(AUTHOR DISCLAIMER: This is a story about, primarily, gaster- Namely his efforts to escape the void and reunite with his sons. Though there are many viewpoints throughout this story, (and by that I mean a lot of sans, the riverperson, alphys and a few others) if you don't know who gaster is, you can't read this. there's AU crossovers and timeline shenanigans, including multiple references to AFAC (ask frisk and company) and AMWSH (ask the man who speaks in hands), so if you're new to the fandom this might not be the best place to start. Also; this is a long fic. There are things said in the beginning that you don't need to understand right away. Just know: SOME CHAPTERS ARE VERY OLD/POORLY WRITTEN AND I'M WORKING TO UPDATE THEM. Leave me alone please. I'm new here.)

(P.S: it also gets super gay later on, so.)

CHAPTER ONE: something is coming

INTRODUCTION:

Are you there?

Are we connected?

Oh…well, in that case, Hello. I suppose you wish for the story to begin, correct?

Well, I'm not sure what else I would have expected…

I am sure you will find this tale,

Very,

Very,

Interesting.

But, I'm sure you know the basics by now, don't you?

A human falls.

And the kingdom of Monsters, for better or for worse, is never the same.

Dust or sunlight, the choice of a single child…

But that, is not where we begin. No, this story begins far away from the bed of golden flowers where child after child has fallen far below, time and time again. No, no…this time, in this story's start, there are only five souls in the king's hall, glowing dimly in their cases of metal and glass trapped within golden walls. But there is still a long, long story to be told, I assure you.

After all, this is my job, telling the stories of monsters and humans, of freedom and pain, of darkness and light… the stories that usually belong only to cutting shadows and deeper darkness.

Hmm…

Are you ready?

.

.

In this story's beginning, there is only…Silence.

Deadly and choking, Suffocating, It wraps around his soul like an iron vice, as he drifts in an infinite nothing…an infinite empty darkness, a void where both matter and magic are consumed. Two disembodied skeletal hands tremble in the darkness, spasming at the jolts of energy that come from the lost monster's soul- the silvery soul that drifts, unconscious, melting into the black, bit by bit…

…Literally.

As in, literally melting. For, this mangled monster is indeed melting like an old candle- Not far below his torso, his body- mangled and shattered as it is- dissolves right into the nothing that surrounds him, his stark white skull and neck the only real sign of his existence at all in the infinite void that he is trapped in. Apart from those famous hands of his of course, with their characteristic holes- but he has no need for them now, not here.

After all, there is nothing to touch.

Nothing at all.

And if he doesn't wake, if his soul doesn't pulse, if he doesn't take a breath soon…well, he never will.

Not that he's been here very long- only a few days- But this place was not meant for living things. The darkness devours anything that it touches, and currently, he is submerged in it. if this half-dead monster doesn't wake up soon, even those few traces left of who he once was might disappear into the blackness that waits to devour him.

…As if he hasn't suffered enough, even outside this void. he's been cast out by reality, rejected by life, half destroyed by darkness - he is half dead, half ending, half suffering and soon, only half sane. he fell into his own greatest creation, The first and only marvel of the underground- the core itself, generator of his whole world. he used its magnificent power to puncture time, rip at space, hoping that this rift would be a doorway to the sun. But what was meant to be a doorway to light and freedom, split and spread into a gaping jaw that tore at reality itself, timelines breaking and screaming while everything split apart. Beyond that, there is only fire, pain, a screaming face and a desperate hand reaching for him-

and he fell.

Down,

Down,

Down,

Into darkness, and imprisonment. A writhing mass of timelines, magic, and pain swallowed him, tore him apart until he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, everything was pain as his soul cracked and splintered and…and then, he really should have died, by any law of nature. But, by some merciful- or cruel- twist of fate, he did not. Why didn't he? Nobody really knows for sure, not even you. Sure, there are theories, but this timeline, the timeline he is distantly connected to by the few scraps that remain- It is new. This story, with barely a name, is twisted beyond the usual script that dictates most worlds. Distorted beyond the usual song and dance of how things should be, the script twisted in a truer, or lesser, change. Or rather the script was torn completely to shreds. Torn by a timeless being, only known by distant maniacal laughter…But they aren't very important.

Because, as his soul pulses weakly, the timeline suddenly settles quietly back into place. His existence erased and script torn into paper mache, it begins to flow unsteadily down its altered path once again, the clock ticking without him as a son begins to grieve his loss. Then, the damage of what he has done finally echoing to him, two sickening sounds rupture the eternal silence for the very first time, bringing the first painful blows of many to come as everything he's ever loved forgets him.

