Made In The Shade

by Swish42

Summary:

Young eight year old WingDings is transported to the late 1950's and is found by some . . . very interesting monsters. WingDings finds his brothers, but soon learns they are hiding more secrets than he is.

Chapter 1: Unblinking Belief

Notes:

As is with all the stories in this series you don’t need to read all of them to read this one. I only recommend reading perhaps the first story ‘First Steps’ and maybe the first eight chapters of ‘Change of View.’ This starts out at a much different pace then the others stories, but hopefully it will hold some interest.

All you need to know is that WingDings Gaster is a child who is searching for the pieces of his soul that have been scattered through space and time.

There are many places in the world a person can feel uncomfortable. For example, going down a street in an unfamiliar neighborhood, finding yourself caught between tumbling rocks while hiking the wilds, or simply sitting in the presence of a distant relative who doesn’t realize they’ve out stayed their welcome.

And then there is the heavy discomfort that comes with being stared at unabashedly, something WingDings Gastser certainly pegs high on the discomfort scale at the age of eight.

As luck would have it the skeleton child appears directly in front of a monster that is just an inch taller than himself, wearing a grey jumper uniform with a matching cap. They have orange skin, a mouth that neither frowns nor smiles and large unblinking eyes. For an uncomfortably lengthy amount of time, WingDings stares right back at the monster, caught in a difficult spot seeing as he just appeared here in a fizzle of magic after standing in line to come in from recess. His smile twitches and he wiggles his fingers beneath his heavy winter coat.

“Are you done sir?” another voice asks snapping WingDings gaze away from the strange staring monster. “Kids are getting hot in here.” Sitting just behind the strange monster is an equally strange looking car, with wooden panels on the sides and a silver chrome bumper.

Looking back at the monster the man in the car is addressing, WingDings sucks in a breath when he sees that the monster is still staring at him. The monster doesn’t answer the man, just stares until they finally turn and remove the nozzle from the gas pump sitting in the gas intake valve of the unique car. Shaken awake WingDings, for the first time realizes he’s at a gas station, albeit a modest sized one. There are only two oddly designed gas pumps and a little round shop with a one service station garage attached.

“Thanks Joe, keep the change,” the man says and he sputters off. Turning down a cracked street infested with weeds and tar. There isn’t much to be seen to the street and WingDings suspect that even if he were to travel a block or two there wouldn’t be much else. Besides the gas station there is an oldies diner, an oldies hotel, and an oldies market. WingDings thinks of them as ‘oldies’ since he doesn’t know any other word to described the rounded buildings, neon lit signs and checker tile pattern.

After the car drives off the monster, apparently named Joe, swiftly walks back to WingDings and stands in front of him, staring again.

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, WingDings clasps his hands behind himself before doing his best to smile and wave. “Hello, Joe?” he says doing his best not to buzz in his speech.
. . .

Silence.

The monster with ‘Joe’ on their name-tag only stares at WingDings.

When the child is nearly convinced the monster is deaf, he tries to speak.

“I’m sor-.”

“Hello,” the monster greets him civilly, not even so much as a twitch of an eyebrow altering the state of their flat expression.

. . .

Silence again.

When it becomes unbearable WingDings tries to continue the conversation. “It’s ni-.”

“But my name isn’t Joe,” the monster corrects him.

. . .

It doesn’t sound like the monster is offended, but they don’t elaborate either.

Again WingDings waits and again when he can’t stand to wait any longer he opens his mouth. “Then might I ask w-.”

“It’s Barbara Ficus,” the monster informs him.

“It’s . . . nice to meet you Barbara Ficus,” WingDings says, he waits to see if they’ll say more, but when they don’t speak he continues. “I’m WingDings the skeleton.”

“You weren’t there before,” Ficus says as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“I . . . what?” WingDings is feeling put on the spot being stared at so intently for so long and cannot understand the simple observation.

“You weren’t there before,” Ficus repeats.

. . .

WingDings waits and waits.

He waits past the point where he is feeling uncomfortable, but he is determined not to speak until Ficus does, fearing he’ll just be cut off again and made to feel more uncomfortable than he already does.

“You appeared out of nowhere,” Ficus explains further.

While this does clear a little up, it doesn’t relieve any of the child’s tension. Apparently for the first time in the short history of his space jumping time travels, someone has actually witnessed his magical appearance into the world. It might be a little surprising to say that Ficus isn’t freaking out but WingDings suspects that the monster doesn’t react much to anything no matter what it is.

“Yes, I can teleport,” WingDings explains waiting for any indication that he might need to explain more or is being understood. He doesn’t receive any indication whatsoever from the monster and feeling awkward enough already the child just goes ahead and rambles. “I have the magical ability to go across great distance in an instant by folding data and dimensions simultaneously.”

. . .

Ficus doesn’t even blink.

They just stare.

“Are you lost?” they ask.

“. . . Uh, yes I am,” WingDings says surprised by the perceptive question.

. . .

“You’re in Tallio, a little outside of Malancin,” Ficus replies.

“I . . . don’t . . . recognize those names,” WingDings says slowly. He’s finding from talking to a person who only will say so much and takes so long to say anything that he wants to choose his words just as carefully.

. . .

Miracle of miracles, Ficus slowly turns there head towards the gas stations service building and points at a payphone box. “You can use that to call your family,” Ficus replies. “Do you have change?”

“Uh, yes I might have some change?” WingDings says digging into his pocket and retrieving his cell phone. Honestly he’s never thought of bringing pocket change with him before.

Seeing the strange device, Ficus stares while WingDings searches his loot box. He also takes the opportunity to take off his heavy winter coat. If the glaring sun is anything to go by, this world is not in the dead of winter.

The sight of the strange device means something to the monster, although what that is WingDings doesn’t know as the monster reaches forward and covers the young skeletons hand, avoiding the hole there. When Ficus removes their hand the change the man paid with is left behind.

“There is a yellow pages attached to the box,” Ficus tells him.

. . .

Yellow pages? WingDings has no idea what that is.

Lost in thought and no doubt looking utterly confused, WingDings chooses to simply nod in acknowledgment to the information he’s been given.

“Have you used a payphone before?” Ficus asks. When WingDings doesn’t immediately respond Ficus turns on their heels and walks briskly for the telephone box. They reach down beside the box and pull out a step stool so WingDings will be able to reach it safely. When they realize WingDings has not followed, Ficus lifts a hand and beckons the lad to come with a stiff repeated motion of their fingers.

Shaking himself awake, WingDings scurries over and stands beside the step stool. When WingDings is feeling awkward again Ficus steps onto the stool and points to the coin slot at the top. “Put your money here,” they point with their stubby fingers.

Pick up the phone,” they demonstrate by taking the phone off the hook. “Press one.”

“Why one?” WingDings asks.

. . .

“Press one,” Ficus repeats making WingDings bite his lower lip. “Wait for the operator to speak. She will ask for the number and how long you wish to speak for. Answer her questions and she will patch you through to the correct person.”

. . .

It sounds super complicated, but WingDings is afraid to ask for Ficus to repeat themselves.

“If you forget and can read, the instructions are listed here,” they point to a fading and dirty set of instructions plastered on the front of the phone with ‘Local Call 10cents,’ written in bold letters at the top. “I’ll be inside if you need assistance.” Ficus returns the phone to the receiver and hops off the stool.

Unable to move, WingDings stares up at what he imagines to be the scariest phone in all the universes. Ficus continued stares go unnoticed by WingDings, who is too lost in his thoughts to care. Without any warning, the monster picks WingDings up and puts him on the stool, pats him on the back, and walks into the building.

There is a clatter of bells and then silence as WingDings stares after the strange gas station employee. He didn’t even have a chance to feel freaked out since the explanation of the phone happened too fast and actually, it isn’t a bad thing. If anything it is kind of sweet, forgetting the fact Ficus left an eight year old to try and use a technological monstrosity. What kind of world is this? Why have technology at all if it’s this complicated?

Looking through the change WingDings finds where the value is printed in small symbols. He’s about to try and put the money in until realizes he first needs to figure out who he is suppose to call. In his awkward panic he just let a complete stranger decide that what he needed to do was make a phone call.

In a certain line of reasoning it makes sense, but WingDings very existence is not a logical reason. Glancing up WingDings looks through the clouded window and sees Ficus staring at him. As if sensing the child’s unease they look away, only to look back again.

Unable to bring himself to step down from the stool, WingDings looks down at the phone book and opens it up. What he sees horrifies him. Rows and rows of teeny tiny letters greets him, listing name after name with strings of numbers. While the numbers are easy for him to make out the shrunken letters are near impossible for him to understand. Filled with determination, WingDings takes his reading glasses from his loot box and constructs a plan. A feeble plan but a plan nonetheless.

In his travels the people he can nearly always count on is himself and his brothers. They almost always understand his circumstances. So after figuring out the phone book is listing everything alphabetically, he looks for the name Gaster.

Nothing for Gaster.

WingDings.

Nothing for WingDings.

Sans.

Nothing.

Papyrus.

Nothing.

Frisk.

Nothing.

Hitting his head against the thick open book, WingDings crawls his fingers across his skull, causing his glasses to tip to one side. Why is this so complicated? He stays like this for several long minutes until another name pops into his head. Closing the book, cover up he flips through the ‘A’s.

Aster.

Aster, Comic Sans WingDings Aster, 7433-4832-943

He can hardly believe it!

Aster, Papyrus WingDings Aster 7433-5885-273

They’re here, they’re here!

He stomps his feet on the stool in his excitement, his magic hands appearing and clapping ecstatically as his finger remains fixed to the names. He’s afraid that if he moves his finger from their names that he’ll lose them again. After assuring himself that these are in fact the names he is looking for, he picks up the coins he needs so he can make a ‘long distance’ call. He puts them into the machine, pressing ‘one’ and waiting for the lady to speak.

After ringing several times a lady speaks on the other side, “Where would you like to call?” she asks pleasantly.

He looks at the first number listed. “I want to call someone at 7433-4832-943 . . . please.”

“For how long?” she asks.

“Five minutes?” he says, tugging the wire nervously and squishing his toes together. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. This atrocious device actually works!

“Insert another ten cents, please hold,” she says and there is a beep on the other end.

He jumps a little when music plays briefly on the other end of the phone, some kind of jazz only it’s a very static filled recording. Not that he minds it. Honestly he finds the sound of static rather soothing as he puts in more coins.

There is a click and a dial tone beeps at him. Blinking blindly ahead with a quizzical expression, WingDings looks at the phone and puts it to his ear again. ‘Hello,’ he beeps back in WingDings.

The sound persists.

So it’s just a mindless phone telling him his call has been disconnected. In his language the sound can mean a few different things depending on how many beeps and the circumstances. For him it means that he is upset and wants to be left alone. Which is how he’s interpreting the sound even now despite knowing logically that this is not what the device is saying.

It just sounds angry, it isn’t angry.

It’s just a machine.

But what if, Comic Sans doesn’t want to be bothered.

What if, like the dial tone, he just wants to be left alone?

Furrowing his brow, WingDings slams the phone on the hook and jiggles the tab that says, ‘release coins if call is not complete’. Well this call is not complete. Not if he has anything to say about it!

He puts the coins in the slot and presses the number one.

“Hello, where would you like to place your call?” the same voice asks on the other end of his phone.

“Can I call . . . 7433-5885-273,” he asks.

The voice on the other end doesn’t answer immediately. “Did your other call not go through?”

“No Ma’am,” he answers.

“Same amount of time?” she asks slowly. It is as if she wants to say more, but she can’t.

“Yes please,” he answers.

“Such a polite kid, please hold and same amount,” she says and the familiar jazz music comes on.

Anxiety sweeping into his bones, WingDings rocks back and forth unable to hold still as the jazz music plays. When there is a click, he holds his breath until the blaring dial tone scolds him again. Clenching the phone he slowly returns it to the hook, biting his lower lip.

Mechanically he toggles the change lever again and calls the operator.

“Hello, where would you like to place your call?” the very same woman asks with practices happiness.

“C-can you try 7433-4832-94 again Ma’am . . . please,” WingDings asks, clutching the plastic phone piece.

“Hun, are you sure, the number might be . . .”

“Please Ma’am,” WingDings cuts her off, his eyes burning red.

“All right sweet pea,” she says and does as he asks.

There is jazz music then a dial tone.

He slams the receiver down, grabs the coins, puts them in the slot and tries again.

“Hello, where would you like to place your call,” same voice.

“Yes Ma’am I’d like to try again,” he says.

“. . .,” the other end is completely silent and WingDings fears she’ll cut him off.

”Who are you trying to reach hun?” she asks.

“Comic Sans WingDings Aster,” he says.

“Please hold,” she replies kindly.

The horridly peppy music returns, making WingDings feels as if it is as bad as hearing the dial tone. He finds himself hoping to hear the nice operator’s voice again.
There is a click and the music stops. “I’m afraid he is no longer at that address sweet pea,” she tells him sadly. “Neither is Papyrus WingDings Aster, the phone-book you are using must be an old publication.”

WingDings soul sinks in his ribs and he slouches like a weathered tree in a storm. “I . . . thank you Ma’am,” he says and lifts the phone from his ear.

“I have another number for Comic Sans WingDings Aster,” he hears her pipe up.

Quickly putting the piece to his ear he says, “You do!”

“Unfortunately it’s a business number hun, so they’re closed at this hour,” she tells him.

He looks at the sky and notes the slowly setting sun. The street lights are flickering on and he see’s Ficus scuttling about inside the shop, flipping the ‘open’ sign around to ‘closed’.

“Do you have some paper to write on sweet pea, I can give you the number,” she says.

“Oh uh,” he fumbles with his cell phone, but drops it. “I uh . . . Ficus!” He pulls his head away from the phone and looks at the store front in static worry.

With the ringing of bells, the door opens and Ficus pokes their head out.

“Can I have a pencil and paper please?” he asks.

To WingDings surprise the monster moves faster then they talk and returns swiftly with an old receipt and a pen.

“Are you there sweet pea?”

“Yes Ma’am,” WingDings sputters. “I’m ready.”

“All right, his business is Gaster’s Gasoline,” she says. “His number is 2948-8532-593.” She repeats the number for him and has him say it back so they know he got it down right.

“Thank you so much Ma’am, you are a very kind and patient phone operator,” WingDings says.

The woman giggles on the other end. “I hope you contact your friend soon sweet pea,” she says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says and hangs up the phone, carefully putting the paper in his pocket. When he turns, Ficus is there waiting with that stare of theirs. Quickly WingDings retrieves the pen and returns it to the monster.

The monster accepts the pen and places WingDings cell phone in his fingers, avoiding the hole in his hand.

“Mm . . . thank you,” WingDings says softly returning his glasses to his loot box and putting the phone in his pocket. Now that he has a magic charger he won’t have to worry about the device dying, but he hopes he didn’t break it when he dropped it.

Otherwise everything in his inventory is out of his hands.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ficus asks.

That’s right! He’s stranded in the middle of nowhere . . . well a place called Tallio, but that might as well be nowhere for WingDings. Clasping one arm over his chest and clutching his other arm, he checks Ficus’s soul.

Barbara Ficus’s soul is . . . actually very tiny. They have no LV and there soul is a pure white. The flavor text reads. “Frets over how they are perceived.”

This is a strange thing to worry about when their actions scream ‘I’m a weirdo!’

“Hmm?” WingDings cups his chin and looks up at Ficus’s glossy unblinking eyes.

“I can get you a room at the motel,” Ficus says.

