"Tra-la-la," sang the River Person. "What's my name? It doesn't really matter …"
The dog ferry chauffeured you to Hotland with lightning speed. The wild tread of its paws splashed water into the vessel's body until a shallow lake formed around your ankles. Its violent takeoff had thrown you and Sans to the back of the boat in a tangle. Laughing, you untied yourselves with difficulty into independent seats.
"helluva dog-paddle, huh, kiddo," said Sans, beaming.
As the turbulence normalized into a steady sway, the two of you became lost in the purl of rushing waves. Glimpses of uninhabited cave systems flashed by, where waterfalls mixed with lava in great clouds of steam you could almost taste. The scent of molten rock soon accumulated on the wind with such potency you could smell nothing else, though several miles still lay ahead before arriving in the bowels of the Underground.
Past the bow of the gondola, Sans watched the scenery slowly transform from cool, damp rock into dry, volcanic earth. His thoughts sifted through memories like the long-neglected boxes of a dust-thick attic. After all these years, he thought he had abandoned that horrible day to dust but, just like the cool air of Waterfall they left behind, it had only waited in the distance.
On the off-chance Sans' mind was not dissolving in a family curse that frightened him more than any, Wingdings must have survived—or at least, some part of him had. Sans' frame of reference for the deep dark limbo that swallowed his brother was a peephole at best. The faithful physics he knew so well could be vastly different there. Dings could be frozen in time, outside it altogether, or something else unfathomable. Whatever the case, wherever he was, he could not be faring well. Before he was lost, he had been suffering already.
Days before the accident, Sans had come to the lab early just like any other morning. He walked through the door, flipped on the lights, and rode the brand-new elevator down several floors purely out of habit. He could almost hear the electricity humming through the walls now. Even the paddles of the dog ferry had become the lab's inner mechanisms, vibrating like an earthquake under his feet.
He wore the uniform of a white lab coat that, to be honest, could have used a wash two weeks prior. He caught a good whiff of himself and flinched. When consulting on a gig as intensive as the Paradox Project, he hardly found time for a full night's sleep, let alone laundry.
After navigating a maze of hallways, he opened a large, red door at the very end. The air greeted him with the familiar, overwhelming aroma of metal and magic.
In the true lab of 19XX, organized chaos reigned supreme. Machines, wires, test chambers, drawing boards, grid paper, and all manner of tools lay scattered across the workroom. In the center of that messy, tiled floor stood their latest version of the temporal flux manipulator—or the "time-turner," as Sans put it more simply—the invention they hoped would undo the barrier's timeline with the flip of a switch.
After escorting Papyrus to community playschool, Sans was usually among the first to arrive. He preemptively brewed the team a pot of coffee so strong there was hardly enough water to call it fluid. Functionality over flavor, he thought.
He spotted his brother's back over the brim of his favorite mug. Wingdings stood poring over a mess of papers and blueprints at a desk across the room. His free-flying shirttail and rolled-up sleeves were enough to tell Sans he had stayed here all night. He retrieved another cup from the cabinet.
Wingdings Gaster stood heads taller than his older brother, albeit a head shorter than the skyscraper his younger brother, Papyrus, would inevitably become. Like most skeletons, his slender frame stretched thin and lanky, and his face split with a smile wide enough to mock the gods. Handsome, talented, and charismatic were only a few admiring words Sans might have used to describe him. Though Dings was a smart dresser, his shirts lost the tie or a few buttons by the end of the day. But more striking than anything was the way his grin twisted like a jester's at a good joke, a smile Sans lived to see—though he had encountered fewer with every day.
Papyrus had been a late bloomer. Even for a monster with a proud family history of impressive lifespans, he should have hit his final growth spurt at least fifty years prior. It was not uncommon; young monsters often developed more slowly when their parental bonds had been prematurely severed. Too young to care for himself, someone needed to keep watch of him after school. That someone was definitely not Dings. The royal scientist could only concentrate in silence, and as much as he loved his little brother, the volume module on that tiny ball of energy never switched any lower than eighty-five decibels. So while Sans brought his work home, Wingdings stayed here, slaving over science well into the silent night.
"they say sleep's a solid substitute for coffee," said Sans with an edgewise grin, handing his brother that steaming, ceramic mug of caffeinated tar.
Wingdings snickered and took it without removing his eyes from the tabletop. "But I need the beans for my bean, or I get depresso," he said.
Sans smiled, albeit a little sadly.
He had begun to worry for Dings. Certainly, he understood the caveats of managing a project. Overseeing your teammates' activities hardly left time to be individually productive. After devoting so much energy to his work, Dings had begun muttering to himself, thinking out loud more often, cracking borderline nonsensical jokes—humor that had once glittered with wit Sans could only envy. Sans had struggled to remain positive. He attributed his behavior to stress and sleep deprivation, though certain tells had begun to suggest … something different.