-CRACK-

There is only silence, the pain prompting barely a twitch from the shattered, battered, torn monster that floats unconscious in the infinite nothing, the damage barely worth a wince to him, lowering his HP by a measly ten.

1990/2000HP

There is silence.

-CRACK!-

This blow manages to shock the shattered monster awake, the noise and pain piercing his skull like an arrow of harsh reality as his HP drops, and drops further, crashing nearer and nearer to one as his soul tries desperately to pull itself back together-

0.001/2000HP

He gasps for air, and drifts, half conscious, for a long while, his soul struggling to operate in the crushing darkness. slowly, his senses start to awake from his near-fatal sleep, flickering on as his soul glitches and fazes into a slow rhythm, settling into something resembling stability as his hands twitch- searching for texture or touch in the darkness. but as his senses flicker on, they find there is almost nothing but pain to sense. nothing but pain and darkness… Photon readings negative, as he would probably phrase it. His soul shudders, confused- not meant to exist in the endless sensory nothing surrounding him as he drifts through the black.

He's only barely alive.

Suddenly, with a pulse from his flickering soul, his cracked eye sockets surge with magic- But as sight returns to him, he finds only nothing, and I mean nothing to see. his eye sockets grow wide, soul pounding in his dark and melted excuse for a chest with confusion- then, as the pain and panic hit, another sound shatters the silence. a terrible sound of suffering cracking the silence of the void. Because it's not just pain that races across whatever he has left of a body, but agony. And it's not panic that fills every corner of his mind, but primal terror.

He's already begun to crack.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-'

Control returning to him, he reflexively curls inwards, gasping heavily between his screams and shuddering raggedly, pain running wild through whatever is left of his mangled body, an indescribable sensation of fear filling him as his soul strains with the effort of living, the effort of remaining at all- After all, it's a great feat to 'live' after being torn asunder from all reality by the magical equivalent of a nuke fired at the speed of light into dynamite.

'HHhhHHHhh…hhhhh…hhh…'

His hands suddenly shoot back to him as if magnetized, spinning through the darkness around him as he gasps in confusion and pain, suddenly regaining control of his hands and clutching his skull in panic, running shaking fingers over the harsh crack that forces one of his eye sockets into an unseeing crescent, his unharmed eyelight a needle prick of white as his mind stutters and sputters like an old engine, his thoughts racing and winding and spinning like sparrows as he shakes with terror, shuddering as his soul pulses weakly-

he does not understand.

He does not understand.

He does not understand.

Then, his shaking fingers find a second crack, still splintered and fresh, dust floating from it into the black. And this one properly hurts. It's fresh and real and agonizing, waking the rest of whatever's left- after all, even a nudge will make a broken leg burn. Raggedly he gasps in shock, the agonizing sensation shooting through him in a bolt of white-hot pain and following the crack that's pulsing with agony where it flows down his jaw like a stream of tears, sending the shockwaves of renewed pain farther and farther as he gasps for air that is not there, his teeth clenching together as his mind runs wild with every instinct screaming-

He stays there, shaking, his mind filled with primal terror as he drifts in the nothing. After all, every instinct is screaming at him that everything is wrong, everything is falling apart, even as his senses splutter and flail and his mind flails even less productively.

You humans are not made for total sensory deprivation, monsters even less so.

For a long time he simply…shudders there, every instinct telling him that he is in indescribable danger, screaming at him as he shakes, eye sockets screwed up against the darkness he can't explain, his mind whirling. But nothing, not even nothing, lasts forever. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pain slowly relents. It fades to a throb, and his instincts begin to settle, still blaring- but his mind has gotten a chance to catch up with him, whirring as it always has and somehow grasping that considering he's not dead yet, his instincts might be incorrect.

To be honest, the realization that not even his instincts are reliable anymore doesn't help him much.

…eventually, and with excruciating slowness, the mangled scientist tries to pull himself together with any last bit of composure he has left- shaking and gasping in pain and confusion, pin-prick eyelights flicking around the nothing with panic etched into his now cracked skull. Slowly, the melted skeletal monster uncurls, terror written over his now scarred skull as his pinprick eyelights dart around the nothingness, jaw opening to scream into the deadly silence as soon as he is sure the pain is gone- as soon as he can scream, his jaw refusing to move at first, but when it unsticks with a click-

? ? ?￢ﾘﾟ ✌? ✋✍✏ ?￢ﾜﾏ ✌ ✡ ? ✌ ✡ ?￢ﾘﾹ ✌?￢ﾘﾜ?￢ﾜﾏ

But he chokes on the hissing words, which would sound to you as a scream of tv static, but to him is only his own voice. But his voice doesn't help. It only hurts his jaw further, and is swallowed into the darkness with no echo, nothing…Something is very wrong.

