Archive of Our Own

Sans was numb.

He should be feeling things, shouldn't he? Emotionally. But he wasn’t. All he felt was the thrum of the city, but not a milliliter of grief.

His skull rang, and his magic vibrated under his bones as he shuffled home. He could hear every laugh, every whisper of wind. His clothes sat on him uncomfortably. Despite the intentionally soft elastic of his dress pants, and the carefully selected cotton of his shirt, he could feel them brushing up against him with an awareness bordering on painful.

It was a shame.

Dad had helped him pick out these clothes. All of his clothes, really.

The second he realized Sans couldn’t stand certain textures or tight clothes or buttons or plastic up against his bones, he dragged Sans to the closest tailor. Despite the cost and Sans’s defensive protests at first, he’d made sure that Sans didn’t have to wear a single thing that hurt him.

And when Sans started needing more professional clothing for the lab, Dad had helped him navigate that too.

All that effort, and yet right now, Sans’s clothes were still too much.

They weren’t covered in dust, but for some reason, they felt gritty anyway.

Why was everyone around him moving and laughing and talking and living? How was the capital so busy and bustling like it always was? 

Didn’t they know? 

The Royal Scientist was dead scattered missing.

But it had been so quiet.

The lab was destroyed, and everyone was gone.

And Sans was the only one who knew.

He needed to go to Asgore. He needed to talk to him and figure things out. Put a plan in place to reverse this disaster.

He should call Alphys, who was home sick, and let her know what happened.

“LEAVE, SANS!!! GO! ”

The CORE had already sucked everyone else in. They were too close to it as something went wrong and the energy surge from their experiment drove it wild. 

But Sans and Gaster had been further away. And they had the blessing of gravity magic on their side, even though they were too far away to save any of their colleagues or friends.

Against the sheer world-altering weight of the CORE, though, they stood no match.

They were being yanked closer and closer, and if Dad’s magic was anything like Sans’s at that moment, then it felt like his very SOUL was being torn apart, particle by particle.

“You can’t save us both, Sans. So LEAVE! RIGHT NOW!”

Dad knew. Dad must have known from the hopelessness and distress swirling through Sans’s SOUL that Sans could only make one shortcut.

His magic was being torn apart too harshly to shortcut to Dad and then shortcut again to get them both out of there.

But if Sans could just get close enough…!

“LEAVE RIGHT NOW!”

Dad’s voice echoed through the room, even past the sound of rushing energy and crackling panic. Bullets in the shape of hands shoved Sans further away, closer to the exit, even as the force of the CORE yanked Gaster nearer to the flare of molten magic and crackling edges of something so deep and dark that it flickered like static.

There was a look of anger on Gaster’s face like nothing Sans had ever seen directed at him before. Sans could count on one hand the number of times his dad had ever lost his temper since he’d taken Sans and Papyrus in.

But Sans could feel it through their bond.

Dad wasn’t mad. 

He was terrified.

Sans shook his head, and a hysterical giggle slipped past his teeth.

“yeah, how ‘bout no? come on. gimme a ‘hand’ here.”

Sans held out his own hand to his dad and took one staggering step closer, closer and closer as his sneakers slipped on the slanted tile and the gravity of the CORE tried to consume him.

They were running on borrowed seconds.

Gaster’s bullets shoved against him harder and his voice got faster, more desperate. He was too far away from Sans, and the ID badge that had been pinned to his lab coat was torn off and sucked into the void.

“You are smarter than this, Sans! You won’t make it, and then we will BOTH die!”

Dying didn’t sound great to Sans. But, well. Neither did just giving up.

Sans was a stubborn monster—he got it from his old man. But Gaster knew that.

And he knew exactly what to say. It was with a frantic edge to his voice, his font crackling and popping in panic, that he begged him.

“Sans, if we’re both gone, then Papyrus will be all alone. He needs you.”

It was the first thing Dad had learned about Sans—that Sans wouldn’t leave Papyrus.

“Whoa there, kid! You okay?”

Sans looked up blindly into the face of a taller monster who’d caught him when he stumbled. He wasn’t processing much, and all he noticed were dark green scales and a voice that he might have found pleasant otherwise, but only sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him at the current moment.