“I can pay,” WingDings quickly assures them fingering the pocket with his phone and taking it out.

. . .

WingDings manages to access the inventory and pulls out some gold the universal currency for monsters most of the time.

The monsters eyes don’t change, but they push the gold bits back towards the child. “No need,” Ficus says.

After another round of staring, WingDings knows better than to say anything and waits. “You must be hungry,” Ficus continues.

“I can manage . . . you want to come to the diner with me?” WingDings asks politely, looking across the street to the little diner. It kind of reminds him of Burgey’s joint, only its colors aren’t Mettaton flavored.

For a fraction of a second it looks almost as if Ficus’s eyes vibrate, but it must be a trick of the lights as the sun disappears behind the distant mountains. Slowly, Ficus shifts their head to stare across the street at the bright nearly empty diner. WingDings glances back at it before looking at the monster again who is still staring at the diner.

“I forgot to make reservations,” Ficus answers with their eyes still locked onto the glowing building. “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Again, WingDings looks back at the diner, double checking to be sure that no one is there. There is maybe two or three people inside, not counting the worker behind the counter. “But there’s no one . . .” he turns around but Ficus is already several meters away, walking briskly towards the motel. “There . . .”

Without moving, WingDings watches Ficus as they scurry along. When Ficus notices WingDings absence from their side they stop at the street, turn, motion to WingDings to follow and hold out their hand.

While it is true that he’s unable to recognize any emotion in their eyes, their gesture, while small, is kind and honest. He is a little old to be taking adults hands, but he accepts Ficus’s offer and crosses the intersection to reach the quiet little inn beckoning them.

Notes:

I did my very best to research how a phone worked during this time period and I confess that I did not get it perfectly right even with my parents assistance. I really wanted to include the scene since it establishes the time period a bit and shows us Barbara’s character.

Chapter 2: Not Quite Alone

Notes:

In which we get to see more of the town and WingDings spends his first night alone.

Barabara and WingDings walk into the front parlor of the motel which is basically a re-purposed hotel room where the child is struck by how musty and smoky it smells. The walls are painted a lime yellow and a darker navy blue color which don’t match in WingDings opinion. There is a banana yellow rounded couch, a trash can like object with a round metal tray on top and of course a little window where an origami monster sits.

“Good evening Barbara, must have been another slow day,” the monster says cheerfully. “And who might you be youngling?” They hop forward on the desk so they can get a better look at him, revealing just how short this new monster is.

“I’m WingDings,” the skeleton answers.

“It’s nice to meet you WingDings, I’m Glen Diamond,” the monster says waving at him. “Are you here visiting Ficus?”

“Actually, I’m kinda lost,” WingDings answers sheepishly, scuffing his foot into the linoleum floor and clutching his hands behind his back in an act of embarrassment. It’s an act, but he’s not completely lying at least . . . not like he knows where Tallio is. “Ficus has been helping me.”

“Lost?” Diamond folds the corner of their body acting as their left hand towards their mouth. “You poor thing, did someone just drop you off and leave you?”

“Uh, no, my magic teleported me here by mistake,” WingDings explains. “I’ve been trying to contact my family, but . . . I’ve had trouble reaching them.”

“You poor thing, you must be exhausted,” Diamond says, the corners of their thin arms vibrating with concern. “I’ll get a nice clean room for you. Be back in a jiffy.”

Be back in a jiffy? Who talks like that?

“How much for a room?” WingDings calls reaching into his pocket. He hasn’t had to pay much in his past travels, but he doesn’t want to be burden. He rather doubts the monster sees a lot of business in a town this size.

Before he can pull out his phone Ficus puts an arm out and stops him, not even turning their head to look at the child. WingDings has to wait, but the monster explains themselves eventually. “I’ll pay, just add it to my rent Glenn,” Ficus tells the receptionist.

“Are you sure Barbara?” Diamond asks, leaning over the counter and dropping the room key into WingDings open hand. The keys swiftly fall through the youngsters hands, but he quickly picks it up. “Oh I’m so sorry WingDings, I should have been more careful.”

“Its fine,” the child shrugs. “Happens all the time.”

“Hmm, still sorry anyway,” Diamond stands straighter and verbally lists off what the room has to offer. “There is a phone, radio, and bathroom. But the phone is only local calls and the radio only picks up three channels.”

WingDings is speechless. What’s the point of having a phone that only calls locally? There’s gotta be what? Five buildings in the entire town? And a radio? Who has a hotel room without a T.V. at least? He’s almost glad Ficus is paying because this certainly isn’t worth his brother’s gold.

At least the bed will be clean.

“Thank you for the room,” WingDings answers with a stiff smile and bow of his head.

“What are you bowing your head for?” Diamond asks, not in a condescending way, just blissful curiosity.

“To show that I am thankful,” he answers.

“Interesting, I’ve seen a lot of Kookie characters in my time, but I can’t say I’ve ever had anyone bow their head to me, I’m flattered,” Diamond chuckles. “Well if ever you need something just give me a bell.”

“Give me a bell?” WingDings asks, with a raised brow. Did the room come with a bell too?

“Press nine on the phone in your room to reach me here in the office,” Diamond explains patiently.

“Oh, thank you Diamond,” the child says before glancing down at his key.

“You’re room is the first one, directly next to the office,” Diamond points to their right. “I’ve also got a coupon for the diner if you want to eat there for the night?”

Hesitantly, WingDings looks at Ficus, recalling their strange comment from before about reservations. As he looks the monster’s tongue briefly flicks out of their mouth before they conscientiously slurp it back behind their lips.

Now it is the receptionist’s and WingDings turn to stare at Ficus. They get away with it for half a minute before they speak up. “You don’t have the correct currency WingDings, therefore you cannot eat there,” Ficus replies.

Taken aback, WingDings head snaps erect before he drops his gaze to the floor. He’d never considered ever going to a place that wouldn’t accept gold as a valuable currency. In every world he’d been to previously it could be used to at least trade for proper money native to that country or world.

“Well I’m sure we can pay for you. . .”

“No, that’s all right, I don’t need any food,” WingDings says, knowing he can just eat his emergency meals from his inventory.

“Nonsense, you’re a growing boy,” Diamond tells him with firm concern.

“Really I’ll be okay, I’m just bones anyway,” WingDings tries to jest, jutting out his arms to show his Ulna and Radius.

It’s a good try but his joke falls flat and no one present is buying it.

Hard to tell with Ficus but WingDings assumes he isn’t fooling anyone.

“I haven’t eaten yet, so I’ll take you over,” Diamond tells him. The star shaped monster disappears behind the counter and scurries out through a door made for a much larger person. Scurrying forward, they tug a sign at the window saying ‘out for lunch’ and motions to WingDings and Ficus to follow.

They do so and Diamond turns to Ficus, waiting for the monster to say something and knowing they will.

“Thank you for giving him a room,” Ficus says after their required pause. “I’ll check on him in the morning.” Having nothing more to say the strange monster goes back towards the garage and presumably towards wherever they live. WingDings watches the monster in the dim scattered street lights until they completely vanish into the darkness.

“Will Ficus be all right?” WingDings asks.

“Don’t worry WingDings, Ficus is a tough woman,” the tiny monster escorts them diagonally across the street, not bothered by the incorrect method of doing so. At first WingDings is hesitant to follow, but with a buzz of mischief and the sense of getting away with something, he follows. Its like when visiting a friend’s house and getting candy before dinner. The child looks both ways, wondering if Papyrus would be mad if he told him that he jaywalked diagonally across an intersection.

“Why won’t she eat with us?” WingDings asks as they near the brightest building on the entire block, possibly the entire town but this isn’t saying much.

“. . .” the star monster looks forlornly into the shadows and stops before opening the door in the diner. “Some things are hard to move past in life WingDings. That’s why a lot of us live in such a beat up old town in the middle of nowhere. So we can forget our past. You’re too young to understand, but just know that Ficus is a swell gal, despite her oddities.”

“I know Diamond, she has a good soul,” WingDings smiles as he pushes open the door for the monster. Again there is a jingle of bells as they enter, a voice calling out to them in greeting soon after.

“You should tell her that,” Diamond says thoughtfully. “I think she needs to hear it.”

“I’ll try to remember,” WingDings promises and takes a look at his surroundings.

It’s nothing like Carl’s diner with it’s off yellow, black and purple coloring. Nope, this diner feels and looks less cheesy in his opinion. The ground is like a chess board checkered in black and white. There is a long counter with metal stools and red cushions. On the other side with the window are traditional booths sporting bright red leather, linoleum like tables tops and strange chrome boxes at the end of each table.

But by far the coolest thing WingDings has ever seen is right next to the entrance and he zero’s in on it like a fly to a neon light. Carl didn’t have anything like this in the Mettaton Burger joint he ran. WingDings doesn’t even know how to describe it. The machine, as near he can tell, is decorated in colorful lights with strange buttons on the front, with letters and numbers. In the top part, which he can barely see a peek of when standing on his toes, has black discs and a turntable of some kind.

He feels like he’s seen something like this before but for the life of him he can’t remember where.

“Want to play some tunes?” Diamond asks reaching into their pocket and pulling out a silver coin.

“Can I?” WingDings asks, eyes glowing a brilliant yellow in his excitement.

“Well ain’t he a cutie pie,” a woman behind the counter says. She is wearing a colorful striped dress with an off yellow apron wrapped around her middle.

“Is he dead?” An older gentleman with a grey beard asks from one of the stools.

“Harry!” the woman scolds. “Comments like that and I won’t top you off no more.”

“Hey, Betty, don’t be mean like that, not every day ya see a skeleton monster,” Harry quickly back pedals. “I ain’t no racist.”

“Hmmph,” Betty tops off his mug, but still gives him a warning look to let him know for perhaps the hundredth time that she means business.

Finding the comment strange, WingDings watches the man a moment before he feels the cold coin carefully put into his fingers by Diamond. “Go ahead, choose a song,” they say and hop on towards one of the booths.

Finding the slot for the coin, WingDings places it inside and hears a swirling and clinking sound of the coin as it disappears from sight. He puts his eyes to the slot and is baffled by the teeny glimpse he has of the colorful and intricate contraption constructed inside. What he would give to see the inside of this thing!

He next turns his attention to the numbers and list of songs printed in tiny rectangles near the numbers. As can be expected he doesn’t recognize any of the songs so chooses one at random called ‘Black Denim Trousers’. As soon as it begins and he hears the trio of male voices tell a story that sounds awfully strange to him.

“Interesting pick for a kid,” Betty laughs as she comes around the counter.

With a skip in his step, WingDings jumps up onto the seat across from Diamond as Betty comes to the table and places some double sided plastic sleeve menus in front of each of them. “So who’s the kid?” Betty asks, reaching into here apron and pulling out a lollipop for him. He happily accepts the treat, carefully cracking the colorful candy with his teeth.

“This is WingDings, he has special teleportation magic and ended up in our town by mistake,” Diamond gladly explains to the woman. “He’s having trouble contacting his family.”

“Aw, now that’s a real shame, young thing like you out on your own,” Betty says, putting down another sucker for him, this time orange flavor. “Foods on the house sugar cube, anything you like.”

“Thank you very much ma’am,” he says handing her the menu. “Can I have the curly fries and a cheese burger.”

“You got it,” she winks at him.

“I’ll have the usual,” Diamond laughs. “Why bother giving me this old thing.” They wave the plastic menu at her and lightly slaps it in the woman’s hand.

“We have a guest,” Betty says motioning towards WingDings. “Have to put my best foot forward.”

“And which foot might that be?” Harry asks.

“Cut the gas Harry,” Betty snaps at him before smiling sweetly to the others and scuttling away. “Ben, I’ve got the usual for Glen but tag on a kid’s cheese burger and curly fries.”

With their order out of the way WingDings continues to enjoy his lollipop and turn his focus onto the strange chrome box at the end of the table. He has no idea what it is, but after reading the familiar rectangular words displayed on the front he realizes it’s connection to the music device at the front of the diner.

“Let me play one of my favorites,” Diamond tells him and drops a coin in the slot. “Actually it’s the whole countries favorite right now.” The monster hops onto the table to press the numbers correctly while Betty returns with a cushioned booster seat for both Diamond and WingDings, allowing them to sit more comfortably at the booth. WingDings usually feels a little self conscious about how short he is, but with Diamond there he doesn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable.

A song called ‘Rock Around the Clock’ plays from the machine and WingDings has to admit that he likes the peppy beat. He swings his legs out and bobs his head to the rhythm while Diamond and Harry sing the words. When one of them gets a word wrong they are quick to call the other one out, each claiming they sang it right and the other got it wrong. After a good laugh they settle down, a random song playing with the clatter and sizzle of their cooking meal coming from the kitchen.

“So who’s your family?” Diamond asks.

“I have two brothers,” WingDings answers without hesitation. “My brothers are a lot older than I am and have been raising me.”

“Oh that’s so sweet of them,” Betty comes up and gives WingDings a glass of white milk with a frosted glass while giving Diamond a fizzling soda of some kind.

“Skeleton monsters aren’t very common anymore,” Diamond says conversationally. “Only ever knew of one, was famous during the war.”

“Really? Honestly I try not remember such times,” Betty hums putting a hand to her hip.

“Do you know his name?” WingDings asks. “Maybe I’ve met him.”

“Sorry, I can’t remember,” Diamond confesses sheepishly. “All I know is that he was a genius, worked with the military and the NACA.”

“That’s quite the accomplishment for a monster,” Betty hums.

“Order Up!” a voice calls from the kitchen. Their waiter swiftly collects their meal and delivers it to them. The burger and fries are not as good as the way Grillby makes it, but it’s still amazing! It helps that he’s really hungry.

As he eats he speculates who this genius skeleton was that worked for the country’s military. It could be either Sans or Papyrus, both of which are really smart skeletons in his opinion.

When they are finished eating, WingDings thanks them for the delicious meal and the company before Diamond takes them back across the street to the motel. It’s only when they arrive that WingDings realizes that Diamond didn’t bother locking up the office. Either the receptionist lives dangerously or they are well aware that hardly anyone comes through this town. After wishing each other a good night, WingDings goes into the room that has been given to him.

While the room is fairly small it’s pleasant and tidy, smells smoky, but not as strong as the office. There is a lamp and couch under the heavy curtains of the window, a nightstand with a telephone, the bed and a door leading to the bathroom. The carpet is a stripe pattern of blue, yellow and green with matching painted walls. As with the office WingDings doesn’t think the colors really complement each other, but it certainly sets the place apart from other worlds he’s been.

Hopping onto the bed WingDings jumps up and down, buzzing happily before kneeling near the end table and digging out his phone and magic charger. With the phone safely charging WingDings pulls out his PJ’s and toothpaste and gets himself ready for bed.

Everything is going fine until he looks in the mirror. He is so surprised he jumps back, staring at himself with yellow glowing eyes. After the shock wears off WingDings scrambles on top of the counter and plasters his face against the mirror so he can have a better look at his face.

Cracks.

He has thin dark cracks marring his once perfectly smooth skull. One crack goes from the top of his right eye up and around out of sight, while the other connects from his top lip to the bottom lid of his left eye. Feeling it with his fingers and twisting his head, the child cautiously studies these changes, careful as he touches it.

To his delight they don’t hurt at all, merely an outward blemish to his otherwise healthy skull. Satisfied that this is just a temporary change attached to this world, WingDings drops off the counter and continues his nightly ritual for bed.