Very,

Very,

Wrong.

Why is he here? What happened? Where is he, and when- no how did he get here, what has happened to lab, what happened to-

To the…

And, as he drifts in the endless nothing, he remembers.

Oh god he remembers.

He remembers and remembers and he tries to to stop, but the memories overwhelm him as he remembers everything, whatever's left of his composure dissolving, the tortured skeleton crumpling into a screaming ball of darkness as he remembers-

FALLING.

He remembers reaching for a walkway swallowed by the bloodied flames of the universe torn asunder, he remembers a hand reaching for him, he remembers the face- the terrified face of his son, his son he- he remembers the roaring, the death throes of reason and reality alike, a terrible writhing mass of timelines and blood and broken worlds and screaming and pa-

He remembers the pain.

He remembers he remembers he remembers he remembers

He keeps screaming, louder and louder till they are no longer screams but screeches of primal terror, his mind not knowing what else to do, his instincts starting to blare and scream into the void along with him as he coils further inwards, his entire mangled body shaking with terror and fear and- He stays that way, his mind screaming, his instincts blaring, until finally he stops himself. some last piece of sanity dragging him away from the mental spiral as he shudders in the darkness. He cant… he cant afford to lose himself, he needs to pull himself together and find out where under the earth he is. b-because he has to be somewhere, doesn't he? He needs answers. He needs to stay calm. He needs to stay alive. He is a scientist, after all, so he must conduct a test, some sort of experiment to find out where he is, something…

Address his questions.

He has so many questions.

He drifts for a long moment, sorting out the mess of thoughts in his head as he shakes in pain and fear, before finally settling on a theory, shoving his terror aside in the way scientists must, In the only way he can to keep a hold his shaking sanity.

I…I must find out where I am. What is happening, what sort of place I am in, any information- anything, anything would be of help…The only tool I have at my disposal is my voice- …or perhaps my hands.

He can feel them shaking.

Voice. I can call for help. I just…I need… I need help, I need anything, I just need to see something- there has to be something, right? Am I blind? No, no i can't be, I have to get back, I have to find sans and papyrus, I have to get back, back to them, they need me- but- but there has to be something, there can't be only nothing- no, calm, calm down…don't think about it. Just, don't think about it…Focus. Even…even if nobody comes, then I will at least know which of two options is correct, right?

Right…

Come on you old fool, pull yourself together! i have to find a way out…Because there is a way out, right…? Of course there is a way out, that is ridiculous….right, right. One of two options, stay focused…If I am in a cavern, and am simply numb…somehow, then my voice will echo or at least bounce back to me. Echolocation. I know about echolocation. If i am in some sort of substance, or-

His tedious internal rambling cuts off as he shudders, a flash of remembered pain running through him as he begins to coil in again- His own body plunging into the core, a soup of magic and magma and the blood of the universe tearing him to shreds-

I WILL NOT THINK ABOUT THAT

He screams inside his head, forcing his own mind to return to a logical path, shuddering with pain both present and remembered as he internally continues his frantic theorising.

…a-and if I am in a substance, my voice will cause visible distortions…skeletons do not need to breathe.

I'll be okay.

I'll be okay.

This thought calms him a little, his mind clinging to the flimsy three word lie with a desperate intensity, trying to believe that yes, it will all be okay, he'll be fine, one day he'll laugh about all this over a cup of coffee... He cautiously opens his mouth to speak, shaking with suppressed terror, shouting as loud as he can into the darkness and watching intently with pitiful desperation. There has to be something.

Something.

But no.

Nothing is echoed back at him, as if his voice of static and click is swallowed by the darkness, and though he stiffens to the point of shaking, he can feel no vibration or see anything in the endless and all-consuming nothing, the darkness whole and unbroken. His momentary calm is starting to waver. And it wasn't very stable in the first place.

I… I don't understand. This…this is impossible- I can feel no ground underneath me, and the sound did not bounce… so I must be in liquid of some sort, so why…

Why? Why am I here? Where is here?

What happened to me?!

I can't have- no, if I had, I wouldn't be alive, so…

…I can't have…fallen…

Right…?

His mind buckles.

Then, breaks.

memories flood through his feeble barriers of logic, incomprehensible as the logical part of his mind draws an impossible conclusion, one which he cannot ignore for any longer. He can't stop himself. He cant-

I should be dead.