“Hey… You don’t look so good. Is there someone I can call for you?”

Sans ignored the ringing in his skull and the too tight, too loose, too much grip the kindly monster had on him as he stood up and brushed them off. He plastered a smile on his face and tilted his head to the side as he scratched the back of his neck.

“heh. sorry ‘bout that. tibia honest, i’m a bit clumsy. ‘s all good though.”

He took a step away and began walking towards home again. Behind him, he heard the monster say something else that sounded concerned, but they didn’t follow him, so Sans paid it no mind.

He just walked.

Papyrus. Sans needed to go see Papyrus. And let him know Sans would be babysitting him for a bit. At least until he could get Dad back.

Sans had to get Dad to safety. But… Dad was right.

Dad was right, and the sharp pain in Sans’s SOUL that took his breath away had very little to do with the external strain it was under at the moment.

Sans slid closer to the CORE, and desperation and love that wasn’t his own filled his chest as his dad poured everything he had into his magic constructs that gripped Sans and tugged him to a stop.

“stop it!”

Every drop of magic Gaster was pouring into keeping Sans back was less magic that he was using to ground himself. And because of that, he was closer to the CORE. Too close.

Dad looked at him with tears in his sockets, and Sans couldn’t move. He was being violently torn in two directions, both internally and externally.

“I love you so very much, my star. I’m so proud of you.”

Sans grabbed onto one of the magic bullets and yanked it to his chest as if that would help him pull Dad back into his reach so he could get them both to safety.

The magic fizzled and popped along Sans’s bones, and he gripped it tightly to himself.

“You’re going to do amazing things. But you must remember to take care of yourself. Tell Papyrus I love him.”

Sans hiccupped and giggled brokenly as he tugged at the hand, but didn’t know what else to do.

“tell him yourself, why don’tcha? you aren't going anywhere." Sans's voice cracked. "you promised." 

And there was still fear in Gaster’s SOUL. Sans could feel how terrified he was down to his… heh. Core. It was fear for Sans, and it was fear for Papyrus. But it was also fear for himself, and Sans’s sockets widened when that fear spiked and Sans realized exactly what his absolute idiot of a father was about to do.

“don’t—”

But Sans wasn’t fast enough.

And Gaster gave him one last crooked, watery smile, even as sheer terror shot through him and he stopped fighting the force of the CORE completely.

“I’m so sorr–”

But then there was no one there to finish the sentence.

And there never had been.

Sans stumbled over a step in the concrete and just barely caught himself before he landed face first on the ground.

He was never this distracted. But Sans couldn’t get the image of his dad’s face moments before he died shattered disappeared out of his mind.

Sans took in a deep breath and forced the edges of his strained grin to widen as he approached the home he lived in with Papyrus and Dad. Normal. Normal. He had to look like everything was fine.

Because it would be.

“no–!”

Once Dad had died scattered gone missing, Sans had stared for too many long seconds. The shock of having a bond, having a parent, and then having them torn away violently like they were never there had frozen him in place.

But then his dad’s magic that Sans had gripped in his hand fizzled away and Sans acted on instinct and grabbed it into his SOUL. He forced his gaze away from where Dad disappeared.

And then he blindly stumbled back from the yanking of the CORE that tried to consume him, too. He reached for his magic that was being pulled apart at the seams and forced it back together just enough that he could reach through the closest pinch in space time.

He’d passed out as soon as he stepped out into the blistering heat of Hotland.

When he’d woken up, he went straight back. Sans didn’t know if it was still dangerous, but he didn’t care.

Dad couldn’t be gone.

He stumbled into the wreckage and looked blankly at the spot where Gaster had disappeared from.

“...dad?”

The area was empty.

Quiet.

Destroyed.

No energy flared up–in fact, the air was still and static. No ambient magic played the familiar tune that Sans had grown used to while working anymore.

Sans stumbled over to the broken heap of metal near the edge of the CORE that had caused the whole thing. He bent down and picked up part of the shredded casing.

“dad?”

But no one came.

Sans’s blank expression twitched up. And then he hiccuped and let out a small, hysterical giggle as he accused the monster that never existed for breaking a promise he'd never made.