Sans swept his eyes over the many research papers without reading them. "anything good?"
"I think …" said Wingdings in that voice so utterly unique to him. A smile crept across his face. "I think I might be a genius."
"ya got cert for that lyin' around here somewhere," Sans teased. "did ya solve the breaker issue?"
"Oh, that? No, not that. That's old news. Forget that. I fixed that a minute after you left!" Wingdings excitedly rifled through a few stacks of papers and snatched out a couple sheets, sending the remaining pile scattering like leaves to the floor. "Look. Here. There. This. Plus those. And … that."
"oh," said Sans, eyes widening at the pages now in his hands. "oh! ding dang, dings!"
Wingdings snorted. "Was hoping for a full 'damn,' but …"
"i mean it needs counterbalance; the quantum fluctuations of …"
"Sector four? Covered. See, if we reroute the magic input through the twin module, it won't interfere with …"
As Wingdings rambled on about temporal fluctuations, improved designs, and the blueprints he planned to draw up for them, Sans had become transfixed with something else altogether. For the first time that morning, he had caught a glimpse of Wingdings' face. Cracks twisted away from his eyes. One especially harsh ravine ran high above his right, while another jutted down under his left. Only a powerful amount of force could have cracked a skull to that extent.
"If the redesign works like I think …"
"dings."
"… and the calculations are correct—which they are …"
"dings."
"… then it should be ready to test before …"
"dings!"
"What?" Wingdings smacked his hands flat to the desk, exasperated.
Sans took cautious hold of his brother's upper arm and leaned in for a better look. Wingdings finally caught on. He shied away and frowned down into his blueprints.
"the hell did ya do to your face?" Sans asked.
"Nothing."
"bullshit it's nothing. we should call a doctor or …"
At the sheer mention of medical help, Wingdings yanked his arm away. His eyes hollowed out and the room went dark, just long enough to make his point. Sans understood the implications. His magic manifested in a similar way when trying to seem dangerous, like a peacock flaring its feathers into a million eyes. He was not intimidated, however, and Wingdings knew he wouldn't be. So when the air cleared and everything became visible again, Dings only covered his face with both hands. More than anything, he seemed scared.
"It's nothing," he said. "It was an accident. It's fine. I didn't mean to. It was just so loud … and my head was so full …"
Sans stared at him for a few horrified seconds that felt like hours. "dings …"
"Just forget about it."
"you know i can't."
Wingdings started laughing, then, quietly at first, until it evolved into something strained and broken. Sans took half a step back, face darkening as he recognized a worrisome pattern he had seen once before, only not in his brother.
"So what are you going to do, then?" asked Wingdings, lowering his hands to reveal an utter lack of humor. "Pin me down in blue and drag me off?"
"that isn't …"
"I'm not him."
"i know," said Sans calmly, raising both hands in a goodwill gesture. "i know you're not. listen, if ya don't wanna go to the doctor, that's fine, but … how 'bout … you let me fix it."
The younger of the two curled into himself but didn't answer.
"you know i'm a good healer," said Sans, reclaiming the step he had sacrificed before. "if we don' touch it, it could stay like that …"
"No," said Dings abruptly. "No, I-I need it to …"
The pain and fear in Sans' heart continued to grow. "you … need … a crack in your skull?"
"I …" Wingdings took a second to process this. "I said forget it," he snapped.
His shoulders fell instantly when presented with the look of distress on Sans' face. He turned back to his work but left it untouched. They remained silent for what felt like minutes on end.
Just as Sans thought it might be safe to move closer, Dings spoke up again.
"Why don't," he said quietly, "why don't you take the day off …"
Sans notched his eyebrows in disbelief. "kiddin' me? pretty sure i'm not the one who needs t …"
"Please. I just … I need space."
As you watched Sans stare off past the bow of the ferry, you wondered just what kept his mind from the present. He had become so pensive since you first mentioned the gray door in Waterfall, even more since your run-in with Undyne. At first, you had thought unrest to be the culprit, but now you reconsidered.
You knew if you asked him outright what he was thinking, he would never answer. Especially now, after the incident on the bridge, you would not be surprised if he had decided to keep you on a need-to-know basis. Maybe if you opened up to him first, he would return the favor. You had some secrets too, after all.
You bit your lip and clung tightly to your own hands. Your arms shook with the intensity of your small grip.
"If I tell you a secret," you said, "will you tell me one too?"
Sans turned back to you as if stolen from another time. His heavy, dim eyes investigated you like a sleuth in search of clues, but he only found your worry. He could tell that, whatever you wanted to say, it was something you had been pining to get off your chest for years. His expression softened into one you only now realized you had missed, the one that had taken you under his wing when you knew nowhere else to go. He sighed and hooked his arm over the gunwale like the back of a chair.
"sure, why not," he said with a shrug.
