tonight, on hoarders--

[voidster]

It's about three days shy of being a month since one W. D. Gaster has become a real, living skeleton again. And it was wonderful at first, being light on his feet and wonderfully magical, to eat and sleep and dress up nicely.

Not so lovely now. There's a sickness in his bones... because all he is is bones. So. Time to get busy, despite the fact that it feels he could sleep for twelve hours straight, and that his arm bones may snap if he lifts something too heavy... yes, he's felt the latter several times, split-second moments where he really has wondered if he's about to break a radius or an ulna.

He has things to do. He can't let it stop him. It's only going to become worse in the days to come, because no cure is coming. His life is not worth Judgement's death. And that's why he's chosen to spend the day stocking up on whatever nonperishable foods he can find, like he's lost his mind and decided to become a hoarder himself. After all, he'll still need to eat when he's feeling less like moving, even with shortcuts to aid him.

What happens when he can no longer walk, he wonders? Someone is going to have to deal with all this, he can't keep it secret forever...

Comments

[dustless]

Frisk narrows their eyes--they don't don't. Nobody told them exactly what happened in the first place, and their thoughts are focused on what's going on in the castle, not what came before.

"...How unusual is it?" they ask, canting their head to the side. Is it the same as Frisk's? Better? Worse? Monsters are weaker than humans in some ways and stronger in others, and they can't begin predicting anything.

[voidster]

For the best. Better for them not to think about it, not to get the urge to SAVE all over again.

[Damaged in ways that have nothing to do with Judgement, yet somehow functioning perfectly. I'm not going to question it, nothing that's happened to me seems possible.]

He's casual about it, apparently not taking this as seriously as they might. It exists and he's not in any pain or emotionless. Good enough.

[dustless]

Frisk's bouncing. Subtly.

"...Is it more different now?"

[voidster]

(Cuuute.)

[Yes. It is. I've checked. I assume yours is too?]

[dustless]

The next pause is uncomfortably long.

It's obvious, isn't it? Or else they wouldn't be asking. There's no reason to lie, even if their instincts are screaming at them to.

"...yeah. A little."

[voidster]

[A diamond, and it's her color?]

Eh. It's killing both of them--their souls being different is the least of their problems.

[dustless]

Frisk seems to wilt. "...mhmm. Is it--do you think that's...that's...extra bad?"

They can't just go out and say does that mean I'm not human and you're not a monster anymore? (Maybe because they're afraid of the answer.)

[voidster]

[This is already bad.]

Not following, not at all. He's going to die. They already have. What could be extra bad?

[dustless]

Their nerve fails. Frisk disguises it by dropping back onto the bed so he can't see their face so well.

"...I know. 'S just. It...surprised me when I saw. A lot."

[voidster]

[Did I say yet that I believe it's purely cosmetic? I don't feel I'm behaving differently...]

Which is, of course, far more important than what either of them look like.

[dustless]

They fling out their arms, a sort of shrug with more distress, and more splaying out. He hadn't, but they're...still not sure.

"When my SOUL turned blue an' yellow and stuff, that was only for a little while. And those were colors...humans had already."

[voidster]

[You're still the same, too. You're yourself. Unless you have a reason to disagree with me...?]

They're not physically human in appearance anymore, and he's not even acknowledging that. Clearly not how monsters define the self, not at all.

[dustless]

What does that mean?

They're Frisk. They know who that is in bits and pieces--the name they picked, the determination their SOUL was so filled with, they help people, they infected that SOUL because of those last two things.

They're not good at being a kid. They're angry a lot, but they were before they got sick. Maybe even less now, since getting tired happens faster.

"Humans aren't supposed to be that--this much magic," they say. Protest, weakly. And there's a weird bitterness at how quickly he realized what they were worried about, even if that was what they sort of wanted to get to in the first place.

Is Judgement's disease magic? Maybe some kind, but she doesn't like it, she doesn't like the castle's kind and it didn't sound like she really knew when they cried about it, and they don't know. They don't even know what they care about, 'cause their friends and family are monsters and other stuff, so it shouldn't even matter.