“you liar.”

“i’m home.”

Was Sans’s voice hoarse? Did it sound as hollow as it felt?

But no loud greeting met Sans, and he realized Papyrus would have felt Dad torn away too. And now Sans had to explain why.

Papyrus wasn’t in the main room, and so Sans made his way over to the larger bedroom that Sans and Papyrus shared. He pushed open the door and saw Papyrus sitting straight up at the desk, a pencil clutched tightly in his gloved hand.

“papyrus…”

How was Sans supposed to say this? Should he tell Papyrus that it would be okay? That Sans would get Dad back? Should he apologize because it was his fault? His fault, his fault, his fault, his fault, his fault, his faul—

“Sans? I see you snuck in! You need to use the front door more often!”

Papyrus hadn’t turned around, and Sans’s SOUL churned in his chest. Was Papyrus going to make him say it?

Sans stumbled forward a few steps, and Papyrus tensed up before hunching over the desk defensively. The pencil in his hand cracked. 

Sans was moving through molasses, or maybe a non-newtonian fluid. Because it seemed like the more force he tried to use, the faster he tried to walk, the harder it was. So he just shuffled up to Papyrus slowly and then placed his hand over Papyrus’s shoulder.

And then he saw the tears that poured down Papyrus’s still smiling face. Papyrus turned his head away and wiped furiously at his cheeks.

“papyrus…”

Sans felt like a broken record, but he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m fine! I don’t know why I’m crying! I have to finish my homework.”

Sans’s voice caught behind his teeth. He forced his next words out. Gentle–he–he needed to be gentle.

Stars, Papyrus was only thirteen.

“it’s… it’s okay to cry. dad’s only going to be gone for a bit. i’ll get him back. i will.”

And then Papyrus stilled completely, and he blinked. He was still smiling, even through the tears. He turned to look at Sans and tilted his head to the side.

“Dad?”

“there was… there was an accident, and dad was hurt. he’s missing now, but i can get him back. i know i can. i just have to finish the machine and make it work right and then we’ll go back and it will be like he never left and—”

Papyrus’s face scrunched up, finally. And Sans realized he felt just as much confusion through their bond as there was grief. Papyrus reached up and grabbed his skull.

“We don’t—Who are you talking about, Sans? This isn’t funny! Stop your japes right now!”

And Sans stilled, the numb feeling in his chest creeping out into his whole body. There was a buzzing under his bones and there was a ringing in his skull.

He recited his next words calmly, and it was like he was giving a lab report.

“we tried to fire up the machine. there were—”

Sans’s head hurt for a moment. Who all was there, again?

“...it was just dad and i. but something went wrong and it malfunctioned. dad was—…it dragged dad into the CORE.”

Papyrus shook his head violently.

“Stop it! We don’t have a dad!”

And despite the fact that Sans should be gentle through whatever kind of mental breakdown Papyrus was having right now, he couldn’t stand it. He snapped.

“then whose apartment are we in?! this isn’t funny, papyrus! dad is gone! now isn’t the time for your silly pretend act! grow up!”

Sans’s voice echoed loudly enough that he was sure the neighbors could hear. Papyrus just shook his head harder and gripped his skull in his hands. The pencil he’d been holding was long gone, laying in two splinted pieces on the desk.

“I don’t—I can’t— You’re not being funny! I am not the one pulling a jape! You should know that pranks are only funny when no one’s hurt!”

Tears fell from Sans’s sockets and he wasn’t sure what emotion was building in his chest, but it was hot. It was hot and unpleasant and Sans wanted to shake Papyrus back and forth until he knocked the sense back into him. 

Until Papyrus stopped pretending like this hadn’t happened. Like dad wasn’t gone. (Possibly forever. And it was Sans’s fault.)

“And who taught us that?!”

Papyrus didn’t react to Sans’s change in font other than shaking his head harder. He rocked back and forth in the chair and Sans snatched his hand back.

“I don’t like this prank! Stop it, Sans! Stop it STOP IT STOP IT!!!”

 Sans backed up a few steps and giggles slipped from his teeth, entirely uncontrolled.

“what are you doing, papyrus? this isn’t—”

Sans backed up more until his back hit the wall.

