gaster blaster master caster disaster

[voidster]

Out by the edge, near sunset, someone is doing Something Very Stupid. It isn't the first time. One can only hope it will be the last.

It's not the worst thing he could be doing. He's 99% sure it won't kill him--it's only magic. He's successfully regained some skill with bone attacks and extra sets of hands, so why has this been so difficult? He misses them, even though they're really nothing more than echoes of his own personality, not creatures of their own right. He created them. He perfected them. He's proud of them.

To anyone watching, he doesn't look like he's doing anything. Standing stiff and still, hands clasped behind his back, watching the sun go down. Until something nearly as tall as he is explodes into being, floating in midair.

And then...

He starts to melt. He's overreached, he doesn't have the energy to keep his shape together. Legs sag and fuse, fingers drip like pudding, face loses all detail. Two minutes later, he's nothing more than a sad, mostly shapeless whiteblack lump of goo in the dirt. The Blaster skull nudges at him, like a huge curious nightmarish puppy.

Worth it.

Comments

[voidster]

[I'm not concerned.] Pat, pat. He's drifted a little closer, mulling something over. Scraping up courage. [He'll be alright. You know him. He's unshakable. Immediately, he was thinking of puzzles and research and new friends. And probably sharing spaghetti with us.]

[trombones]

"I know. But if he was happy back home, I'm hopin' he gets to go back soon."

But they already talked about that, and it probably goes without saying. He shrugs, still looking up at the sky.

"Heh. Man, How long's it been since I've had his spaghetti?"

[voidster]

[Wasn't it a year? I believe that's what you said. ...I won't give up, I will find a way to allow us all to choose to go or stay. I promise.] The hand flutters, then comes to a rest on the back of Sans's jacket. As long as Sans keeps hinting, he'll keep promising. Reassuring. [I wonder. How long has it been since I had his spaghetti?]

He... genuinely doesn't know. How long since he vanished, all traces of even the accident erased?

[trombones]

"Yeah. Almost a year now."

At the touch, Sans blinks again and looks up. First to the hand, then to the rest of Gaster. He stays quiet again for a long moment - until he smiles.

"... Thanks, Dad."

[voidster]

[It's the least I can do.]

He's solidifying, all in a rush, proper legs and arms coming into being. Pushing it, honestly, but he can saunter off and find a bed in a moment. (As he said he would.) A few shuffles forward. Goodness knows he's uncanny looking, unnerving, upsetting, but...

[I wonder if I may...?]

[trombones]

"May what?"

Oh, wait. He gets it.

"... Oh."

His grin widens.

"Heh. You know you don't have to ask, Dad."

[voidster]

So he does, now. Look at these two with matching grins.

[I will keep that in mind.] he gestures, before he goes for it, a great big hug. He's mimicking the hardness of bone under clothing as best as he can, but there's still some squishiness and it definitely doesn't feel like cloth. Not quite what Sans remembers. Like they say, it's the thought that counts.

[trombones]

It's definitely squisher, but Sans couldn't give less of a shit. He can't help but laugh a little as he hugs back. It's not as big of a hug, but he definitely lets in linger. Yeah. He missed this.

"... Thanks, Dad."

wrap? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[voidster]

It's nice.

This is Sans, he is Gaster. He was this Gaster when he deaged--he's not simply another Gaster, fooled by false memories. This is perfectly right. And he should have done it sooner, because... Yes. Nice.

Three 'dads', too. He can't grin any wider. Eventually, he does let go, though.

[I'm going to go and see if eating more makes any difference. I'm sure you'll be able to find me if you need me.]

If that's that, he'll drift off, exchanging legs for a little more speed. Sans has to get used to it eventually ...