Everyone in this town must have noticed his scars, but they never said a thing or looked at him strange. Well aside from Barbara, but WingDings suspects that’s just how she’d look at everyone.

When he’s finished, he settles under the covers of the bed and pulls out his glasses and a book to read. When he comes to a word he’s having trouble sounding out in his head he asks automatically out loud, “Papyrus what does this say?”

No one is there to answer.

When there is no response WingDings looks up and realizes just where he is. Slowly his eye lights drift down again, blindly looking at his picture book. This is the first night he’s spent alone in his entire life. Even when visiting other worlds someone took him in the first day, this is the first time, aside from his adventure as a fish skeleton where no one took him in. Granted, he didn’t have a guardian in the ocean world at first, but the sailors were always there to keep him company and milling about.

But there is no one else here.

It’s just him.

In an ugly empty room.

All by himself.

Suddenly, the book doesn’t seem all that interesting anymore. He sets the glasses and book down beside him and reaches over towards the lamp, pulling down on the chain. The room is instantly plunged into blinding darkness. Shrieking, the child quickly turns the light back on trembling and clutching the chain possessively.

Seconds later there is a knock at the door. “WingDings are you all right?” Diamond calls to him in concern.

“I-I’mzzz,” he clears his throat, trying to focus when he falls into WingDings. “Just a bit jumpy, I’m all right, thank you.”

At first Diamond doesn’t say anything but WingDings doesn’t hear them hop away. “Can I do anything to help?” they ask again.

Looking towards the door WingDings debates what do, but finally scurries out of the bed and opens the door. The tiny monster is wearing a fluffy pink robe and slippers, with a nightcap on their head. “Can you read me a story?” WingDings asks, blushing yellow in embarrassment.

“Of course I can,” Diamond says. “I read stories to my daughters when they were growing up. They thought I was quite good at it, but you can be the judge of that.”

“Can you read this one?” WingDings asks scampering up onto the bed and holding out the book to Diamond as they settle onto the couch.

“Sure can, oh I don’t think I’ve read this one before,” they smile and eagerly begin. WingDings starts by sitting on the bed, but inevitably ends up sitting beside Diamond. As they read they eventually encourage WingDings to read instead and patiently help him with the words he struggles with.

When they finish, Diamond pats WingDings arm in an endearing and comforting gesture before hopping down from the couch. “Where did the book come from if you don’t mind my asking?” Diamond says as they hobble to the door. “I didn’t see you with a pack and I didn’t think this room had any books.”

Tired and feeling sluggish WingDings can’t immediately come up with an answer, but he eventually shrugs and says. “It’s my teleportation magic,” he explains.

“And you can’t just teleport home?” Diamond asks in confusion.

“Nope, it’s harder to do myself,” WingDings yawns, encouraging the origami star to leave.

They say goodnight and WingDings locks the door. This time he doesn’t turn off the light immediately, instead turning on the bathroom light and leaving the door open a crack. He then turns off the light and settles into bed. Sleep eludes him most of the night, sobbing softly at times, but all in all he thinks he does a good job considering he’s all alone.

As soon as the cracks along the heavy drapes begin to grow lighter WingDings gets up and takes a shower. He prefers taking a bath being bones n’ all, but he doesn’t know how clean the bathtub really is. When he’s finished, he has a little breakfast of dried cereal and finds the boxy radio on the dresser. It is completely brown with a beige speaker and two round knobs.

Curious as ever WingDings fiddles with the device, managing to figure out how to tune it to one of the three stations it can get. When there is a knock at the door, WingDings calls out to let them know he’s coming before turning off the radio and checking to make sure he has all of his things, including Sans number for Gaster’s Gasoline.

Despite being prepared for Ficus’s unnerving stare, WingDings still feels his soul jump in his rib cage when he sees her glossy eyes focused so intensely on him. “Good Morning,” WingDings says moving out into the chilly morning air and locking the door behind him.

As they walk to the office to return the key, Ficus’s delayed ‘Good Morning’ is also spoken.

“The bed was very nice and thank you again for the bedtime story,” WingDings says as he hands Diamond the key.

“Not a problem, I will always offer free bedtime stories to any child who wants them,” Diamond says. “Goodbye WingDings, I hope you are reunited with your family soon.”

“Goodbye and thank you,” WingDings dips his head and leaves the office with Ficus. As soon as they are across the street WingDings races up to the payphone and scoots the stepping stool into place. The phone is no longer a ferocious beast but a conquered foe and he is ready for his valiant efforts to be rewarded.

As he goes through the process of making a long distance call, Ficus opens the shop, unlocking the business and washing up the pumps so they sparkle in the morning sunlight. The telephone operator is a different woman, but they are just as pleasant and connect him to the business he requests.

Digging his heels into the stool, WingDings grips the phone and bites his lower lip. Each ring is like a little voice saying ‘You’re waiting’ or ‘This might work’ or ‘This might not work’, it’s nerve wracking and he doesn’t even have conventional nerves! Finally there is a click and a fuzzy static gently fills the line before a smooth baritone voice says, “Gaster’s Gasoline’ this is Sans, how can I help you?”

Notes:

So I had a lot of fun describing the diner. I have fond memories of going to oldie diners even if the food wasn’t always that great. This isn’t the first time WingDings has been to a place like this, but it’s been a while since he’s been to Carl’s diner. Carl is the name I give all my Burger Pants characters. Next time we’ll meet the Gaster brothers.

Chapter 3: It’s a kid!

Notes:

In which we meet Sans.

“This is Sans, may I ask who is calling?” Sans asks

For a moment WingDings forgets what he wants to say. For one thing he didn’t plan this far and second of all that voice does NOT sound like Sans. At least not like any of the other Sans he’s met. “H-hello, I’m WingDings Gaster and I was hoping you could help me,” WingDings says now clutching the phone with both hands. Now that it comes down to it, he’s not sure this is such a good idea. But he has been so focused on making contact with Sans he hasn’t thought of any other possible choice he might have.

On the other end WingDings can only hear the echoing static. “Prove to me you’re a WingDings,” Sans finally says.

Finding the phrasing funny, but not about to ask for an explanation WingDings does as he’s asked and speaks in the native WingDings font. “I’m WingDings the Skeleton or WingDings Gaster and I’ve been dropped here across time and space to find a piece of my scattered soul.”

More silence, only this time he doesn’t think he imagines hearing Sans suck in a tight breath. “All right rug rat, you got my attention,” Sans says, a rise in static following as he shifts his hand on the phone. “Where you at?”

“I’m in a small town called Tallio, apparently it’s just outside a place called Malancin,” WingDings answers dutifully.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been there, do you got a map on hand?” Sans asks.

“Let me ask,” WingDings pulls his face from the phone piece and calls to the ever watching attendant. “Do you have a map Ms. Ficus?” Seconds later Ficus emerges with a road map and helps WingDings find the tiny town of Tallio. “I’ve got a map.”

“Can you tell me what kind?”

“Ms. Ficus what kind of map is this?” WingDings asks as he hands her the map.

In response Ficus motions for the phone and proceeds to rattle off the title, publication date, and the edition of the road map. There is a question from Sans on the other end and then Ficus shoots back the page numbers that include Tallio on them. For the first time Ficus doesn’t have trouble answering quickly. Maybe it’s because she’s on the phone?

When Ficus is done she hands the phone back to WingDings. “I’ll be there in a jiffy kid,” Sans says and there is a click followed by that annoying dial tone telling him the call is over whether he likes it or not.

Frowning WingDings puts the phone up on the receiver and turns to Ficus. “Thanks again, you have a good soul Ms. Ficus,” the child tells her.

The monster continues to stare, but this time there is a light blush to her cheeks as she looks at him. “It’s no problem,” she says, taking the map and scurrying inside.

Two minutes later there is a sizzling crackle and a bubble distorting a small area on the pavement before a skeleton magically appears. The skeleton is fairly tall, with two cracks in his skull like the ones WingDings discovered on his own head the previous evening. He is wearing black jeans, with a white undershirt and a black jacket with thick white lining on the inside.

But most importantly he is definitely not the Sans he’s familiar with. The only similarities the child can see is his partially open grin and round eyes. Stepping back with one foot, WingDings checks the mysterious skeletons soul and is given a shock.

‘Comic Sans WingDings Aster
Is moto for his motorcycle.’

Upon looking directly at his soul the child sees that it is cleanly cut in half. One side is white and the other half is a glowing yellow.

The flavor text included for Comic Sans baffles WingDings along with the interesting soul combination. He knocks his head to the side as if a different angle will make it easier to understand. Is moto even a word? He’d look it up on his phone if he had internet, he’ll have to remember to download a dictionary onto it the next chance he gets.

“Not what you were expecting?” Sans asks, stuffing one of his hole ridden hands into his pocket. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

WingDings doesn’t like him, even though his soul is a good one, but he is dependent on him. The words of his elder brothers pop unwanted to his mind and he does his best to remember the manners he’s been instructed to follow. “I . . . would appreciate it if you could help me . . . please,” WingDings tells him in his native font, glancing nervously from Sans to Ficus and back again.

“You sure about that?” Sans asks. “Because you don’t look it.”

When he is called out so blatantly it stirs the determination within WingDings soul, summoning a flash of red to his glowing eyes. “Sure as I need to be,” he answers fighting back his unease with single minded defiance.

Pushing his lower lip slightly forward, Sans nods his head so minutely one can hardly tell it’s moving at all. “Right,” the taller skeleton replies, lifting a brow at the boy before turning to Ficus. “Been a while Dr. Ficus, enjoying the quiet?”

“You will take care of him Dr. Aster,” Ficus says as soon as the words are out of Sans mouth. Her eyes are unmoving and her stance is just as stiff as she stares at the man. Her words are either a statement or a command, WingDings can’t tell without the fluctuation in her voice.

Sans constant smirk dips down just enough to look like a grimace. “I will,” he answers. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He appeared in a space void of his presence from what I can only assume was an energized transfer of condensed magic derived from his soul,” she tells him quickly, earning a look of awe from WingDings. “Since his arrival he has shown difficulties interacting with the world around him and possesses items on his person not from our plane of reality but they are still viable within our parameters of understanding. His insistence to contact a Sans and Papyrus is likely his association with them in past encounters or relation given his physical structure. . . He is also a child . . . with a good soul.” There is a small smile on her lips and while it doesn’t move the lids of her eyes WingDings doesn’t imagine the sparkle in them.

Listening intently, Sans sighs heavily and reaches a hand up to rub the back of his skull. “I was afraid you’d say that,” Sans grinds, fishing a cigarette from a box in his jacket pocket.

“It has to be you,” Ficus tells him when he doesn’t say anything else.

“I know that,” Sans says in a clipped tone before putting the cigarette between his teeth, and lighting it with a flick of his fingers.

Since WingDings hasn’t been exposed to cigarette’s much he openly stares at Sans with lowering brows. When the tickle of smoke teases his nose the child snuffs it out harshly his tiny grin turning into a tiny grimace.

“Don’t let him scare you,” Ficus tells WingDings. “He’s a good man.”

“Wasn’t always,” Sans sniffs.

Ficus stares at Sans, she stares at him long and hard, making WingDings very glad she isn’t directing any of it onto him. She stares so long that the chilling Sans is forced to look away, glaring harshly across the street as he takes another fresh drag of the poison on his bony lips.

“Don’t make excuses,” Ficus answers him and turns to WingDings, sticking out a hand to him abruptly. “I wish you the best WingDings.”

“Uh, yes Ms. Ficus,” WingDings answers her, taking her hand and shaking it in return. “Thank you again for everything.”

After shaking his hand Ficus turns to Sans. “Leave me your home number, I’ll call.”

Sans grinds his teeth and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a business card, a pen appearing out of nowhere in his other hand. Writing down his number on the back he hands it to Ficus. “Thought you ran away,” he tells her.

“Not as far as you,” she answers back. “Talk to you soon.” She doesn’t give him any form of goodbye and leaves the two standing in front of her gas pumps as she disappears into her little shop. As she takes a seat behind her counter, she turns towards them, staring like always.

“Guess we should go,” Sans says taking the cigarette from his mouth. He’s about to throw it onto the ground but thinks better of it. He walks up to a strange round stand that looks kind of like a trash can but it has a tin dish on top of it. Snuffing out the cigarette in the bowl, Sans gives the staring Ficus a nod as if saying goodbye.

She nods back.

“Ready to hit the road ankle-biter?” Sans holds out his hand to WingDings who slowly reaches forward to take it wondering what an ankle-biter is.

WingDings has enough time to look back and smile at Ficus before the building and monster disappear from his sight, replaced by a black void. His soul jumps within his rib cage, but next time he blinks, light has returned and he is standing in what appears to be a waiting room of some kind with plain walls, two large windows and a counter desk space for a worker.

“Take a seat,” Sans tells him, pulling off his jacket and moving through a door to the counter/office space.

Studying the area critically, WingDings chooses the cleanest chair he can next to a window. He tries to turn and look out the window, but he isn’t tall enough, so he is forced to move onto his knees to look through. Instead of looking outside he finds himself looking into an auto repair garage where several automobiles with chrome bumpers and rounded sides are parked.

“Pick up, damn it, pick up,” Sans mutters behind him. WingDings glances around him into the little office space Sans is occupying, with a phone pressed against his skull as he paces. He is held back from any rigorous pacing thanks to the tiny space and the cord the phone is attached to.

WingDings is about to turn his attention back onto the cars when Sans begins speaking again. “Papyrus, we really need to talk. . .” he says, stopping his movements and leaning heavily against an unseen table or desk beyond the little window. “No, this ain’t about the bent eight. Heh, real classy chassis that one . . . shit, I’m serious.”

Hearing the vulgar word causes no change in WingDings demeanor, but Sans eye lights flick towards the child apprehensively as he realizes what he just said. Sans adjusts his lower jaw before turning slightly away, in a weak attempt to pretend the conversation is private. “Look, can you drop by for your lunch break?”

There’s a pause before he is shaking his head and tapping a finger. As Papyrus, WingDings assumes, continues to rattle on the other end of the phone, San’s irritation escalates along with the rat-a-tat of his bony finger. When he can take it no more he interrupts.

“It’s a kid!” he shouts.

Being referred to as a kid is accurate, but WingDings is not impressed with how Sans is handling this conversation.

Whatever Papyrus says on the other end of the phone makes Sans blush.

“I could ask you the same flatter bum,” Sans accuses, fishing for another cigarette from his pocket. “You know I’d never do that to her.” He takes a seat on the table and puts his back to WingDings completely, shoulders hunched as he sparks some heat to his cheap cigarette.

At this point their conversation becomes muffled and WingDings can’t make any of it out. Curious as to what they are discussing about him, the child leaves his seat and silently moves below the window. After waiting a second of two, he summons his hands to take him up into the framed opening. He doesn’t make a sound even as his feet press down onto the few scattered papers on the old metal desk.

“Think you can make it work?” he hears Sans say under his breath in the WingDings font. “Even with the position change?”

“If anything my being assigned to paperwork will make it easier. I still have my contacts, I’ll make it work,” he can barely make out Papyrus’s answer using the same dialect. “I’ll drop by at lunch to get a look at em’, where is he now?”

“Ah, he’s hanging out in the . . .” as soon as Sans head shifts WingDings takes a step back and short cuts his way into his seat, standing their innocently with his hands clasped behind his back.

Noticing the shift in WingDings position and finding it odd that the child is smiling at him so nicely, Sans eyelids narrow in suspicion. “Yeah, thanks, you always were my better half,” he says into the mouth piece and hangs up.