“i’m talking about dad. DAD! doctor wingdings gaster! our father! he. is. GONE!”

Papyrus shook harder and let out a wordless cry, and it was all Sans could do to stay upright. He gripped the doorframe next to him for support.

This wasn’t—

Sans didn’t—

Sans couldn’t function through the waves of pain and confusion coming from Papyrus, rattling around in his own chest, before being sent back in an endless, painful loop. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. That numbness from earlier—Sans needed it back!

He needed it back and he needed to calm down and he needed Papyrus to calm down and—

Sans sucked in a deep, cut off gasp and slammed down on his bond with Papyrus, blocking and muting and cutting him off completely. It was like he’d draped a thick blanket over his SOUL, shutting everything out.

And it hurt. It hurt so bad because now that Sans had slammed down on the feedback loop, all he could feel was that raw, aching, gaping wound in his SOUL that Dad left behind.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong—

Papyrus shuddered and rocked back and forth, but his cries were quieter. Despite that, the sound rattled painfully in Sans’s skull and he wanted to curl up in a ball, far away from the world.

Sans shook and wrapped his arms around himself with a grip so tight it was almost painful.

He needed his dad.

He needed Dad!

Sans staggered away from the door. His vision faded in and out and he tried to focus on taking one step in front of the other as he stumbled into the main room.

Papyrus had been genuinely confused, and Sans didn’t get it. Sans needed help and he didn’t know where to go.

He’d been on his own for so long, but then he had Dad. Dad had found him and Papyrus and taken them in and Sans had Dad. And while it took Sans years before he realized he could fully rely on the man, once Sans had gotten used to it, he’d forgotten how to deal without him.

And now who was left to help? For all the people Sans talked to, all the friends Sans had made, who did he trust?

…

Alphys—

Alphys she was—

The closest thing Sans had to a best friend.

Sans sucked in another gasp before he yanked his phone out of his inventory. With shaking phalanges, he dialed Alphys’s number.

He listened to it ring. Once. Twice. Three times.

It rang for so long that eventually it went to voicemail, and Alphys’s shaky message was cut off when Sans slammed on the end button.

He called her again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Again—

“Sans? What’s wron–wrong?”

Her voice was scratchy and tired and sick, and Sans realized he’d woken her up. He let out a small hysterical giggle, his sockets wide and watery. But then he slammed his teeth together and tried to force out a more normal tone.

“sorry, uh. sorry ‘bout the wake up call. but something went—something went wrong. to get to the, heh, CORE, of the issue. dad’s gone. my dad—he—the machine malfunctioned. and it took dad with it.”

Alphys suddenly sounded much more awake, if still sick.

“Oh my gosh, I’m—I’m so sorry Sans. What can I do to, uh, help? I didn’t even know you, um, had a dad…”

The phone clattered to the floor, Sans’s grip suddenly much too loose. He sucked in a breath.

He didn’t feel in control of his movements, felt like a spectator, as his shaking phalanges picked the phone back up and pressed it to his skull.

His voice fell dully from his teeth.

“that’s not funny, alphys. you know, dad? dr. w.d. gaster, the royal scientist? your boss?"

Alphys paused for a moment.

“I–I’m sorry, Sans. Is this–is this a joke? What Royal Scientist? What did you say his name was? I–oh, I’m so sorry. My head is so foggy right now. I just—”

Sans pressed the end button.

He dropped his phone back into his inventory and walked over to the front door, his skull buzzing the entire time. He made his way to his neighbor’s apartment.

The grin on his face was plastered, and he calmly brought his fist up to knock.

“Whatever yer sellin’ I don’— Sans? It is you! What in the ever lovin’ heck were you gettin’ up to earlier? I couldn’t hear my TV over all that racket!”

Sans’s grin didn’t so much as twitch as he greeted the older Madjick that lived next to him.

“sorry ‘bout that. hey–quick question. do you know dr. w.d. gaster?”

Of course he did. Dad had been neighbors with the monster for longer than Sans had been alive. Dad was the Royal Scientist. At the very least, every single monster knew of him.

The Madjick squinted at him.

“Should I? Don’t figure the name sounds familiar.”

