would you place above yourself? Sans? You don't really love him, not for who he is. He's a slob that leaves messes everywhere and drives you up the wall with bad humor that he never knows when to turn off. But he clothes and shelters you, he entertains you."
"Stop it!" Papyrus shrieks. "That's not—I'm not—"
"Sans does so much for you, but when you need to do this one thing to protect him, you refuse. I have given you so much, more than you could ever imagine, and still you deny me."
Gaster takes Papyrus by the wrist, leading him to the bedroom.
"But I will show you how wrong you are. How good this can be."
He pushes Papyrus onto the bed, but does not climb on top of him as he usually does.
"Disrobe," Gaster orders. With trembling hands, the boy starts to strip.
Gaster rummages through his closet until he locates the dress. He carefully unwraps his beloved's dress, and brings it out into the open for Papyrus to see. The boy has stripped down to nothing, knees tight to his chest for some modicum of modesty.
"Put this on."
Gaster looks away while Papyrus dresses, wanting the sight to be a surprise. The fabric shifts, the bed creaks. Gaster waits.
"I-I'm done." Papyrus whispers out.
Gaster turns, and the sight takes his breath away. The blue silk and purple trim look beautiful against the alabaster of Papyrus' bones.
The dress is a little too large for him, the shoulder straps slipping down his arms. Papyrus struggles to tug the fabric up, to hide his semi-bared chest, but that just lifts the bottom of the dress higher, teasing Gaster with a glimpse of his femurs.
Gaster closes the distance between them in an instant, licking and sucking at Papyrus' bared collarbone. Papyrus squeaks as Gaster reaches under the dress, up through his ribcage, to pull out Papyrus' soul.
"No! Don't touch—ahnnn."
Gaster takes Papyrus' soul into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue. The heat of Gaster's mouth and the stimulation from his tongue leave Papyrus moaning for more.
Gaster removes the soul from his mouth, holding it in one hand, stroking it firmly. With his free hand, Gaster lifts the bottom frills of the dress, exposing Papyrus' squirming pelvis. Gaster drags his tongue across Papyrus' ilium. The musty scent of the dress mixes delightfully with Papyrus' scent and arousal.
"Oh, mmm, yes, that's—ahn—nice…"
Papyrus falls apart under his touch. While his tongue explores the contours of Papyrus' pelvis, he also starts to focus some magic into the palm which holds Papyrus' soul.
Part of the reason soul protection is so emphasized in schools is still unknown to Papyrus, taught at a much older age. The soul is the raw, sensitive essence of a monster's being. Someone in possession of another monster's soul can inflict pain and pleasure—but also, ideas. A monster can exert thoughts and emotions onto vulnerable, open souls such as a child's, such as Papyrus'. Gripping Papyrus' soul tightly in his fist, he infuses it with the need to submit, the desire to serve, a bottomless lust to worship another. It won't be enough to radically flip Papyrus' personality, but now, lurking within his subconscious, will be the urge to be dominated and possessed by another.
Papyrus cries out as he's brought to a shuddering climax. He gazes dully up at Gaster, face flushed.
"Do you see now, Papyrus?" Gaster murmurs against the dripping texture of his soul. "This is what you were made for."