Doctor Gaster, royal scientist of all monsterkind and father of two, dying outside time, begins to shudder.

…I probably already am.

And that's when he begins to crack.

Trembling in fear, panic, anger, pain… the list goes on, but nevertheless, his panicked soul summons four of his characteristic hands with a crackle of magic and shoots them out in wild different directions into the darkness, fingers clawed in a desperate instinctual attempt to try and feel something, anything, anywhere, because there just has to be- There must be something. He has to be somewhere-

Nothing.

Soon, he almost loses the feeling of them, the connection flickering and shuddering until he dismisses them with a CRACK of magical energy, panic rising once again in his mind, terror pulsing through his broken soul. And, when he notices his remaining hands have no arms attached to them, the white shapes drifting aimlessly before him in the darkness…

'AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-'

He snaps.

His mind in a death spiral, the glitched skeleton spins and pivots, twisting and turning, trying to see himself in a state of furious panic- only to find… well, not much. A pitch black mass of solid darkness is where his chest should be, clotting and melting around his panicked soul, his neck emerging from what can be seen of a white lump of melted fabric that clings to his neck vertebrae, the black cloak and white coat he was wearing when he fell appearing to have melted to what's left of him and been dragged along for the ride. He can still feel the solid dark coiling around where his rib cage should be, but, like everything else that should be there, seems to have entirely disappeared, his soul pounding in panic within its cage of solid shadow.

His arms- and legs- are nowhere to be found.

He doesn't even know what he is anymore.

Dread settling over him, he begins to panic once again- a horrified scream cutting through the void, loud and full and consisting of only terror- the screams of the damned as his soul tries to feel, to find his limbs, the rest of him, desperately rejecting the darkness that holds whatever's left together over and over.

Darker, yet darker.

Shadows cut through him, deeper.

his mind buckles, breaks, keeps breaking-

Tears tumble through the void.

And so he screams.

…and screams.

Skeletons don't need air, and there was no air where he was. He could feasibly scream forever. He could scream until reality broke, and the leftovers joined him in the void.

And that's almost what he did.

And I do mean literally. He screamed until they broke into sobs, the skeleton desperatly trying to will himself out of his prison- tears flying off into the void, the shattered scientist screaming out into the darkness, for help, for rescue, even for his sons. Even though seeing them stuck here with him would be the worst thing in the world. Whatever is left of his body shivers and shudders with desperation and fear and a terrible, crushing futility that no matter what he does, he will die here. But, of course, the dead cannot die. That which is shattered cannot be broken. He screamed for help over and over, calling every name he'd ever held close, until even his own mind gave out beneath him. but even then, he drifted as before, in and out of lightless nightmares, awaking into a lightless consciousness as time ticked by without him.

he didn't age.

He didn't change.

Even as years and years went by without him, nothing, nothing ever changed, apart from scattered dreams…nightmares at first, then when those ran out, memories. his sons…Sans and Papyrus, his two wonderful sons, playing in the living room, or asleep on the couch, smiling up at him through the years. sometimes it was memories from when the two were very young that would bubble up, sometimes from when he last saw them, sans reaching for him desperately, screaming as pain swallowed him up...

from those particular dreams, he wakes up sobbing.

but still, he drifts.

He drifted still, years later, as a human child had their soul taken by the monster king- Asgore Dreemurr, still pulsing a vibrant purple with PERSEVERANCE. He drifted still, as the humans' steely gray eyes in turn drifted shut for the last time, their broken body cradled in the arms of a sobbing king. he drifted still, as Asgore sat alone in his golden hall, tears in his fur, feeling as though long ago, someone used to be there beside him…someone used to be there for him. Someone he can't remember…but as blood drips from his trident, pools by his throne, stains both his golden armor and the golden flowers red with its violence, nothing changes.

Nothing came back to him.

He doesn't remember anyone…and no one will come to comfort him, as he places the soul in its new cage of metal and glass with trembling, bloodstained paws. Now, as gaster drifted beyond time, there were six souls in that accursed hall.

But, then, something changed.

Gaster…woke up. he woke, not by drifting uneasily from a too-long sleep, but because something had snapped him awake. Something had changed in the void, in his prison. Something had flickered through the darkness in which he has been trapped for so, so long. But what? What could possibly… Then, he realized, one hand drifting to where his soul should be, within the rib cage he doesn't have anymore, hasn't had for a very long time.

He felt…DETERMINED.

…and, of course, that is how the real trouble began.