Their hands dig into the blankets, pulling, and they barely stop themselves from dragging the blankets all the way over themselves. This isn't their bed, Gaster uses this now, they can't cocoon in it to hide.

[voidster]

It's Chara-like enough to make him pause. They felt comfortable enough to borrow his bed, before they disappeared, and he... aches for them. The silly little child, calling him 'nerd' and 'educating' him on those poorly drawn comics that are such a fad these days. Their reading and writing lessons, him drawing for them and encouraging them to fill in the speech bubbles. And the octopus toy he gave them, which they went on to carry around constantly.

He misses them.

So, he stands up with only a little difficulty and says nothing. Let him be really mute for a moment. He doesn't understand what their concerns are, or maybe he's just tired, because he doesn't know what to say.

But he can go to tuck them in. That's enough.

[dustless]

They watch him, and they

they just

they don't know what to do.

So they let him. Curl up and wrap up and shove their face into the pillow and feel bad for it, but not bad enough to stop. Not bad enough to lift their head up and look at him and maybe lose the battle against the prickles against their eyelids.

But. Still.

Frisk can't roll, but they can slide. To the side. To make room. It's not their bed.

[voidster]

He's a skeleton. Soft and fuzzy on the inside (as someone very small and precious said), all hard edges and cool bone on the outside. But he is what he is and no one else is here for them--he can only do his best.

So he takes the hint, lying down on the bed above the covers. Skeletons, they don't really get chilly.

"It-t will be fine."

There. That wasn't so bad, as speech goes. He... needs practice.

[dustless]

The flinch that results is due to the unfamiliarity, not the clumsiness of the words. Frisk shifts their head enough to peer out under their hair--just Gaster-shaped, not somebody else suddenly in the room too.

The words' meaning...

Frisk lets them stay in the air. It's just words. It's not that reassuring. But Gaster's dying now and it's scary the first few times; compared to that, their worry isn't that much.

The castle's done worse to them on its own.

They breathe out, long and slow.

"Might fall 'sleep." A warning. Not that they think they really will, they're too tense now, but time for him to speak up if he wants them to go find their own bed.

[voidster]

Scary. Ha. As if it's the first time he's dealt with something scary. It won't even be permanent. Three days and he'll be back. It will hurt and he'll be useless to all the others here--but it won't last.

(Pity.)

He grins at them, faintly, signing at the ceiling since he's flat on his back. [I might, too.] Even though it isn't dark in here--the curtains are halfway open.

probs not the thread u want focused on rn but it's what i got muse for

[dustless]

Three days, and he'll be back. Their thoughts go somewhere in that direction, too--about SOULs, though.

Frisk hides their face again. "Know it doesn't go away."

haha sorry

[voidster]

They're not looking at him, he's aware of that. He rehearses the words in his mind three times before saying them: "Arah--are you st-still sick?"

same |'>

[dustless]

"...Yeah."

Inhale, exhale. The blankets aren't quite covering their face, so they angle their neck to make it happen.

"Kn-knew she was...s-still there. Soon as I...woke up."

So their SOUL is different forever now. And Gaster isn't going to get better, either.

[voidster]

What a terrible time for him to be sick, then. Rotten luck. Because...

"Some. One. Must look atter you."

His mispronunciations might be funny, if it weren't so serious.

[dustless]

Shoulders stiffen--when did they start shaking?

"'M fine," they say automatically, slightly undermining their own point with a pathetic sniffle. "...'S not--not...bad. Right now."

[voidster]

A bony hand grips their shoulder, carefully--stiff as his fingers are, they might bruise someone with skin. (It's still better than molded goop, in his opinion.)

It's probably not very comforting... it's the thought that counts? But go on and cry, he won't tattle to anyone.

[dustless]

Sometimes, you gotta cry. It doesn't make you bad or a baby, it just happens. Grown-ups do it too. They've seen that before--maybe the food hoarding made them remember what they tried to discard, life before magic.

Right now, though, it all feels stupid and selfish. Frisk doesn't shrug off the grip; instead, they bury their face deeper to muffle the little whimpers that escape.