“Was that Papyrus?” WingDings asks, wishing to distract Sans from his inklings of mistrust.

“Yeah, it was,” he answers.

“Is he your brother?”

“Psch,” Sans snickers, removing his cigarette as to avoid sputtering ashes everywhere. “Something like that.”

They aren’t brothers? In every world he’s been to prior to this one, Papyrus and Sans have always been brothers. It’s obvious the two know each other and have the same last name.

Could they be married?

WingDings glances at Sans ring finger and sees a gold band there.

Has any of the Sans he’s ever known been married?

He can only think of one.

As Sans reenters the waiting room the child asks his next question. “Are you married to him?” WingDings asks innocently, seeing nothing wrong with the question given the society and culture he’s been brought up in.

At first Sans eyes go wide and he is completely silent, then he sniffs, then he snorts, before erupting into a hearty guffaw. His eye lights flashing yellow from his mirth at the very idea.

“Not to cramp any other Sans style you might of met out there, but I ain’t got that kind of relationship with Papyrus,” Sans wipes a tear from his eye and takes a seat, causing the metal legs to screech against the stained linoleum floor harshly.

“But you have a ring,” WingDings points to the other skeletons hand, blushing red with embarrassment.

“Look kid, take my advice on this,” Sans leans forward, cradling his hand between his knees as he looks WingDings in the eye. “Wait till you have all the answers before assuming anything.”

WingDings studies the man thoughtfully, struck by how forlorn Sans has become. The child doesn’t understand what Sans means, but he is aware of the sincerity swimming in the rings of his golden eyes even as they dim into normal white orbs.

“Think you can remember that?” Sans asks.

“No,” WingDings shakes his head, answering nonchalantly, but his honesty’s got to count for something.

“Then I’ll keep reminding ya,” he answers, summoning a hand.

Seeing the magic hand shocks WingDings. Sans shouldn’t be able to use magic hands. That’s his thing! He watches the hand as if it’s a new species of spider, not breaking eye contact or even blinking. The yellow glowing hand disappears into the office window and returns with a small metal lunch box, with a heavy brass latch and handle.

“Must be hungry,” Sans tells him, setting the lunch box beside him and opening it up. “I already had breakfast, go ahead and eat it.” Unhinging the rounded lid with the two latches, Sans reveals a sandwich with turkey, lettuce, and pickles along with an unpeeled orange.

“But what about your lunch?” WingDings ask.

“Papyrus will bring us something to eat,” he assures him and stands to his feet, walking to the door and unlocking it. He flips over the ‘closed’ sign with his magic hand before moving outside and opening the heavy garage doors, putting some extra light onto the strange automobiles inside.

As WingDings eats the sandwich he stands on his chair, watching Sans work on the cars in the garage, magic hands buzzing around him with ease. While he watches, WingDings presses his skull against the glass, staring forward intently without really watching. He’s lost in thoughts, half of which he won’t remember, but one thought sticks. How can that guy be Sans? He’s nothing like Sans. Any of them! And he’s met quite a few.

At some point Sans stops what he’s doing and stares back, but WingDings doesn’t notice right away. Sans is forced to wave several hands to get his attention. ‘Enjoy the sandwich?’ he asks in sign language.

Caught a little off guard, WingDings takes a wobbly step back and nearly falls off the chair. When he regains his balance he answers back. ‘Yes, thank you, I’m full.’

‘Good,’ Sans says and gets back to work. As he works two of his hands continue to sign. ‘You have questions, but I got a job to do. We’ll wait for Papyrus then I’ll go on break,’ the hands tell him. ‘Meanwhile, you can join me, if you promise to stay close and not touch anything.’

Instead of Sans lifting his head to see what WingDings signs another magic hand appears in front of him, awaiting his response. Knowing what to do, the child presses his fist into the hand and signs ‘yes.’ He’d much rather be watching Sans up close than watch him from afar and be bored out of his mind.

‘Come on around,’ Sans tells him.

Scrambling off the chair WingDings goes out the front door and comes to Sans side. The skeleton smiles at him and moves to the front, opening the long hood and moving a stepping stool to the front so WingDings can look inside. “This is a 1952 DeSoto Custom,” Sans tells him, waving a hand over the engine. “And there is always something wrong with this car and not just because it’s old.”

“1950’s does sound old,” WingDings comments, mesmerized by the inner workings of the car. He loves seeing all the wires and tubes and the metal casing for the actual engine. Papyrus on occasion has shown him the engine of his convertible, but this looks nothing like it.

“The year’s 1958, so if anybody asks that’s what you tell them all right,” Sans tells him.

“Oh,” WingDings answers starting to understand why this modern like world isn’t quite the modern he is used to.

“This old girl’s radiator has gone kaput,” Sans continues to explain. “Looks like Clamgirl forgot to have a jug of water in the back to cool it.”

“Will you have to replace it?” WingDings asks looking at the large thin metal block towards the front of the hood.

“Going to try and avoid that, but might have to,” Sans admits and gets to work. WingDings is happy to watch, clutching the rim of the car to keep himself from touching anything else. As Sans works his hands and arms become caked in oil and dirt, but he doesn’t appear to mind.

“Here for pick up!” a voice calls from the front of the garage.

“Be with ya in a sec Aaron,” Sans answers taking a rag dangling from one of his hands and using it to clean up. WingDings tries to follow, but is snagged by another hand and floats towards the back of the garage and onto an abandoned stool. ‘You don’t exist yet, stay out of sight,’ some hands sign to him as he sits.

WingDings finds himself wondering if he’ll be able to talk with his hands while doing something else like Sans can do. It would sure come in handy. As is expected WingDings snickers at the word ‘handy’ even though it’s only in his thoughts.

As soon as Aaron drives away in his stylish Chevy Impala, apparently a very popular car, WingDings returns to Sans side as he continues to work on the busted radiator. Around the time Sans is testing it out, Papyrus arrives, but Sans has his head in the hood and doesn’t see the tall gangly skeleton.

Like Sans, Papyrus also has cracks in his skull. He’s wearing a brown hat with his matching coat slung casually over his shoulder. He also has suspenders, something WingDings hasn’t seen in while. As soon as WingDings sees him, Papyrus puts a finger to his lips, encouraging him to be silent.

Always up for a classic jump scare, when he isn’t the victim, WingDings presses his lips together and doesn’t make a sound.

With fluidity that makes it appear as if Papyrus is moving underwater, the tall man silently and smoothly laces his arms and leans down against the rim of the car, directly beside Sans right shoulder. No one says anything, watching Sans work with only the sound of the whistling wind and passing cars.

“Duck tape Sans, really? What will Shelly say?” Papyrus asks smoothly.

Giving a start, Sans shoots upright, pulling back so tightly he emerges from the hood with only one hand attached to his bones. “Papyrus! Gee’s, son of a bi- . . . gun,” Sans barks as WingDings laughs his soul out.

Notes:

Sans wasn’t as difficult to write as I thought he would be, but he gets harder as his secrets and guilt become more apparent. I did my best to capture the time period without going into too much detail since that isn’t the focus. Trying a bunch of different things in this story which is probably why it’s so much longer than the others.

Chapter 4: A New Name

Notes:

Plans are made and a home is found.

When Sans recovers from his surprise Papyrus pats his shoulder chuckling at his brothers expense. “Forget something?” Papyrus asks pointing at Sans missing right hand, lodged somewhere in the vehicles innards.

The blushing skeleton glances at his slim wrist and rolls his eye lights when he sees the other problem. He reaches deep down into the engine cab and retrieves the appendage snapping it back without difficulty, WingDings giggling the entire time.

“Hope my smaller counterpart wasn’t a bore,” Papyrus tells WingDings with a soft smile, showing his pristine teeth. “He tends to have a one tract mind when he’s focused.”

“And you don’t?” Sans snaps back, eyeing Papyrus heatedly before glancing down at the taller skeletons perfectly white shirt.

Instantly, Papyrus’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare,” he warns Sans as the other skeleton raises his greasy hand towards his nice button up shirt.

“Thought you enjoyed little pranks,” Sans says reaching his hand further forward and forcing Papyrus to take several steps back. “I think a little dirt would suit you just fine.”

The pun is subtle but it’s there. WingDings nearly misses it, but it is encouraging to know that Sans still puns.

“You’ve made your point, no need for threats,” Papyrus tells him practically and leaves for the back of the garage where a worktable and several stools and benches are set up.

Sans doesn’t push the other skeleton and he clears off the table by simply flinging most of the junk onto the floor with a loud clattering clang. WingDings winces and cowers briefly against the floor, but by the time Papyrus investigates the child is scrambling up one of the stools.

“I got us some tri-tip, baked beans, and coleslaw,” Papyrus says as two magic hands bring a few brown paper bags into the garage.

“Did you flip the sign on your way in?” Sans asks and he reaches into one of the bags and produces one of the tri-tip meals wrapped in paper.

“I did,” Papyrus assures him.

As Sans places one of the tri-tips in front of WingDings, the boy doesn’t even notice, he’s too busy watching Papyrus use his magic hands to close the garage doors and flick on the back lights. The sight makes him wonder if his own brothers can use hands and that they just never tried or are keeping it a secret.

“Hey something wrong kid?” Sans asks, lightly brushing his fingers against WingDings sleeve.

“Oh, ah, no, just thinking,” WingDings answers, picking up some of the bread and thick meat. Is he supposed to eat this like a sandwich or is the bread meant to be eaten separately? He watches Sans and Papyrus, but gets little help from them. Sans is eating the meat on top of some of the bread and Papyrus is cutting up the meat and dipping the bread into a wide rimed ramekin full of some special sauce.

Apparently there is no wrong or right way to eat tri-tip like this so he goes with Papyrus’s method, taking time to cut the meat and eat the bread separately. Around this time Papyrus procures a soda bottle for each of them, a root-beer soda in particular for WingDings who accepts it eagerly. He’s never drank a root-beer from a glass bottle before. The child tries to open the cap, but doesn’t have much success. When his eyes fill with determination Sans swiftly whisks the bottle away and flips the cap off for him before returning it.

“I could have done it,” WingDings tells him pointedly before taking a sip. The beverage is a little too warm for his liking but it still tastes good. Different from what he’s used to, but still good.

“I know, probably could have taken off the whole top with that determination of yours,” Sans points out before taking another bite.

Normally when someone from another time and world points out his abnormal determination he asks how they know, but at this point in his life WingDings doesn’t have to ask anymore. For some reason it’s always obvious to those he spends time with, all it takes is one flash of his red eyes and they know. Will there ever be a place he’s dropped in that doesn’t understand the significance of glowing red eyes.

When WingDings doesn’t answer and returns his attention to his meal no one says anything for a while, savoring the juicy meat and enjoying the quiet.

“Now WingDings, Sans has explained some of your circumstances to me, but I’d like to learn a little more about you,” Papyrus speaks up once they’ve finished eating. “I need it to forge an identity for you.”

Well this is different, never in the history of his various travels has he ever had to create a new identity as far as he knows.

“What do you need to know?” WingDings asks.

“For starters, your age, height, weight, and birthday,” Papyrus replies, pulling out a pad of paper and pen seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’m eight years old and my birthday is April ninth,” WingDings answers smoothly before hesitating. “Do you need to know the year?”

“Probably best we don’t know just how far in the future you come from,” Sans says from his end of the table with Papyrus nodding in agreement.

“Okay, I’m 110 centimeters tall and weigh 3.5 kilograms,” WingDings continues. By human boy standards he weighs next to nothing, but he’s only made of bones accounting for his light weight. He’s also a little shorter than the average 8 year old, but according to Doctor Alphys this is because of stress and an inconsistent upbringing.

Nothing he can do about that given the circumstances.

Papyrus nods and jots down the information. “Besides the font of WingDings, Comic Sans and Papyrus do you know any other fonts?”

“Not very well,” WingDings admits. “I know a little Sylfaen, Roman, Cordia, Gisha, Gadugi, Antiqua, Aria, and a few others. I know Aster the best, but I guess that’s our last name in this world.”

“Haven’t heard those names in a long while,” Sans says. Both skeletons have a fond smile tipping their lips, with fogged eyes remembering days gone by.

“Which do you know best?” Papyrus continues.

“Roman I guess,” WingDings decides on. “Why do you ask?”

“We need to give you another name besides WingDings,” Papyrus explains. “Since that’s us and we’re the only WingDings to ever exist.”

“But . . . you’re Sans,” he points to the grease stained mechanic. “And you’re Papyrus,” he then points to the sharply dressed paper pusher. “You aren’t me.”

“Want to make a bet?” Sans asks.

“That’s a suckers bet and he’s a child,” Papyrus lightly reprimands the other skeleton. “Now for a cover story.” The tall skeleton presses the end of his pen against his lips, tapping lightly before lowering it. “I’ll be the father,” he concludes. “We’ll just say your mother tragically passed from an accident.”

“Papyrus,” Sans lowers his meal. He looks at his counterpart with heavy brows, his shoulders jutting forward defensively. “It would make more sense if he were mine, you’ve never been in a relationship in yer life.”

“It was a late night fling,” Papyrus continues to fabricate casually.

“Stop it! You’d never do that,” Sans cuts him off.

“And you’d rather have Frisk hate you for something you didn’t do?” Papyrus swings back. The two look at each other hard, but it is Sans who looks away first, sadly staring at his drink. Releasing a sigh, Papyrus also looks away before continuing. “You and I both know this is the most logical and easy solution. The simpler the reasons the better the lie.”

Sans doesn’t respond, choosing to take a heavy drink of his coke instead.

Meanwhile, WingDings mind is spinning. They mentioned Frisk. They must be Sans significant other. The child glances at Sans ring finger before taking a bite of his meal, eyes lowering in contemplation. Is Frisk around? From the way Sans and Papyrus are behaving he suspects a complicated answer.

And more importantly Papyrus is actually fabricating a lie of all things?! He never thought he’d see that happen.

“Now WingDings,” Papyrus continues, causing WingDings head to instantly lift towards the other skeleton. “If anyone asks about your childhood tell them it’s difficult to talk about. You had a wonderful mother and were well taken care of.”

“How do we explain his inability to recognize common everyday items?” Sans pushes into the mix of thoughts.

“I’ll just say she raised me away from modern conveniences,” WingDings offers.

“Yes, good thinking,” Papyrus agrees, the praise, while simple, is encouraging to the child. “She wanted to avoid the prevalent racism in the cities so you wouldn’t be persecuted.”

“Racism?” WingDings asks. He’s heard of the word and is aware of what it means, but he’s never personally experienced it before.

Sans and Papyrus study WingDings, able to construct a logical answer based on that one word.

“It isn’t as bad here in the west,” Sans tells the boy. “Didn’t have that where you came from?”

“Not really,” WingDings answers.

“Then that will just make it easier to sell the story,” Papyrus grins, he winks at the boy. “Just be yourself WingDings. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you,” WingDings smiles. “I’m in your care.”

“Very trusting boy aren’t ya?” Sans comments leaning forward on his arms.

“You could say that,” WingDings glances away from them, his small smile splayed out as always, but tugging with mischief.

“He’s a WingDings all right,” Sans chuckles.

“What is that suppose to mean?” WingDings faces forward again, acting normal. He takes a short sip of his root beer.

“We know that grin well,” Papyrus says, gathering up his things. “We can make the same smile.” To confirm this they both look at WingDings and do just that, a small grin, gently tipping the corners of their thin lips while looking at him askance.

WingDings is impressed and his grin becomes more genuine for it. “Don’t worry, my brothers made me promise to be good,” WingDings assures them.