Sans shook his head slowly, a horrible and aching and terrifying dread creeping up his spine.

“nah. sorry, just checking something.”

Sans didn’t bother to say goodbye before he made his way to the next door and knocked. His hands were shaking and his SOUL was thrumming so hard Sans thought he might pass out.

Passing out? That didn’t sound so bad. Then he could wake up and this nightmare would be over. Dad would be back and Sans could go bug him for a cup of tea as they sat in the main room and Dad worked on that crocheted blanket he’d been trying to finish. Papyrus would come out to get a cup of cocoa and they would have a nice, quiet evening like they always did.

The door in front of Sans opened, the young bird monster that lived there giving him a concerned look.

“Sans? Is something wrong?”

Sans swallowed.

“nah, don’t worry about it. but do you know a dr. w.d. gaster?”

“No, I’m sorry. But why don’t you go sit down at home? I think you’ve been working too much–”

Sans turned around. And before she could finish her sentence, he’d reached for his still aching magic and stepped through the closest pinch in space-time.

He stepped into the warm light of the throne room, but he didn’t pause to take in the flickering sunlight that came through the barrier. Sans made a sound like he was clearing his throat, and the giant, fuzzy figure that had been bent over his flowers startled and turned around.

“Oh! Howdy, Sans! I apologize—I did not see you there. What brings you here today?”

Sans forced the question past his teeth.

Asgore had to know.

He had to.

He’d been friends with Gaster since before they’d been locked underground, and while they’d been less close in the time that Sans knew them, he still couldn’t brush off centuries of friendship.

“who did you hire as the royal scientist?”

Asgore gave him a long look, and Sans wanted to shake him. He needed an answer—He needed Asgore to answer— He needed—

“Well, with all of your long lists of achievements, I thought perhaps you would be a good fit for the position soon. Is that what this is abo—”

Sans cut him off.

“no. no, not who is going to be. who is. who built the CORE?”

Asgore slowly lowered his watering can to the ground and looked at Sans with furrowed brows.

“I am afraid I don’t… I don’t quite recall. But perhaps we could talk about this over tea? You look rather pale—Even for a skeleton! Why don’t we—”

Sans turned around and stepped through a shortcut blindly, uncaring of the danger or even where he ended up as long as there were people.

He emerged into the crowded streets of the Capital and ignored the startled looks he got from appearing out of thin air.

Sans reached out and grabbed the shoulder of a reptilian monster.

“Hey, watch it—!”

“sorry, sorry. i just need to know—do you know dr. w.d. gaster?”

“No, now get lost!”

Sans backed up. And then he spun around and stepped in the path of a Tsundereplane.

“do you know who built the CORE?”

“Wasn’t it always there? And you should go sit down or something. But it’s not like I’m worried or anything!!!”

Sans backed up again, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe—

That was taught in schools. Every monster who was born after Dad built the CORE should know who made it. And those that came before should know—

Sans turned and ran, his sneakers pounding on the dusty roads. He nearly barreled into another monster and didn’t even look to see their face as he grabbed their shoulder.

“dr.—dr. w.d. gaster. the CORE. do you know him?”

“What are you doing? No. No, now let go!”

He turned around. He grabbed another monster.

“do you know who built the CORE?”

“I don’t seem to remember…”

Another monster.

“dr. w.d. gaster—!”

“Who is that? Leave me alone!”

Another.

“the royal scientist, who—?”

“I don’t know! Are you oka—”

Another.

“No!”

Another.

“Who is—”

Another.

“I can’t remem—”

Another.

“Nah—”

Another, another, another, another, another, another—

.

.

.

###

Sans didn’t know how long he ran around like that. Grabbing any random stranger and begging, pleading, needing an answer—

He didn’t get one.

And then eventually Sans got dizzy and disoriented from magic depletion. He scrapped at his already sore and damaged reserves from the countless shortcuts he took and scrambled it together for one last trip.

He was going to be ill and recovering for days after this.

But Sans stepped through and stumbled into his dad’s room.

It was small and cluttered. Normally there were the pictures of the three of them that covered the walls, but—

Gone.

Only pictures of Sans and Papyrus remained.

Sans was so tired. But somehow, a choked gasp caught in his chest anyway.

