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

[trombones]

"Alright."

Sans steps out from wherever-he-was, as per his usual means of arriving to a scene. He doesn't seem all that surprise, much less worried, but there's a decent air of casual disappointment.

It's actually weirdly familiar. Something about Gaster, long nights, bad food. He doesn't remember, but he knows it's there. He lays a hand on the bigger blaster and looks down at his father.

"I think that's enough experimenting for the day."

[voidster]

Nowhere is safe from Sans. He was wrong to expect privacy, seems like. The goo stretches upwards, taking his head with it, as he tries to bring back a torso. It holds for a few seconds, rippling, before he collapses in on himself again. Horrible to be seen like this by Sans--he would have avoided this forever if he could have. Who wants to see that their own father has wound up such a mess?

The blaster's snout nudges Sans as gently as it can. Hello, hello, little skeleton.

Weak, shaky arms and hands emerge from the lump that is Gaster. [It's fine. I'm fine.]

[trombones]

"Uh-huh."

Sans obviously doesn't buy it. He doesn't feel like playing that old, tired game of 'I'm fine', 'no you're not', 'yes I am', etcetera. A slow side-eye watches Gaster as he tries and fails to put himself back together. There's a bit of exasperation there, same as the casual disappointment. He pats the blaster and looks up at it.

"Hey, buddy. Let's give the old man a break, alright?"

[voidster]

Such a nag, Sans. Think of that poor blaster, in limbo for all this time. There's a low buzz, a metaphorical sigh, coming from somewhere inside the puddle-man, before the gigantic skull vanishes back into the ether. It was nice while it lasted, all two minutes of proper magic. He's already wondering if it could have fired off a laser into the sky...

Sending it off is no miracle cure. He's unchanged. My, doesn't he feel disgusting. How's he supposed to move and find privacy again? Ripple along like a slug?

[Tired. Unharmed. I'll be alright.]

[trombones]

The blaster disappears, and Sans takes a seat by a large rock. You'd think that'd be a health hazard. Knowing how people came back from the dead around here, Sans half-wondered if pushing it off the edge would eventually bring it back, falling from the sky and onto some poor bastard's head. Probably his.

Whatever. He's pretend seeing his dad in a puddle.

It's sort of working.

"I got a feeling we've done this before. Without the dad puddle thing."

[voidster]

He ripples again, surging upwards to try and stand tall--to be normal, to look like himself--down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Each time a failure, each time lasting a second less. He could scream. He could cry. Why did Sans have to come along at this very moment?

He doesn't make a sound... or even twitch for over three minutes, calming himself down.

[Many, many times. Not everyone sleeps as easily as you do. Go along. I'll be fine.]

Go away. Stop seeing him like this. Stop tormenting yourself, kiddo.

**he's pretending seeing his dad in a puddle isn't weird, whoops

[trombones]

"Easy, old man."

Sucks to be you. He's doing it anyway.

"If this is your new way of being tired... it usually ended in coffee and bad food, right?"

Probably not. He just remembers something like that. Coffee, bad food, stick figures in crayon, children's colorful bandages with old monster cartoons, whatever. Pick a time, pick an age.

"I can at least get the bad food. Dunno about coffee."

I figured. XD

[voidster]

He's... Mush. Mush doesn't really emote or have body language. It just sits there, signing away with pseudo arms.

[Coffee and sugar. I haven't seen a single coffee bean here. Have you?]

[trombones]

"Nope."

Sans props his chin in his hand. Yep. It's still weird.

"How 'bout the bad food, then."

[voidster]

[We can try.]

Anything to speed up the process, perhaps. Common sense tells him he can't possibly eat anything in this state, even if it's stuffed into what's left of his mouth, but. Nothing's impossible.

[trombones]

Sans shrugs. Then he disappears. He doesn't bother waiting until he's out of sight before he does it, so he's gone with a blink.

A moment later, he's back with a platter. One greasy chicken, one rusted, scratched up goblet of something red and sloshing, and a couple of miniature cakes. Man. Human medieval-types were pretty bad at the food thing.

The skeleton sets the platter down in front of Gaster and sits cross-legged, chin in his hand.

"Here. Give it a shot."

[voidster]

That chicken looks more disgusting than he feels. That's a no. The cakes, a yes. Those look alright. The drink? A... maybe.

[I wonder what it is.]

What's the worst that can happen? What does he have to lose? He reaches for the goblet shakily, supporting it with both 'arms', and... bottom's up!

[trombones]

"Wine, I think."

Sans shrugs and grabs a chicken leg. For a long time, he's quiet.

"Any better?"