“Do you keep your promises?” Papyrus asks, standing as his magic hands open the garage doors.

“Of course I do!” WingDings says indignantly. “Don’t you?”

Papyrus and Sans share one of those looks again, a look without words that says everything, but only they know what it means. “Yeah, we keep our promises,” Sans answers. “You heard what I told Barbara. She’d kill me if I didn’t keep my word.”

“At any rate, I’ll try to have this sorted by the end of the day,” Papyrus says and turns towards WingDings with a knowing grin. “I’ll see you at home son.” Without another word he winks and leaves the garage, WingDings watching him and dipping his head to the side.

Apparently this time around Papyrus will be his dad. Well since Sans turned out to be a great dad in another life WingDings has no reason to doubt that Papyrus will prove his excellence. He does feel a little bad that he can’t repay them . . . perhaps they can use the gold even if Barbara couldn’t.

But first.

“So, who’s Frisk?” WingDings asks as Sans picks up what is left and throws it away in a nearly full trash bin. The child already knows the answer, but he wants confirmation to his answer this time before making assumptions, since Sans seems keen on that.

“My wife,” Sans answers returning to the car.

Wow, Frisk really is married to his older brother? It sounds odd, but if Alphys can be happy with a librarian in another world than by that logic Frisk can be happy with Sans.

“Where is she now?” WingDings hops off his stool and follows after Sans. He begins opening up the garage again, multiple hands doing the task without his even looking. For a moment WingDings envy’s the skeletons ability.

“She’s probably at another rally or working on her next speech,” Sans tells him, opening the car hood. “She’s a fighter.”

“Why isn’t she with you?” he asks, taking a seat on the stool again so he can watch the skeleton work.

“You know we need some music in here,” Sans answers instead, earning a shadow of disappointment conveyed in a glare from the boy.

The skeleton puts a record on with a twist of his busy magic hands, but WingDings doesn’t know this, all he knows is that two speakers towards the back of the garage crack to life before a crisp high voice rings out singing about fools, rain, and love. It has a catchy rhythm, but WingDings isn’t sure how he feels about the static and crackling sounds in the recording.

“All right, let’s give her a whirl,” Sans closes the hood and moves around the car. “Here, take a seat.” The skeleton opens the passenger side and WingDings hops in. He is surprised by the strange design of the seats. Instead of them being separate, it’s one long bench with cushions having several humps in it.

Turning around in the leather seat, WingDings runs his hand along the bumps, wondering how anyone could consider this comfortable.

“Something wrong kid?” Sans ask as he takes a seat on the other side and sticks the key in the ignition.

“How do people find this comfortable?” WingDings asks.

“You talking about the Tuck n Roll cushion?” Sans asks running his hand along the top of the chairs as if it’s something special. He laughs. “Everything cool’s got to be Tuck n Roll. At least that’s what we all thought in the 40’s.”

“If you say so,” WingDings shrugs and looks around for the seat belt, not that they’re going anywhere but it’s a habit. “Where’s the seat belt?”

“There are none kid,” Sans chuckles.

“What!? This is a death machine without seat belts!” WingDings shouts. “I’m never riding in one of these.”

“Well we aren’t going anywhere, here we go,” Sans turns the key and the engine spins its gears, grating hard until it sputters and kicks to life. “There, now that’s the sound of an L-lead doing her job. Purring the only way it knows how.”

Sans smile is infectious and WingDings has to admit that even though this Sans isn’t his Sans and he made a questionable first impression, he’s not so bad. For the remainder of the day Sans works on the cars in the garage and fills up customers gas if they show up. He even lets WingDings fill one up and gives him the tip.

When it’s time to close up the garage, Sans has WingDings wait out front as his hands do all the work and he rolls out a motorcycle. WingDings has never ridden a motorcycle before, but he’s been told it’s dangerous by Papyrus. Part of him is nervous, but another part is excited to see one up close. “This is yours?” WingDings asks.

“Sure is,” Sans says plopping a helmet that is much too large for the boy onto his head. “The only other girl I ride.”

For a split second Sans flinches realizing what he’s said, but he doesn’t get a reaction out of WingDings who is busy admiring the machine. He relaxes and plops WingDings onto the bike before getting on in front of him. “Hold on tight,” he shouts, kicking the clutch and they roar off.

At first WingDings questions why Sans would bother riding a motorcycle when he can just teleport home, but he reasons that if he had a motorcycle, he’d drive it too.

Some twenty minutes later they ride up to an older home, with overgrown shrubs out front, and vines reaching up the chimney. From the front it looks rather small, but as Sans rolls up toward the garage in the back WingDings can see how long the house is.

“Home, sweet, home,” Sans says, sliding off the bike and hoisting the garage door up with a magic hand. He rolls WingDings and the motorcycle in, before shutting it all up with the boy beside him.

WingDings finds it interesting, if not a little inconvenient, to have the garage so far from the main house. How would they get to it in the winter if it snowed? Walking up some steps on the side of the house, Sans takes out a key as WingDings looks around the small porch area. There are a few small plants, a bench, one of those tray things and an old bicycle. There are also two other doors leading to different rooms.

“Why not just teleport inside?” WingDings asks as he follows Sans into what appears to be the kitchen. He can detect a whiff of smoke, tingling his nasal cavity. It isn’t strong, but it adds a stale burnt flavor to the house.

“You sure ask a lot of questions,” Sans chuckles, shrugging his leather coat off his shoulders.

“I’m a child, I have to ask questions,” WingDings grins smartly. He trails after Sans, peeking out another door that leads to a formal dining area. As he follows Sans they pass a small stairwell, that descends down into a dark abyss. Feeling a chill at the sight of it WingDings quickly looks away before entering a long hallway stretching from the front living area of the house to the bedrooms.

Sans shoes clack against the worn wood floors, echoing ominously through the dark home, with half closed doors and shadowed rooms teasing the boy. Opening the coat closet Sans reaches up and pulls a short chain, turning on a bulb stuck to the side. He hangs up his coat next to several others before motioning for WingDings to give him his own jacket. WingDings isn’t expecting the gesture, but he complies, handing Sans his winter covering and wandering curiously into the living area.

There is an old sofa with its throw pillows strewn on it lazily, left in disarray from whoever used it last. There is a low standing coffee table with several magazines spread across it, a grand piano and a large clunky television next to the fire place. WingDings doesn’t wander too far in, finding the narrow streaks of golden light blinking through the heavy curtains disconcerting with the dark shadows they create.

“Follow me kid,” Sans pulls the chain, plunging the hall in darkness before shutting the closet door, the swinging of the lights chain tingling WingDings ear.

He takes WingDings past an office, two bed rooms to the very end of the house where there is a bathroom and another bedroom. “This will be you’re room,” Sans tells him, flicking a switch to turn on the light.

The room is about the size of his room back home, perhaps even a little larger. Everything in the room is covered in white sheets making WingDings feel as if the bedroom is filled with ghosts, except ghosts wouldn’t hold still for that long. Unless they were taking a nap of course. Never has he seen anyone cover furniture with sheets before. Underneath the object is revealed to be a high backed chair, a wardrobe, a matching dresser, and a king-sized bed with a chest at the foot of it.

Beneath his feet is a large flower print rug, faded with time and a little worn along the tasseled fringes. As Sans proceeds to empty the wardrobe of items along with the drawers with the use of his hands, WingDings hoists himself onto the bed which is comfortably settled between three windows on the three walls it’s nestled up against. It’s a much nicer room then the hotel, but it doesn’t very much feel like his room. In fact it feels a little isolated.

“Do you know how long you’ll be staying?” Sans asks, causing WingDings fingers to flinch as he is about to open one of the curtains.

“I don’t know,” WingDings confesses, turning around and dangling his feet off the edge of the bed. As he swings his heels he shuts his eyes and reaches out with his magic. To his dismay he doesn’t really feel the piece of his soul as he usually does. It’s as if it’s covered up by something heavy, barely there on the edges of his perception. “It will probably be a while . . . but I can pay you in gold for your troubles”

“Kid, don’t got to be worrying about paying us, it’s no trouble,” Sans assures him as he sits beside him on the bed.

“Many would consider taking care of a child who’s appeared out of thin air as trouble Mister Aster,” WingDings informs the skeleton wisely.

“And who told you that?” Sans asks.

“. . . My brother warned me some might feel that way,” WingDings tells him.

“Look kid,” Sans rubs the back of his skull, shutting his eyes a moment before sagging and draping his hand over his knees. “Perhaps I was a bit frosted when we met, but I’m not going to leave you high n’ dry. No shuck either.”

Pressing his lips together, WingDings politely listens to the older skeleton, but his brows are narrowed with confusion. He actually has high hopes that Sans won’t turn out to be another Mettaton, but that isn’t his issue. “What’s a shuck?” WingDings asks.

For some reason Sans eye lights flicker out momentarily making WingDings fear he’s asked something offensive again by mistake. Just how many triggers does this guy have? “Really, I be honest with ya and you just ask another question?” Sans asks in disbelief.

WingDings can only offer a sheepish grin showing off his slightly crooked teeth.

With a bark that makes WingDings jump, Sans laughs heartily, putting a friendly hand to the boys shoulder. When he feels WingDings stiffen uncomfortably he removes it and smiles at the boy. “It’s just some recent slang for a liar or cheat. Back in my day it wasn’t a word but I try to keep with the times.”

“How does a word like liar or cheat become the word shuck?” WingDings asks dubiously.

“Lesson number two, not everything has an answer,” Sans gets to his feet and walks towards the door.

“Or you don’t know the answer,” WingDings challenges brazenly.

Sans whistles. “You really are a sharp one aren’t ya,” Sans shakes his head but doesn’t look back. “I’m gunna start on dinner, come join me when you feels like it.”

WingDings watches him go a moment before taking out his phone and looking at it carefully. After a minute or two he sets it down on the bed before crawling up the pillows and moving to the window again. He opens the curtains and can see the light of his window hit the remnants of a large lawn in the back yard. It is twilight, a few distant stars struggling to twinkle in the suns fading glow.

Well, this is sure to be an interesting new family.

Notes:

I really enjoy meeting this version of Sans and Papyrus, it’s very different from how I usually write them. Also this house is my aunts house so I know it very well and we’ll be seeing a lot of it. Unlike all the other stories I’ve written, this one takes place in a setting I know very well. Also this is how WingDings' gets his alternate name of Roman that he uses later in life. Very important later on.

Chapter 5: The Right Questions

Picking up his device and charger WingDings puts them away in a drawer and runs down the hall to the kitchen to check on Sans. He makes a point of not looking down the dark stairwell as he crosses into the kitchen where Sans is struggling to find what he needs. Several hands are floating around, grabbing things from the fridge and starting the gas on the stove.

“Do you need some help?” WingDings asks as he crouches down beside Sans.

“You’d think I’d remember where everything is after living here over forty years,” Sans complains when he pulls out the pan he’s looking for. “Wanna chop up some unions?”

“I can do that,” WingDings agrees eagerly.

It takes a while for Sans to find a stepping stool, but when he does he sets WingDings up at the counter to chop the odorous vegetable. In the other room Sans puts on the record player, playing some soft slow music, very unlike what he played in the garage. In WingDings opinion it sounds creepy, but the voice is smooth and the notes soft. As they listen Sans grounds some beef and puts it in a skillet, cooking it up and adding a bottle of Worcestershire sauce, sweetened tomato sauce and the onions WingDings diced up.

While they’re waiting for it to cook Sans has WingDings prepare a head of lettuce and salad, when the child comments that the meal doesn’t look very healthy. Secretly the child is not surprised by the use of tomato sauce, or ketchup as he understands it, in the meal, but he’s surprised Sans even allows for a healthy salad. At first WingDings doesn’t realize that what Sans is making is Sloppy Joe’s. Not only is such a meal frowned upon by Papyrus back in his world, but when they have some it typically comes out of a can.

When they are nearly done, a ringing catches WingDings off guard and he nearly drops a plate, but Sans magic hand is ready to catch it and help him place it on the table. He walks into the dining room and picks a phone up off the receiver. Rather than greet the person he waits for them to speak first. “Yeah I figure you’d be runnin’ late,” Sans answers. “Dinners ready though, if you want to stop by.”

Stepping away from the table WingDings comes to the door between the kitchen and dining room, looking up at Sans. The skeleton smiles and winks down at the boy as Papyrus says something on the other end. “See ya soon then,” Sans answers and returns the phone to its place.

“I thought you didn’t have a phone,” WingDings glares up at the man.

“What makes you think that?”

“The phone . . . ‘operator’,” he says the word in a sloppy manner but in his defense he’s only heard the word used once. “Said she could only find Gaster Garage.”

“. . . Due to reasons, we’re unlisted,” Sans explains as he returns with WingDings into the kitchen.

“What kind of reasons,” WingDings asks suspiciously.

“You should be glad that phone operator found the number she did, not like we’re home long enough to answer it unless you know when to call,” Sans reveals honestly.

“Don’t you have voice mail?” WingDings asks, his eyes narrow with mistrust. He suspects that Sans is trying to get out of work by claiming they don’t have such a basic device if you bother keeping a home line phone.

“What’s that?” Sans asks. “Ya know what, never mind. Just . . . Just promise me you won’t ask questions like that when we put you in school.”

“Put me in school!” WingDings shouts. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s the law maybe,” Sans laughs.

This answer does not please the young child. It is always a challenge to go to a new school and he imagines that going to a school in a different time will be ten times harder. Or at least five times, he doesn’t know the exact math. School in the old west was easy, but everyone knew he came from another world there. In this new school he wouldn’t be able to ask as many question to avoid looking suspicious.

“Maybe I should stop asking questions,” WingDings mumbles.

“I loved school growing up,” Sans chuckles as he takes a seat at the table. “Don’t you?”

“Yes I do,” WingDings says with some hesitancy, taking a seat at another chair. “But not a new school.” Where I can’t ask questions, goes unsaid.

“Ah, I gotcha,” Sans nods his head. “Always tough being the new kid, but school just started a few weeks ago so it shouldn’t be too hard on ya.”

There is a flash of light on the porch before Papyrus walks into the kitchen. “Good evening,” he greets them both, before walking out to go hang his coat and hat in the hall closet. “How are you adjusting Roman?”

WingDings looks at Papyrus in confusion before realizing that his new name is Roman. “Uh, can’t you just call me WingDings?” he asks.

“You need to get used to hearing the name Roman,” Papyrus explains. He takes a seat and turns to his brother. “What have you been calling him?”

“Kid,” Sans smiles taking a large bite of his burger.

“I’m not surprised,” Papyrus smiles and folds his hands. Sans soon follows his example and WingDings hesitantly does the same recognizing the ‘prayer’ position. Papyrus closes his eyes and proceeds to pray. “Dear Lord thank you for all you’ve provided and those who have prepared this meal. We ask you bless this food and the time we have together, Amen.”

Confused WingDings watches as Papyrus opens his eyes and looks down at the meal with WingDings watching the older skeleton intently. Feeling the child’s eye sockets on him Papyrus lifts a brow at the boy before looking down at the burger in suspicion. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be eating this?”

“No, why?” Sans asks before noticing WingDings intense expression. “I promise it ain’t poisoned.”

“Ah good,” Papyrus then proceeds to eat the burger with WingDings staring in shock.

“Something wrong kid?” Sans asks.

Rather than bring up why they pray before a meal as the brothers expect WingDings asks something far more important. “I didn’t think he’d eat something so unhealthy,” the boy answers still watching Papyrus as he nibbles at his own sloppy joe.