He stumbled over to the desk and gripped the edge of it so tightly his phalanges scratched the polished wood. His hands hurt and they shook as he let go of his death grip enough to rip open Dad’s photo album.

He flipped through the pages. 

Papyrus’s third birthday. Sans stood off to the background as Papyrus tore into a piece of cake, but—

The next picture that was supposed to be there—Dad trying to scrape frosting out of his mouth because Sans filled it with salt in one of the very first pranks that he’d pulled against the man—

Gone.

Papyrus’s first day of school. Papyrus stood with Sans in front of the building. That picture was still there. But then the picture of the three of them—it was bring your child to work day, Sans thought—

Gone.

There should have been a shaky picture in here of Dad dozing off with Papyrus taking a nap on his chest. Both of them were supposed to have marker all over their skulls from Sans’s artistic adventures, but it was—

Gone.

The pictures from when Sans graduated college, and then finished his doctorate early were still there. He was smiling and laughing with all his peers in them. But then the picture he'd taken with Dad crying big ugly tears as he hugged Sans and practically knocked the graduation cap right off his head—

Gone.

Sans flipped through. Faster. Faster.

Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone—

The album thudded to the desk.

Gone.

But then a piece of paper slipped out of the back and Sans went to shove it back in. He stopped, though, and his SOUL thudded in his chest. 

Because there was one of the first drawings Papyrus ever made, and it was still there. It was still there and standing tall on the left was a black and white blob that was supposed to be Dad. 

Sans’s hands shook. 

And then a splash of liquid landed on the desk, right next to the drawing, and Sans pushed it away almost violently to prevent it from getting wet.

A quiet hiccup escaped him as tears slid down his skull. He lifted a hand to scrub roughly under his sockets.

He gave one last look around the room—the eerily empty room. It was all wrong. Dad’s crochet was still here. So were his blankets and clothing and most of his stuff, but—anything with his name—with his face—

It was like it never existed.

Sans looked at the drawing in his hand and drank it in.

…There were no pictures. Nothing left for Sans to even remember what Dad looked like.

Nothing except for a shaky toddler’s drawing.

Sans was never the artistic sort. And when he tried to picture Dad’s face, all he could see was desperation, tears, energy sucking him in until he was dead gone.

Sans grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, anyway. And he tried to recreate Papyrus’s first drawing.

It was sketchy and horrible, and it didn’t look like Dad, but…

Sans scribbled on the back.

“don’t forget.”

And then, with trembling hands and tears wet on his face, he tucked it in the back of the album. He didn’t let go of Papyrus’s drawing—instead, he put it into his inventory where nothing could ever touch it.

Exhaustion and pain weighed down his every step like someone covered him in gravity magic, but Sans managed to walk back out into the main room.

He leaned up against the wall and then he slid slowly to the floor, staring at a spot on the carpet.

Maybe some amount of time passed.

Maybe it didn’t.

But when Sans looked up again, the lights coming in the windows were only the bright lights of The Capital at night, and none of the day cycle was left.

At some point, Papyrus had grabbed a blanket and curled up against his side.

Sans lifted his hand and petted Papyrus’s skull gently. 

Where was Dad? What was this place without him?

Papyrus piped up from next to Sans, and Sans pulled him closer to his chest.

“Sans? I’m… I’m scared. I can’t remember anything. What’s going on?”

Papyrus’s voice cracked.

“Why can’t I remember—? My head hurts. I forgot something important.”

Sans wheezed out a laugh, shaky and exhausted and hurt and—he still didn’t know what was going on, but at least Papyrus knew that this wasn’t right. That someone was missing.

Sans wasn’t crazy.

He choked out a response through his exhausted giggles, and Papyrus pushed his tear-stained face into Sans’s lab coat.

“there was an accident. …pap, what do you remember? who—who raised us?”

Papyrus let out a high-pitched whine.

“I don’t—I don’t know! Someone! I’m forgetting someone! Sans, it hurts!”

And it did hurt.

Maybe Sans shouldn’t be relieved he wasn’t grieving alone. But he was. And he just hid his own tear-stained face against Papyrus’s head and shook.

“i know, pap. i know.”