[voidster]

[Wine.] he confirms, after it's all gone. [I wonder if I'm capable of being intoxicated.]

Did someone say enough experimenting for today? Can't stop, won't stop. He won't touch that chicken, however. It doesn't look tasty in the slightest.

[A little. I believe all I need is rest.]

[trombones]

"Nope."

Sans is chewing.

"A little rest for you is five minutes. Take the day off."

[voidster]

[It's nightfall.] he says, inanely. Is he tipsy? It's not as if he could get any more melted to show it. Just as pointlessly: [And I haven't moved. I would say I am resting, currently.]

[trombones]

Chill, Gast. It's one glass of wine. He gives Gaster a side-eye. His expression doesn't change much. He scratches the back of his neck. Tired. The worried feeling is familiar - and annoying.

"Yeah. Until you get up again. Then we have some kind of cylical argument about it that doesn't go anywhere, then you do it anyway, right?"

The skeleton throws his arms over his head and falls back to the floor.

"Hell if I know what I'm saying though. I'm just guesing. I just remember something like that. So I'd probably just give up and let you do what you want. ... But. I also just got you back, so. I kind of can't."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he shrugs.

"Anyway. I figured we could skip a couple steps."

[voidster]

Long silence. Indeed, it's familiar from his side, too. Many Gasters, being nagged by many Sans. Asgores. Toriels. Others. Sans isn't wrong. Why did he never listen? Why is he not listening now, when there's so little to gain? No monsters depending on him and his science. No barrier. No anomaly.

Maybe it's time to change. To start to listen. To be, as Frisk said.

(To accept he will never quite be his old self again, because--because he never knew when to quit in any timeline.)

[...Let's. Yes. You are right, after all. You always were.]

[trombones]

"..."

Sans tilts his head away. He's still trying to play it casual and tell himself this isn't weird or worrying. It's not working. That part is harder to give up than letting Gaster do what he wanted. But it's not like the casual act he was putting on was that good in the first place. He already sounded like a disappointed mom.

"Heh. Probably not. I just, uh... want you around this time. Alright?"

[voidster]

[Not about everything, but about this? You were right.]

He should have listened. Taken it easy more often. Maybe it could have saved him, though it seems most Gasters were doomed to fall. Probably not. It only would have delayed the end. But at least it would have made his life-that-was less of a mess, him not being so addicted to the science of things. To being busy.

[Clearly I'm still not very good at it, sometimes. However. I can try.]

[trombones]

"... I wanna say 'try's not good enough."

Another silence.

"But I guess that's the most I can ask for. So. Thanks."

There's sincerity to that, even through the awkwardness that kept him from quite looking.

"... Y'know, I remember when I was learning magic. Back when I wasn't used to it, I could only make those things pretty small. The blasters, I mean. I'm not saying do it now or for a while, but. If you're trying to figure out your own magic... maybe start small."

[voidster]

He's clumped together somewhat, drawing himself upwards to be less of a puddle and more of a gloopy haystack with a face. It's... progress. Hopefully less disturbing to look at, because it's the most he can manage as of yet.

[I'm sorry. For frightening you, too. It takes energy to keep myself in... shape, and I wasted so much of mine just now. Painless, if disgusting to look at.]

What are the odds it's happened before? Pretty high.

[I remember that. You managed it when you were two and a half, you know. As well as teleporting.] So the fact that he's had so much trouble with everything... sheesh. Outshined by a toddler. [Mine were never small. I suppose I started off like normal out of habit. Again... I didn't mean to scare you.]

[trombones]

It's not like he didn't already see Gaster the way he was now. Even with the other Gaster, Sans had a vague idea of how that shapeless form moved and worked. But seeing it go to its limit was too freaky. Too much. He tried not to show it - yet he still doesn't turn his head.

"I wasn't scared."

Still not turning, for the record. New subject.

"Heh, well. Teleporting depended on a lot of things. It kinda tired me out sometimes. Anyway, long story short. Maybe some Blaster pups would be easier for now."

[voidster]

If only he could speak, at all, period. Sans wouldn't have to look at the mess he is while he signs.

[Stressed, then. Semantics.]

He wonders if he can move yet. Ooze off somewhere else, and if Sans wants him to. Unlikely. Nothing's keeping San's here out by the edge. The urge to keep on saying how sorry he is is pretty strong--like he could never apologize enough.

[Agreed. I'll keep it in mind, if there is a next time.]

[trombones]

Sans shrugs as he watches Gaster's hands. Not so much the rest of him. He feels bad about that. Give him a second.

"Probably. Just - later, you know? After a rest. Real rest."