Papyrus grips his burger a little tighter, trying to hide behind it as WingDings continues to watch him eat. “What about you Roman, do you eat unhealthy food?”

Blinking once WingDings is broken from his staring contest at what he thinks is an oddity and considers the man’s question. “I like unhealthy food,” he confesses with a blush.

“Then why wouldn’t I?” he takes a bite, more comfortable now that WingDings is no longer staring at him.

As they eat Papyrus informs them that he will be returning to the office to finish things up. While he’s gone he asks Sans to retrieve some of their old toys from the basement and charges WingDings with looking through the Sears catalog that just came in the mail recently to find clothes and things he’d like. His request is met with confusion and an immediate question as to what a catalog is.

“. . . It’s a good thing I stressed to the police that he has been living away from modern society,” Papyrus comments.

“This isn’t modern society,” WingDings says defensively, now embarrassed that he doesn’t know what a catalog is.

“It is to us,” Sans points out. “Not like we know any differently.”

“Do you know what a magazine is?” Papyrus asks, his eye glowing a little as he uses his magic and retrieves what he’s looking for from the other room. Once again WingDings is impressed with their hand abilities, not even needing to be in the same room to use a hand and get what they need.

“Yes,” WingDings nods, eager to show that he is not incompetent. Papyrus’s hand gives him a thick booklet. On the cover is a close up picture of a white Christmas tree with the words ‘Sears Christmas Book’. He flips through it to get an idea of what it is. Inside are full color and black and white illustrations and photographs of humans wearing clothes, with toys, furniture, and other miscellaneous items for sale.

The book is also over four hundred pages long.

“This is going to take some time,” WingDings observes. “Also plaid seems to be ‘in’.”

“Fine bristled hair brushes are ‘in’ as well, but you don’t see me buying that,” Papyrus jokes. Standing to his feet he scrapes off his dish scraps into the trash under the sink before setting it on the counter. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but if I don’t see you tonight I’ll be taking Roman to the Department tomorrow. I’ll expect you cleaned and ready by seven.”

WingDings nods his head as Sans waves a hand. “I’ll be up waiting,” Sans tells him.

“You don’t need to Sans,” Papyrus tells him as he retrieves his coat.

“I know,” Sans answers. “I’ll be in the usual spot.”

“. . . Thank you Sans,” Papyrus answers. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” After the sound of the squeaky screen door shutting there is a dim flash as Papyrus disappears from the porch.

“What you say we clean up and see what we can find downstairs,” Sans tells WingDings as he scoots his chair back and takes his dish to the sink.

“What about the catalog?” WingDings asks, looking at the intimidating book with apprehension.

“You’ve got plenty of time,” Sans assures him as WingDings hands Sans his plate.

“It’s really dark down there,” WingDings observes as he moves closer to the stairwell. He refuses to look down, feeling his nerves as if they were the squeaky hinges of the kitchen door.

“Only because the lights off kid,” Sans answers smartly, winking over his shoulder at the child.

Instead of taking offense WingDings smiles back. He’s starting to realize that Sans doesn’t mean anything cruel by his obvious observations. It’s just his way of lightening a scary situation.

Since WingDings has endured this a plethora of times though he isn’t all that uncomfortable, especially now that he isn’t alone.

“We’ve stored all the family treasures down here,” Sans tells him as they carefully climb down the creaky stairs. Once at the bottom the skeleton reaches for the exposed switch and turns on the light. WingDings makes a face as he looks around.

The pipes from the kitchen and bathroom are exposed and a clothes line is set up in part of the area to hang the laundry. One area is set aside with an old couch, a small dish tray and shelves of records and other things. There is also a washer and dryer, built in cabinets and drawers along with another bathroom.

It also smells strongly of smoke unlike the rest of the house.

As WingDings explores with his eyes Sans continues to talk but WingDings is only half listening until he hears Frisk’s name. He wonders how Frisk would feel about being married to his brother.

“ . . . Frisk and I had a house back east for a time, but it really wasn’t for me so we had everything moved back here,” Sans is telling him as he opens one of the cabinets. “Most everything made it back, including a lot of Frisks childhood things.” He proceeds to pull out a heavy chest and places it onto the floor. “This is Frisks, she didn’t have much growing up.” Sans winces a bit at revealing this, but encourages WingDings to open it up.

Undoing two brass clasps in the front WingDings opens it, revealing a tightly packed case full of dolls, play dishes, toy cars, blocks, and a strange device WingDings feels like he’s seen before. He reaches for it before stopping and looking up at Sans who is reaching further into the cabinet. “She won’t mind letting me use her things will she?” he asks.

“She won’t mind,” he assures him. “I think it would make her happy.”

With this confirmation WingDings pulls out a black thing with two eye holes. He puts it to his eyes but doesn’t see anything, just a white blurry screen when he faces it towards the light. Underneath the device is a small box that reads View Master 3-Dimensions. “What’s this?” he asks holding it up.

“That’s a View Master,” Sans says, reaching over him and opening the box. He pulls out a strange looking round card with tiny little plastic boxes clipped into the sides. Upon closer inspection they’re pictures. Sans puts the circular paper into the device and hands it back to WingDings. “Now look through the eye piece and make sure you’re facing the light otherwise it won’t work.”

WingDings does as instructed and looks through the eye pieces towards the light. What he sees is a beautiful color landscape that seems to pop out in places, like a 3-D movie only it’s a picture.

“If you turn the disk you can see more pictures,” Sans tells him dragging out another chest from the cabinet. “I think that set is of Yellowstone Park.”

“I’ve been there before,” WingDings says as he carefully turns the disk to see the next picture. “My brothers took me to a lot of U.S. National Parks last summer.”

“You have some swell brothers,” Sans tells him, carefully hoisting the chest and moving around WingDings. “Growing up, Frisk dreamed of traveling, but her family didn’t have the means to do so.”

“Where did she grow up?” WingDings asks, picking up the view master and the box of cards before following after Sans as he climbs the stairs.

“New York City,” Sans grunts as he carries the heavy case to the back room. “Heh, guess that wouldn’t mean much to ya, but it’s a rough city. Especially for a little girl with only her mother to raise her. It takes grit to make it through the city. Why she’s the lady she is now.”

He lowers the chest near the door and flips it open, dust scattering everywhere as he does so. “Probably should of wiped it off before bringing it up, be right back,” Sans tells him.

Leaning over the side, WingDings fishes out several blocks, wind up tin toys, a set of Lincoln logs, a slinky, tinker toys and a raggedy old teddy bear bunny thing. WingDings finds himself really excited about the tinker toys, having never seen this type of building material before.

Before Sans even returns, a magic hand pops up with a damp rag and proceeds to wipes down the chest as Sans moves past his door to the bathroom. Once there WingDings hears the squeak and jiggle of handles before the rush of water is heard flowing into a tub. “I trust you know how to use a bath,” Sans calls to him.

“I do, thanks,” WingDings fiddles a moment or two with the sticks and wheel pieces of the tinker toys before standing and retrieving his phone. He pulls out his pajamas from his loot box, along with his soap, before moving into the bathroom.

“I’ve got a towel and wash cloth for you here,” Sans tells him, not bothering to look back at the child as he sets the things down on the counter. “There is also some soap you can use in the . . .” The adult stops when he turns around and sees that WingDings is not only holding soap in a strange plastic tube device, but nightwear. “Where did that come from?”

Caught off guard for the third time of doing this exact same thing in other worlds, WingDings twitches briefly with anxiety before clearing his throat and answering. “I brought it with me.”

“How? In your stomach?” Sans asks.

“I have a device like a suit case that I can store things in,” WingDings explains, setting his things down on the counter. “It uses magic.”

Sans looks as if he’s about to not only question WingDings but the very laws of physics and relativity. “Nothing is ‘just magic’ kid,” Sans sniffs, his lids closing halfway as he stares at the soap and clothing. “It has rules just like everything else in the world, I would know. If this device is what I think it is you need to be careful with it.”

“It’s a device that compresses items into another dimension using coding,” WingDings explains hoping this will stop Sans looking at him like he’s committed some kind of crime.

“See that’s what I’m talking about,” Sans groans. “That technology doesn’t exist yet and I can’t speak for other times and dimensions you’ve traveled, but if anyone ever saw you with that it would end up with you locked in a lab.”

“Locked up in a lab?” WingDings hugs his things closer to himself.

“And don’t get me started on the magic law of balance, you and that device are walking anomalies and that’s bound to have consequences if just the tiniest thing goes wrong,” Sans continues.

“You don’t have to scare me, I’ll put it away,” WingDings snaps stiffly, not really understanding the last thing Sans said, but understanding that being ‘locked in a lab’ is a scary thing. He turns away quickly before he can see the subtle wince of regret on the tall skeletons face. After putting everything away and turning the device completely off, he returns to the bathroom with Sans setting a large Pajama shirt on the counter and turning off the water.

“. . . Sorry if I scared you kid,” Sans apologizes as he moves past him.

“I’m not scared,” WingDings snips back, his eyes flashing red briefly as he shuts the door in Sans face. A second later he regrets snapping at Sans, but it feels awkward to apologize while he’s still upset. After his bath WingDings changes into the oversized sleep shirt and brushes his teeth with what Sans has provided.

When he wanders out he can just make out the buzzing murmur of the television and Sans sitting on the edge of the couch with a newspaper. Grabbing the catalog from where Papyrus left it on the kitchen table WingDings takes a seat on the other side of the couch and starts flipping through. He awkwardly peeks up a few times at Sans who is very casually reading the paper.

“Sorry I snapped,” WingDings buzzes, falling back into his font.

“Its fine,” Sans tells him. “Sorry I unloaded all that on ya, I could of done that more tactfully.”

WingDings doesn’t say anything feeling better after the bath and with his apology accepted. He briefly looks up at the TV surprised to see that the picture is in black and white. It’s the evening news broadcast talking about nuclear testing continuing over the South Atlantic ocean. Grunting, Sans summons a hand and sends it to the TV, a clicking sound and loud static hissing erupting from the TV as Sans magic hand turns the knob.

“Look at that, they’re showing Northwest Passage again. Much more suitable for watching this late don’t you think?” Sans tells the boy as he gets more comfortable in his seat.

Watching the screen, WingDings is momentarily entertained until it’s revealed that the Native American’s are the enemy of Roger and his volunteer army. WingDings makes a face and turns back to the catalog. At one point Sans hands him a pen so he can circle some things, but honestly the boy doesn’t think much anything suitable for circling aside from clothing, some tinker toys, chemistry set and a cool robot toy. Everything is rather cheap so he doesn’t feel too bad about asking for a few things.

“Time for bed,” Sans says when the clock above the fire place strikes nine.

Setting the magazine down WingDings moves towards his room with Sans following after.

“Did you brush your teeth?” he asks.

“Yes,” WingDings answers, hopping up onto the bed as Sans pulls back the covers. He doesn’t tuck the child in, doesn’t even touch him, but gives him a kind smile as he moves towards the door.

“Do you . . . have a book we could read?” WingDings asks just before Sans flips the switch.

“Uh, sure,” Sans nods. “Be back.” He disappears down the hall and WingDings can hear his foot falls as the skeleton goes down the stairs. When he comes back he has a thin book in his hand titled ‘The Little Red Hen’.

“Got this as a gift when I married Frisk,” Sans explains taking a seat near WingDings head and handing him the book.

Taking it in his hands WingDings begins to read, struggling a little with the tiny letters but determined to get it right. Sans helps him when WingDings asks, but otherwise remains silent as the boy reads. When he is finished he hands Sans the book and thanks him for letting him read.

Sans has a soft smile on his face, his teeth for once not showing. “No problem kid,” he tells him and moves for the door. Before he flips the switch though WingDings eyes flash when he remembers something,

“Wait,” he says sitting straight up.

“Where the fire?” Sans chuckles, hiding just how startled he is.

“Do you have a nightlight?” WingDings asks.

“Nightlight?” Sans asks in confusion.

“I’m not . . . comfortable with stark darkness,” WingDings words carefully.

“Heh,” Sans smiles at the wording the boy has chosen and moves to turn on the bathroom light, keeping the door open a fraction. “How’s that?”

“That’s good, thank you Sans,” WingDings settles down again and Sans turns off the bedroom light.

When Sans leaves another light turns on, the one to the skeleton’s bedroom no doubt, and there is the shuffle of movement. WingDings does not fall asleep listening intently as Sans does quiet chores around the house. Despite his tired eye sockets WingDings is determined to stay awake and he is rewarded when he hears the gentle swing of the kitchen door. Sans room light goes out and there is mumbled talking in the kitchen.

Carefully WingDings sneaks out of bed and walks lightly down the hall, avoiding creaking sounds by not walking in the center of the hall and walking slowly to avoid creating a clacking sound from his bare feet. When Papyrus moves towards the hall closet though, WingDings darts into one of the bedrooms, waiting till Papyrus is finished before continuing towards the kitchen.

It is difficult to make out what the adults are saying, especially when they move out onto the porch outside the kitchen door. WingDings crawls on the kitchen floor and is pleased to see they’ve kept the door open with the screen left closed.

For a while they don’t say anything at all only the crickets offering any conversation to the night air. Eventually Papyrus releases a sigh and WingDings can make out something glowing in the skeletons hand as he drapes his arm across the benches armrest. “I’m almost appalled by how easy it was to get WingDings a SSC and citizenship, but I can’t complain,” he chuckles. “It was harder finding the right papers and convincing sheriff Suytar I’d had a fling.”

“Can you blame him? I have a hard time believing it myself,” Sans chuckles lightly with his brother joining him. When their chuckles die the crickets briefly cease their chatter as well, as if worried to keep talking when the skeletons go silent. Eventually they start up again and the skeletons with them.

“So how is he? Adjusting I hope,” Papyrus continues, pulling up his pipe.

“Better than a Deuce in a T-Ford parade,” Sans chuckles. “He’s a good kid, strong too, but curious. Can’t stop asking questions and ain’t afraid to ask them. Heh, wouldn’t put it past him to wander out of bed to listen in on two old men having a smoke.”

WingDings eyes burn yellow, before he scampers away, realizing and ashamed that he’s been found out. He always thought he was rather good at sneaking around, but apparently he has a few things to learn.

“Cute kid,” Papyrus continues as he hears the scamper of small bone feet clack across the linoleum and wood floors. “Reminds me of someone . . . a few someone’s.”

“Must run in the family,” Sans shrugs taking a drag of his cigarette. “He’s real sharp, but isn’t perfect. If it weren’t for his slip up earlier I wouldn’t have known he had a dimension spacial compactor device. . . Had to get a little hard on him when he told me about the device. Told him not to use it . . . He seemed to take me seriously.”

“That’s for the best then . . . just in case the Fed’s get curious,” Papyrus sighs. “I was wondering how he’s been able to survive and remain relatively undeterred given his circumstances. Not only does he have experience but that device as back up.”

“Can’t depend on it here,” Sans shakes his head.

“He won’t have to,” Papyrus assures him. “You’ve already proven to be capable today Sans, and I will be sure to be of more help from here on out. We will do right by him. His brothers are counting on us.”

“Think we got what it takes?” Sans asks.

Papyrus lightly pats his brother’s leg. “I certainly hope so,” he answers. “If not I have a feeling Wing . . . Roman will let us know.”

“Heh, think he’ll answer to that name?” Sans asks, driving the bud of his cigarette into the ash tray.