You sidled a little closer to him, if only a fraction of an inch, and gathered your nerve a moment longer.
"My name isn't Frisk," you said.
Sans stared stiffly. His silence crawled under your skin and petrified your flesh as if cast to stone. You would not dare look at him.
"uh …" he began finally, and scratched the side of his head perplexedly with one finger. "well heck, kiddo, what do i call ya, then?"
Even if confused, hearing gentleness in the deep vibrations of his voice eased your heart. It was not enough to bring your eyes away from the wet baseboards at your feet.
"I actually … don't know my name," you admitted. Despite all your fear, just to say the words aloud lifted a weight off your shoulders. "I think maybe I hit my head when I fell or something. It's weird because that's the only thing I don't remember. I guess it's not a big deal when I think about it. It's just a name, right?"
You met his gaze, then. You didn't know what to make of the expression you found there, as if he struggled to hide a bleeding pain in his heart.
"That's why I never introduced myself," you went on. "After I broke the barrier, 'Frisk' just … felt right."
Sans held his tongue. Endless concerns encircled his head. Memory loss, coupled with the onset of persistent headaches, had his soul in a fire of fear. Were he on the surface he would have teleported you to a hospital for an emergency PET, MRI, CT, EMG, every brain scan he could ask for until he knew without a shadow of a doubt his kid was safe. Maybe forgetting your name was not a big deal, since years had passed with no incident, but knowing that could not convince him.
Without much choice, he settled for his hand on your head.
"thanks for telling me," he said quietly.
It was a relief to know he didn't hate you, and you were grateful he had the sensitivity not to push for more information—not that you had any. You leaned into the comfort of his touch, even if fleeting.
"Now you tell me one," you said.
"hm?"
"A secret."
"oh. heh … right." He glanced nervously before his smile slid back into place. "okay, come 'ere."
When you shifted only slightly, he gestured for you to bend farther. He hid his mouth behind one hand and brought it within an inch of your ear.
"y'know how humans turn into skeletons after they die?" he whispered.
You eyed him askance.
"well, after we die … we turn into humans."
"No, you don't, you butt." You shoved him playfully.
"what can i say," he laughed. "can't spell 'sans' without 'ass.'"
You collapsed against the stern of the boat in a fit of giggles. Sans, too, chuckled from a place deep inside him. You smiled ear to ear. It had been too long since hearing such raw joy in his voice, or a laugh that could rattle his bones.
"For real," you said. "Tell me a secret."
"okay, okay. lemme think."
He bit at his knucklebone. This had been a big one for you, he thought. The only fair response was to return in kind, and any less would be a betrayal. Though plenty of other secrets might have sufficed, only one clung fast to his mind. His smile slowly fell.
"i had another brother once," he said reluctantly. "younger, 'tween me and pup."
Your eyes widened, even further when you processed the past tense.
"he was my best friend." Sans' posture withered the more he dwelled on that statement. "when he went away, it was like … i did too, y'know? not really sure if i ever came back."
You clung to the wooden plank seat beneath you. The words sank in, stewed, and cycled your head. Why was this a secret? Why hadn't you known? Did Papyrus know? He had to.
You pinched your bottom lip between your teeth. You supposed … something like losing a family member hardly made for pleasant conversation. You graciously chose not to delve too far, just as he had done for you.
"I'm sorry," was all you could think to say.
"'s all right," he said with the corner of a false smile. "was a long time ago."
As grateful as you were to glimpse more of the real skeleton behind his mask, what you saw only gouged the beating heart from your chest. No wonder he clung to Papyrus like he did, you thought, if he had lost a younger brother before him.
You slid your hand into his and held on tight.
The blistering heat of Hotland's rocky floors burned right through your shoes. For the first time in more than a hundred timelines, you gave in to the weather and peeled off your sweater before it could live up to its name. As you tied it around your waist, however, you looked down at your shirt. You had forgotten that time-worn graphic, the words "good for muffin" in a circle around said blueberry quick bread. You grimaced, unable to decide if you were amused or not.
While you increased your pace to Alphys' lab, Sans slowly fell behind. The facility loomed over him like the crest of a tsunami. He had always gone out of his way to avoid the place. Everything inside, everything no longer inside, only flooded him with an uncomfortable mixture of unwanted memories and sheer panic.
He debated falling back and letting you proceed alone, but … no. As useless as he thought he was to you, he could not let you walk into the unknown so unprotected. Time here fluctuated with enough instability to vibrate his phone like a crazed hummingbird. Besides … he wanted a word with Alphys.
He paused only meters away from the entrance. These doors. He had exited through the very same, that day Wingdings had asked him to leave.
Though he had followed the path toward their small, fifth-story apartment in the capital, he remembered changing course midway. In the place where MTT Resort eventually stood had spread a simple courtyard, not much to look at beyond a few benches and the steady flow of elevators. Sans had stood uncertainly before two lifts, one of which would later be removed to make room the robot's grandiose renovations. Home or New Home, he debated. He tentatively reached for the button on the right.