“If not I’ll just use his full name,” Papyrus sighs. “I’m sure he’ll answer to that.”

“Just don’t scare him, might think he’s in trouble,” Sans stands and moves for the door.

“What makes you say that?” Papyrus asks.

Opening the screen part way Sans stops and puts words to his thoughts. “He’s good at hiding it, but he’s scared, just like any normal ankle biter would be,” he lets the door close behind him. “See you in the morning.”

Notes:

So much I want to say about this chapter. First off you can figure out the date by checking when the Northwest Passage aired. You can also figure out when Frisk and Sans got married by checking the publication of The Little Red Hen. There are a lot of little things like that in this chapter, not to mention the Sears catalog and View Master. As the series goes on I get lazier about accuracy, but at least for this chapter I was not lazy.

Also I need a better chapter name, but I can't think of one today.

Chapter 6: You Sound Like My Brothers

The following day WingDings wakes to Papyrus knocking on his door, asking him to get up and change. He finds clothes for him on the dresser which includes underclothes, a plaid blue button shirt, dark navy shorts and brown shoes. The shoes are a little big on him, but everything else fits well enough. When he arrives at the kitchen Papyrus is there making them both a bowl of oatmeal. It isn’t the worst thing he’s eaten before so he doesn’t complain verbally.

“We’ll be going to the County Courthouse today to finalize the papers and meet with a judge,” Papyrus tells him. “I’ll also be working a little today, but they’ll let me go early due to the circumstances.”

As they sit eating Papyrus doesn’t say much, scanning the articles of the newspaper as he eats. When Papyrus shows no sign of doing anything WingDings finishes his meal and wanders into the living room to look at the book shelves, including the one tucked behind the piano. He’s tempted to play the grand piano, but chooses not to since Sans is apparently still asleep. As his fingers glide along the worn spines of the books he jumps when he looks to the side and sees Papyrus looking down at him with a gentle smile.

He really is quiet when he moves, so very unlike the Papyrus he knows.

“Go ahead and pick a book to bring with you,” he tells the boy. “After brushing your teeth we’ll go.” He moves around the corner and gathers his brief case, folding the paper into it and checking his wallet.

Picking out ‘Huckleberry Finn’ from the shelf, WingDings hands it to Papyrus to put in his brief case before brushing his teeth. It’s only while he’s brushing his teeth that he realizes the oddity of seeing a toilet in the bathroom. It didn’t really cross his mind last night with everything going on, but now that he thinks about its presence, it doesn’t make sense in a house built for skeletons.

Something to ask about later unless he should be worried about not needing to use it.

As he races down the hall Sans is just getting up, blinking his eyes with the universal ‘I’m still asleep’ look.

“Bye Sans,” WingDings greets him as he passes at full speed.

“Yeah, see ya later,” Sans yawns.

Joining Papyrus on the porch WingDings waits for Papyrus to lock the door before taking his hand so they can teleport to their destination. Papyrus takes him to the very front steps of the Ventura County Courthouse. It looks like it belongs in Greece or Rome, with its high pillars and pure white exterior.

“Is this building old?” WingDings asks as Papyrus takes him inside, walking past the main desk to the left and through a door.

“It’s made to look old, but yes, it was built around 1912, so . . . forty six years ago,” Papyrus tells him, suspecting that this will be the first of hundreds of questions today.

“And how old are you?” WingDings asks unabashedly.

Fidgeting a bit Papyrus looks around at the desks of his fellow employees and is horrified to find that they are all looking at him. The skeleton blushes yellow and takes WingDings hand, guiding him to his own desk quickly. “Old,” Papyrus answers with a grimacing smile. “But they do say that age makes you wiser.”

“Is that why you’re taking responsibility now and taking care of me?” WingDings asks with a smirk. He knows full well that everyone is listening and he is aware of the part he has to play.

Papyrus is caught off guard, but to his credit it doesn’t show long in his wide eye sockets. “That’s right son,” he answers smoothly, putting a hand to his shoulder. “I’ll do right by your mother and take care of what she’s entrusted me with.” Giving the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze Papyrus takes a seat and grabs a chair for WingDings. After handing the boy his book Papyrus puts on a pair of reading glasses and begins rummaging through paper work, quickly sorting and filing them.

The book WingDings has chosen to read proves to be incredibly difficult and while funny and entertaining it is above his ability. That and he can’t focus on the words correctly. They appear blurry unless he holds the book away, but then the letters are too small.

“Try this,” Papyrus removes his glasses and holds them up to WingDings face. The boy squirms at first, but when he looks at his book he can see the letters better. Still hard for him to read, but that’s because he isn’t skilled at reading common fonts. “Is that better?”

“It is,” WingDings acknowledges as Papyrus pulls the glasses away.

“We’ll have to visit an optometrist,” Papyrus notes, jotting it down on a paper where he has an impressive list growing.

Since WingDings can’t mention his own reading glasses in his inventory back home the boy only nods.

For several hours the two sit quietly, only a few workers coming by to either hand Papyrus some papers or greet WingDings. One of the officers even gives the boy a Chupa Chups lollipop, affectionately saying he has a grandson around his age. WingDings is able to gather that Papyrus works for the Sheriff’s department, specifically the detective bureau. WingDings isn’t sure why so much paper work and phone calls are required for this job, but he doesn’t know much about detectives.

Just ten minutes after the clock strikes ten, Papyrus’s phone rings again and he is told that a judge will see him. When WingDings realizes that they’ll be seeing a judge he’s a little nervous, but they simply go to a private office where the judge officiates Papyrus parentage of Roman WingDings Aster. From there they visit several offices where they receive certificates of WingDings identity and Papyrus’s guardianship of him.

An hour later they’re finished and Papyrus is given permission to leave for the remainder of the day. WingDings is worn out after seeing all the fake smiles and being whisked from one office to the next. Papyrus takes him to the local diner for lunch before treating him to ice cream at a tiny Baskin Robins. It stands apart in WingDings mind with its tent like building design and red and white stripes.

The place also boasts thirty one flavors which does seem like a big deal to WingDings.

Once they are finished Papyrus takes him to a ‘Department Store’ as he calls it, the name of which makes WingDings assume it’s a store for tools, building material, paint and other outdoor things. He is surprised to learn that it really just means clothing and appliances, along with every other thing they can fit in the building. Visibly frowning WingDings does his best not to complain as Papyrus has him try on millions of clothes of varying designs and colors.

It is torturous for the boy. The only reason he behaves as well as he does is because he was just given ice cream. The clothes are scratchy and he is not a fan of how short the shorts are or the use of suspenders which lay uncomfortable on his shoulder blades and collar bone. That and he’s expected to tuck in the shirts which makes the extra fabric gather uncomfortably around his hips.

When they are finally finished WingDings practically runs out the doors, requesting that they never step foot in the building again. This elicits a laugh from Papyrus who assures him that they’ll try ordering what they need from the catalog next time. After this they’re off to the optometrist, a kind old fish monster wearing thick glasses himself. When they find what they need, and frames WingDings is comfortable with, they finally head home.

WingDings races into the house with no clear destination in mind as Papyrus follows after him. The boy ends up in his room, pulling out the tinker toys as Papyrus goes down stairs and begins washing some of WingDings new clothes. By the time Papyrus returns, WingDings is flat on his back with the view master stuck to his face, flipping through the pictures carefully.

“Are you enjoying Frisk’s view master?” Papyrus asks from the door way.

“I can understand the charm of this simple device,” WingDings answers, his feet pointing in and out methodically as he looks through the screen.

“I was just about to cook us some dinner, is there anything you’d like to eat?” Papyrus asks.

“What can you make?” WingDings asks in turn, taking the view master away from his eyes in favor of looking up at the skeleton.

“I can make most anything I put my mind too,” Papyrus answers before sheepishly admitting one flaw. “I do tend to burn things.”

“How about a casserole?” WingDings says. “That way we’ll have leftovers.”

“And what is the significant to having leftovers?” Papyrus asks with a smile.

“You and Sans won’t have to make dinner tomorrow or do as many dishes,” WingDings replies.

Papyrus gives a short laugh and turns from the room. “When I was young I dried the dishes while my sister washed them, I remember hating that chore,” he comments as he moves down the hall. When WingDings stands up to follow, Papyrus is pleasantly surprised. He thought the boy would much rather play with his toys than stick by him.

“Was your sister’s name Cordia?” WingDings asks.

Surprised again, Papyrus nods his head as he walks into the kitchen. “Yes how did you know?”

“It’s a little hard to remember, but I met a Cordia once when I was very little,” WingDings explains. “She was in a world where there was no electricity and everything was filthy. Had to share a closet with three other kids too.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure,” Papyrus says, bending down to retrieve a glass casserole dish from the cabinet while his other hands go about grabbing a pot, pan, meat, noodles and other things. “Why don’t you check the mail slot, with everything happening I don’t think we’ve looked in it the last two days.”

“Sure,” he moves to the front door, but doesn’t see a slot in the door for mail. He’s about to ask where it is until he sees a little wooden flap next to the door close to the ground. Pulling the knob he opens it up and is delighted to find a stack of mail hidden inside. “This is so cool!” WingDings yells as he pulls out the mail.

“It is?” Papyrus asks when WingDings races into the room. “You can set it over on the desk in the first bed room, right across from the kitchen.” He motions with his chin to the kitchen door he is referring to and WingDings zips along to do as he’s asked.

“I’ve never seen a mail slot like that before,” WingDings clarifies when he comes back into the room. “You don’t have to go outside and it doesn’t dump out on the floor. It’s efficient and clever.”

“My parents designed this house, and they were very clever,” Papyrus agrees. “They insisted on a lot of things that were new for the time, including the ‘ice box’ over there.”

“Where are they now?” WingDings asks.

“They fell in 1952,” Papyrus answers calmly.

“I’m sorry,” WingDings bows his head respectfully.

“They had good long lives,” Papyrus assures him. “They even got to see Sans and Cordia married off.” As he speaks Papyrus gazes through the wall, seeing something only in his mind’s eye, even as his hands continue to work. “They were the best parents anyone could ask for. Supported Cordia and I through everything. Even my crazy dreams to work with the greatest minds at the NACA.”

WingDings mind catches on the acronym NACA. He feels like he’s heard that before in passing, recently too. “What is the NACA?” WingDings asks.

“It stands for National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics,” Papyrus tells him, waking from his day dream and filling a pot with water. “Although they just changed their name to NASA this past July. The race for space has begun.”

With wide eyes WingDings blurts out before he can consider what he’s saying. “We haven’t been to space yet?”

“And by that statement I take it we do get there,” Papyrus chuckles. “Don’t go telling you’re classmates that.”

“Classmates?” WingDings asks.

“Yes, I’ll be enrolling you in the local school,” Papyrus tells him. “Until we can figure out how to get this ‘piece of your soul’ you need to be learning.”

“Sans did mention I had to go to school,” WingDings grumbles. “But he said it was the law.”

“It is,” Papyrus smiles at the boy shaking his head. This child is giving him more reasons to smile these days. “The school isn’t far, just a few blocks away. I’ll drop you off in the morning and Sans will pick you up. You’ll have to spend a few hours at the garage but I don’t want to leave you home alone. That would be irresponsible.”

“But . . . Yes he did say that . . . Why do you . . . Shouldn’t I . . .” WingDings words end up becoming a buzz as the dots of his indecisiveness continues. All of this is going too fast for WingDings to the point he is feeling left behind and like everything is out of control. Granted he’s never been in control in these situations, but he’s starting to feel the aggravation and anxiety that comes with it as he matures.

Sensing something wrong Papyrus lets his hands continue working as he turns his full attention onto the boy. Today has been a very long day and hectic, he deduces that unloading all of this information on the child is having a negative effect. “You don’t have to start right away,” Papyrus amends. “I’ll give you time to adjust.” The skeleton is surprised that the boy is finally showing signs of anxiety all things considered, but Sans did warn him last night.

But he’d forgotten.

When Papyrus doesn’t get a response he kneels in front of the boy and carefully, slowly puts a hand on WingDings shoulder. “WingDings,” he makes a point to say his real name. “You don’t have to go to school tomorrow.”

WingDings head snaps up and he actually hears Papyrus this time. When he can’t find his voice WingDings uses his hands to speak. ‘Sorry, lost in thought,’ he signs. ‘I . . . promise me something?’

“If it is within my ability yes,” Papyrus answers readily, worried, but staying confident as to not worry the child.

‘You swear it,' WingDings signs firmly, his hands clacking with the force of it.

“You need to tell me what it is first,” Papyrus says.

Torn, WingDings presses his lips tight, his eye lights flicking around as quickly as his thoughts. “Swear, you’ll help me find my soul and not stall.”

Papyrus thinks on the boy’s request, understanding the value of the demand and the reasons for WingDings insistence. “I swear it,” the skeleton says. “I’m sure Sans will swear to help as well, if you ask him.”

Visibly WingDings sags in relief, the exhaustion of the day and the honesty of his request weighing down his small bones. “Thank you Papyrus,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Papyrus gives his shoulder a squeeze and stands. “I try to be an earthbound kind of guy. Go ahead and take a seat kid, take a load off.” The phrasing is odd coming from Papyrus but the young boy is too busy thinking other things to notice the more casual lingo.

WingDings does as he’s asked and Papyrus ends up telling WingDings about what to expect at school. This includes the usual of minding your manners with the teacher, addressing adults as Mr. And Mrs. and the importance of keeping his questions to a minimum. As he speaks WingDings wishes to help with the meal, so Papyrus has the boy cut and butter some bread, talking all the while. He also warns the boy about the racism that he might encounter. It isn’t as bad as the east coast he reiterates, but it is still present and Papyrus is well aware that WingDings comes from a place that is rather accepting of monsters and other races.

“You might hear the term ‘commie’ from time to time,” Papyrus tells him. “If it’s directed at you, just ignore it and pay them no mind.”

WingDings chuckles at Papyrus, a buzzing almost musical tone that lets the older skeleton know the boy is finally relaxed again. “What is it kid?”

“You’re talking different now,” WingDings points out. “More like Sans.”

Papyrus stops and thinks about it, recalling his choice in speech for the last hour. “Well,” he pulls out the finished rigatoni casserole dish he’s concocted. “We are . . . brothers.”

“Your advice sounds a lot like my brothers too,” WingDings informs him.

“How so?” Papyrus encourages him.

“They’re always telling me to ‘be careful of this’, or ‘be aware of that’, or ‘remember this’, especially when the subject of hopping to other dimension and finding the pieces of my soul comes up,” WingDings elaborates.

“They want you to be safe, since they can’t go with you,” Papyrus takes the dishes out of the cupboard and WingDings eagerly sets the table.

“I know,” WingDings answers. “It’s just kinda funny since they usually are the ones I end up with . . . different version of them.”

It’s around this time that the sound of Sans motorcycle roars up the street, alerting everyone on the block that the skeleton is home. Filled with curiosity Papyrus rubs his fingers together pensively before asking, “Have you met yourself?”

“A few times,” WingDings answers easily. “Not for very long usually. They show up when I get the last piece I need or they just don’t exist.”

“Well isn’t that interesting,” Papyrus rubs his chin as Sans enters the house.

“Hello everybody, dinner sure smells great.” The shorter skeleton moves to the hall to complete the ‘coming home’ ritual of returning his coat to the closet.

“It was WingDings idea,” Papyrus answers.

“What, not calling him Roman?” Sans asks in surprise.