On Asgore's sad gray welcome mat, Sans fidgeted uneasily. He lifted his fist to knock … then lost the nerve. What exactly did he plan to do? Ask Asgore to call off the project? Fat chance. He knew as well as anyone just how deeply the King had buried his nose into this mess. The loss of his entire family still bled like a new wound. Who in that situation would give up on the power to undo time? There had to be another way.
Only a few steps away from the door, he paused to hear it unlatch.
"Well, howdy, Sans!"
He wished with all his heart he could have just teleported away, but that kind of magic was only found in fairytales. He turned back to the gray stone edifice and scrounged up a smile.
In the opening stood a towering, broad-chested monster in royal wardrobe. His massive horns curled high enough to catch the lintel, which they did, audibly. His mane compensated for the shorter, coarser fur of his body in long, brilliant gold. He seemed overjoyed, as if starved for any visitor at all. When he invited him inside, Sans could not refuse, not when his eyes sparkled like that.
Asgore offered him a seat. Some primal instinct told Sans to keep standing, no matter how disarmingly the king of all monsters sat in his plush armchair by a crackling fireplace. Sans messed with the edges of his dirty lab coat uneasily. They exchanged pleasantries, a few updates on mutual friends and business, until finally they came to the inevitable question of why he had come.
"i'm worried," he told him, finally, "'bout dings."
Asgore folded his hands in his lap. He looked at him intently, wordlessly begging him to continue.
"he hasn't been himself lately." Sans winced at the inadequate wording. "hardly sleeping, hardly eating … acting strange. i think, maybe, it'd be good if he had a break. if we can push pause on the project for a few ticks …"
"Hmm," said Asgore thoughtfully. "Well, what does he think about this?"
Sans frowned.
"I see," Asgore murmured.
For a moment, Sans said nothing. "y'know it … runs in my family t …" As soon as the words left his mouth, Sans' eye lights flitted away into darkness. "i think," he forced himself to continue, "if the old man hadn't been under so much stress, maybe it wouldn't've ended the way it did."
With every crackle of the fire, Asgore's expression became increasingly somber. He searched Sans intently as if reading a tragedy in fine print. "You showed incredible strength of character," he said, "stepping in for your brothers like you did."
Sans grimaced. Strength of character? No, it was a necessity.
"i can't let it happen to him … too," said Sans. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be talking about this. "i can't stand around and watch him fall apart, but i need … help."
Sans waited stiffly for any response at all, and soon received the weight of a heavy, heavy paw on his shoulder. His eyes kept to the silver wood grain in the floor.
"I'll do what I can."
"Sans?"
He became suddenly aware of hands holding his face, and the quick, skipping way he brought the air inside his chest. When he tore his eyes away from the lab, he found you standing just before him, staring up into his countenance as if he had just reappeared from the netherworld. How long had he been staring at the front of the building? By the way his soul shuddered in his chest, he could tell he was in the very early stages of a panic attack. He sheepishly dragged your hands away from his cheeks.
"sorry," he said.
"You don't have to go in." You glanced at the lab uncertainly. "I can handle this alone …"
"too risky," he said, shaking his head. "rift's prob'ly about under us, now."
You looked down between your feet as if you could have seen it.
"better to stick together. not sure what the damage is yet—uh."
His eyes fell to the graphic on your shirt. Once you realized he had found it, your cheeks burned with more heat than Hotland's oven breath. Your mouth stretched in a thin line, just as a teasing smile found its way onto Sans' face. He tittered.
"guess i'm not entirely t'blame for your awful sense of humor."
"You know full well you are."
Though you didn't fully understand "the damage," you anchored yourself to his side and took careful steps toward the front door. At a foot away, the entrance slid open automatically.
The brilliance of Hotland fought against the darkness inside that room. For Sans, it was like looking into his bedroom closet at night, wondering if it went deeper than he thought. Sans took a few more heavy, controlled breaths, and you squeezed his shoulder supportively. When he looked at you, his pinprick pupils filled out just enough to confirm that your reassurances had helped, even if only a little.
You walked inside together, and the door slid shut behind you.
NOTES
A wild Wingdings appears! You use brotherly love. (It was not very effective.)
I almost made it to the 1st, but the 2nd is close enough, right? Hopefully this means I'll be able to keep up with the 1st/15th schedule from here on out.
Sorry that this is mostly flashback, but I hope it was still interesting. I know a lot of you were eager to see Gaster, and this chapter is definitely where he starts leaning into the story more.
Are you enjoying the fic? Want to see art, fan art, and other updates? Consider following on Tumblr ( riftfic)!
Thanks for reading!
Next Up! Let's hear what Alphys has to say.