“It’s been a long day,” Papyrus answers as Sans moves to wash up at the sink. “Sans you’re covered in grease. I won’t have your grody bones in the kitchen, especially after Francesca came this morning to clean.”

“Francesca?” WingDings asks.

“Ah good he’s still asking questions,” Sans grins, as if this is a sign of good health for the boy.

“Yes he could write a book with it all,” Papyrus sighs and shoos Sans out of the room.

“All right, All right, I’m gone,” Sans laughs joining WingDings giggles from the table.

“Francesca cleans the house for me once a week,” the skeleton explains, looking down the hall to be sure Sans is making good on his word. When Papyrus turns back around he has the large eyes of WingDings looking up at him with inner joy. “What is it?” Papyrus asks, planting a hand to his hip in a show of annoyance. Any disappointment to be had by the expression is lost though with that gentle tip of a smile tugging one side of his mouth.

“Just a Papyrus thing,” WingDings answers.

“Well then it must be a Sans thing too,” Papyrus grins and joins him at the table. When Sans comes to the table they bless the food and proceed to eat and chat about the days goings ons.

That night is quiet. After eating and taking a bath, everyone gathers in the living room to watch the small black and white television. Papyrus and Sans sit reading the paper on the couch, while WingDings occupies himself with the tinker toys on the carpet. When it is time for bed, he reads a little of Huckleberry Finn with Papyrus before going to sleep.

The next day, which WingDings comes to find out is Thursday, begins with Papyrus taking him to the elementary school. WingDings is incredibly nervous, despite having gone through this process several times now. Just like Papyrus said, the school is very close, less than half a mile away. After meeting with the principle and secretary WingDings is successfully enrolled, but won’t have to start till Monday, giving Roman WingDings Aster four days to adjust.

Papyrus takes him to the courthouse for the first half of the day, while Sans takes him for the second half at the garage. At Papyrus’s office WingDings doesn’t really have the opportunity to talk with him or ask questions, but with Sans it’s just the two of them and whatever the radio is playing.

“So Jelly Roll is a human man’s hair style?” WingDings clarifies sitting behind the wheel of Sans latest hot rod.

“Yep, only the Ginchiest men can pull it off though,” Sans says.

“And what’s Ginchiest supposed to mean?” WingDings asks.

“Cool, hip, admired,” Sans explains. “Go ahead and start her up.”

WingDings summons a hand to hit the brake pedal as he turns the key in the ignition. There is a sputter, but then it just teeters on and on like a born stutterer.

“Definitely something wrong with the ignition, engines just fine,” Sans sighs. “Might have to cost Mister Ponds more than he’d like but. . . that’s all we can do for now, let’s call it a day.”

“But, it isn’t five yet?” WingDings says looking at the large clock on the wall.

Sans shrugs. “It’s my business, I can close when I want.”

After closing the shop, they take a ride on the motorcycle home before cooking up some dinner. When WingDings gets the mail he sets it on the desk in the guest bedroom. As he sets it down he notices the top letter is from NASA. “Sans?” WingDings calls. “You got something from NASA.”

In the other room there is a clatter of dishes, startling the boy before an uncomfortable silence takes its place. With measured steps Sans enters the small room and flicks his fingers at WingDings. “Give it here,” Sans says with a forced grin.

Doing as he’s asked, WingDings hands him the letter which Sans receives with stiff fingers. The skeleton reads the envelope and sneers, whispering under his breath something best not repeated. “Thanks kid,” he says a little louder, tearing the letter in half as he moves to the living room. WingDings watches the skeleton cautiously as he puts the papers in the fireplace where several other pieces of paper have been discarded.

WingDings curiosity is piqued, but he doesn’t ask, figuring this falls under the ‘some questions shouldn’t be asked’ stipulation. Getting a letter from NASA should be a big deal so why is Sans so unhappy about it. Papyrus said he used to work for them so why would Sans be against receiving a letter from them. Doesn’t seem right for Sans to destroy a letter meant for Papyrus.

When Sans leaves the room WingDings stays behind and waits till the older skeleton is working in the kitchen. He retrieves the letter and is surprised to see that it is addressed to Comic Sans Papyrus WingDings Astor. Carefully fitting the pieces of the letter together he opens it up and does his best to read the small letters without his glasses.

“What are you doing?” Sans asks from directly behind him.

WingDings panics and shoves the letters pieces back into the fireplace. “I was curious,” he says, knowing better than to lie when caught red handed. He can’t meet Sans eyes, the yellow magic charged with irritation, is enough to send WingDings soul sputtering.

“Really gotta keep an eye on you,” Sans sighs, his anger slipping off his shoulders when he sees just how frightened WingDings is. But he still needs to make it clear to the boy where his boundaries are. “Do not look through our stuff. That includes the mail and our rooms. Understood.”

“Yes sir,” WingDings nods.

“Good,” Sans waits, as if expecting the boy to say more, when he doesn’t he moves to turn away only to have WingDings ask another question.

“Did you work for NASA too?” he asks.

“Papyrus tell you that?” Sans asks, stopping but not quite turning around.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Yes I did,” Sans confirms.

Before the inevitable next question can escape from WingDings mouth the phone rings. Sans sighs in relief and goes to pick up the phone.

Notes:

Not too much to say about this chapter, just setting down the building blocks for the rest of the story. I do like seeing Sans and Papyrus interactions with WingDings. As with most of these stories it’s just fun to see characters similar or different in different AU’s.

Chapter 7: Meet the Family (Part 1)

WingDings is saved from further scolding by the ring of the telephone. When Sans picks it up he doesn’t say his name, but waits for the other person to speak first as seems to be his policy. “Yes Ms. Ficus it’s me,” the skeleton grins, a gruff chuckle caught in his throat. “You want to talk to him?” He nods his head and takes the phone away from his skull. “For you WingDings.”

Pushing the ‘NASA’ mystery aside for another day WingDings eagerly steps up to Sans and the offered phone. “Hello Ms. Ficus, how are you?” WingDings asks as he receives the clunky phone piece from Sans.

“I’m doing well young WingDings and how might you be fairing in the Astor home?” Ficus’s voice cracks on the other end of the line.

“I’m good,” WingDings answers, shuffling the phone piece awkwardly in his hand. He finds the large device rather cumbersome. “You were right, Sans is a good man.”

“Sans does not always recognize his own value and merits, but past his relaxed and somewhat rubbish façade he is devoutly loyal, intelligent, and kind,” Ficus recollects. “Have you been properly settled into your new domicile?”

“Yes, I have my own room, with toys, and they even went and got me clothes,” WingDings tells her, the information rattling off more easily then if he’d been forced to look into her blank staring eyes. She is much more pleasant to talk to on the phone. “They even gave me a new name . . .” This isn’t something he is happy about of course, but he wants to hear Ficus’s opinion.

“A wise decision,” Ficus agrees. “There was only one WingDings Astor ever born, you best remember that. If another skeleton by that same name mysteriously appeared the government would be snooping.”

The government? What did his counterpart do to get on the bad side of the government?

“Why? What’s so important about WingDings Astor?” he asks insistently. He looks up and sees Sans staring blindly into the pot of chili beans he’s cooking, evidently listening in on their conversation.

“It isn’t my place to say,” Ficus says. “Best you not be asking about it either.”

“But I feel like it’s important,” WingDings says gripping the phone a little tighter.

“If you really want to know the only ones who can tell you are those Astor boys,” Ficus tells him. “Asking anyone else will put you in danger young Astor and the mysteries surrounding your arrival. Unless it’s from their mouth, it’s rather doubtful you’ll find the truth either. Promise me you won’t be asking unless it’s them.”

WingDings presses his lips, feeling the promise is unfair. Remembering Papyrus’s promise to him though makes the boy reconsider. Really he isn’t promising this to Ficus, but to Papyrus and Sans. The reprimand from Sans is also still very fresh and pressing in on his soul. “I promise, Ms. Ficus.”

“Thank you and I’m sure they will thank you as well,” Ficus assures him. “In due time they’ll tell you the significance of the man whose name you share. Now can I speak with Sans, I’ll be calling you again so this isn’t goodbye.”

Although he doesn’t know her well, WingDings is still happy that she’ll be calling again. “Thank you Ms. Ficus,” he says as his goodbye before pulling the ear piece away and calling for Sans. The skeleton retrieves the phone with a magic hand and pulls the cord as far as it will go into the kitchen.

As he talks to Ficus, with Ficus doing most of the talking, WingDings mashes the potatoes adding more milk and salt as needed. Sans fills Ficus in on who Roman Astor is and even goes to tell her how the family is doing. When the topic of Frisk comes up he’s almost eager to sing her praises and the work she’s doing on the east coast. Papyrus comes in around this time, taking the time to say hello to Ficus after he’s put his coat and hat away in the closet.

After eating their meal they follow the same routine as the previous days, taking a bath, watching the television, and reading a book before bed. The next day WingDings starts the day out with Papyrus before switching and going with Sans. WingDings likes the monotony of it all, but there is still something that is bothering him.

He still can’t tell where the piece of his soul is.

This has never happened before. He can always tell at least in what direction it is. “Sans?” WingDings asks as he’s sitting in the passenger seat of the same hot rod Sans was working on yesterday.

“Hmm?” Sans asks, lying upside down and fiddling around under the stirring wheel.

“Normally I can feel the pieces of my soul and where they are, but for some reason I can’t in this world,” WingDings tells him. “Can you help me?”

“Well I did swear to help you and I plan on making good on it,” Sans tells him.

“Papyrus made that promise,” WingDings recalls.

“A promise from his lips is a promise from my own,” Sans answers as if it makes perfect sense.

“So, when you made your vows to Frisk did Papyrus marry her too?” WingDings smirks.

“Now hold on their kid,” Sans removes himself from under the dash and waves a finger at the boy. “This and that are two different things.”

WingDings giggles and doesn’t push the man.

“Been a while since I tinkered with that kind of stuff,” Sans admits. “Especially magic related sciences and you can’t just construct a radar in your backyard.”

“A radar?” the boy asks.

“Yeah, I think that would work, or some kind of radio that can track your soul,” Sans says.

“You can make that?” WingDings asks.

“You doubtin’ my abilities? I was once the smartest man alive,” Sans informs him proudly.

“Once?”

“Point is, I can do it, will take some time though,” Sans shrugs and twists around so he’s sitting in the car correctly. He gives the key a twist and after a brief sputter the car comes to life. “There, purring like a kitten.”

Once they arrive at home, Sans declares it leftovers night and all the meals from the past week are brought out. When Papyrus comes home they bless the food, and talk about Sans radar idea. They also discuss what they’ll do for fun this weekend.

“Can we go to the beach?” WingDings asks, having seen the ocean briefly from his drives with Sans.

“Sure, closest form of fun there is,” Sans says. “Hey, should we give Cordia a ring, see if she wants to join us?”

Papyrus lightly scratches his jaw and considers it. “Since WingDings will be with us a while I don’t see the harm in it, do we have a time limit?”

“No, Frisk ‘Pauses’ my home world every time either of us leave,” WingDings explains.

“Well ain’t she powerful,” Sans says nervously.

“They’re non-binary in my timeline and they aren’t that powerful . . . it’s hard to explain,” WingDings shrugs.

“I’ll give Cordia a ring,” Papyrus stands and moves for the phone. “It will give us some practice calling WingDings by his Roman name.”

“This is going to be a long embarrassing phone call,” Sans chuckles. “Sure you don’t want to call it off.”

“She is hardly the receiver of bad news Sans,” Papyrus informs him, with a grimacing grin.

WingDings has to stop and think a moment. Are they punning each other?

“Well, being an aunt has a nice ring to it,” Sans agrees. “Hard to mess that up.”

“I’ll try not to push her buttons,” Papyrus counters.

“Or strike a chord,” Sans slings back.

They were! It is so subtle WingDings didn’t even notice. If it weren’t for the emphasis they put on certain words about phones and the smirks he’d never know.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” WingDings grins at his latest surrogate father. “Just tell-a-bone joke.”

He catches the Astor’s completely off guard with that one. For a beat they say nothing until they’re roaring with laughter. Sans hits table with his fist while Papyrus has to grab and lean against the door frame to keep himself up right. “That’s . . . the timing . . .” Sans has to take a heavy breath to get the words out. “Bravo, you nailed that one.”

“Tell a bone joke,” Papyrus laughs. “I need to remember that.”

Wiping away yellow tinted tears, Sans motions for WingDings to help him clear the table and clean while Papyrus makes the call to their older sister Cordia. The call goes well and Cordia is excited to meet her nephew. She even encourages Papyrus, telling him that he’ll be a great father and is ready for the challenge. It is enough to make the man blush.

After that they set about finding what they need in the basement for a trip to the beach and make sure they have enough food for everyone, which includes not only Cordia and her husband Coal, but her children and grandchildren. In all it will be twelve people and they’re coming from Santa Barbara just north of them.

WingDings is a little nervous, but he’s mostly excited about seeing the ocean again. Last time he saw the sea was when he was living in it at the age of five. Visiting the pool or a lake is not the same thing as visiting the ocean. He hardly sleeps that night and is awake at dawn such is his excitement.

For once Papyrus is not up yet, choosing to sleep in on his day off. While it’s no surprise that Sans is asleep WingDings is a little caught off guard when the taller skeleton isn’t up. He stands in front of their bedroom doors debating whether or not to wake them. In the end he decides against it, remembering Sans’ warning about their rooms. Yes, he was talking about their belongings, but it still left an impression on him.

Moving into the kitchen he checks the cupboards for any cereal and finds a box of Alphabets. The date is still good, so he grabs what he needs and enjoys his little breakfast with some toasted bread and a glass of milk. After that he checks the time to see that it’s only seven thirty. Seeing that makes WingDings realize why no one is awake so he goes to the TV and switches it on.

The dials are cumbersome, but he manages to flick to the NBC channel which is showing a kids show. The ‘Howdy Doody’ show to be precise. After watching this for about a half hour block WingDings feels a little freaked out. It doesn’t help that it is the second half of a two parter, but something tells him that even seeing the previous (221) episode wouldn’t help. Well . . . he can appreciate the King Yardstick pun, but that is about it.

That puppet is going to give him nightmares.

But the episode also gives him a good idea. Well two good ideas. Maybe three. First, he makes a mental note to try a Hostess Snowball treat. Second, he builds an airplane out of the tinker toys while watching the animated Ruff and Reddy show. He prefers it over the Howdy Doody show, but he feels bad for the Moony Moody. No the Moody Muny. Muni-Mula? He isn’t sure what they’re called, but he feels bad for the robots with the unintelligible names.

Then thirdly, after Sans and Papyrus are shuffling around half awake, WingDings pulls out the bench of the piano and starts to play. The man in the ‘Howdy Doody’ show said to practice his instrument daily and while he doesn’t think that man really knows what he’s talking about he does have a point about practicing instruments.

After playing everything he’s memorized he opens the bench and pulls out something called a ‘hymnal’ and starts playing the songs in that. Last time he saw a hymnal was in the old west, but this one seems much older and is well used.

“Mother would cry if she heard that song,” Sans says from beside him as WingDings plays.

“Might make me cry too,” WingDings says as he finishes the stanza. “It’s kinda slow and depressing.”

“Try playing this,” Sans motions for WingDings to stand and fishes around for a sheet of jazz music stored in the bench seat. With a snap of his magic Sans brings a saxophone out from somewhere in the house and gives it a smooth tune, tapping the keys expertly and producing a deep soulful sound.

 

WingDings face lights up and he eagerly studies the music, playing the right hand confidently as Sans plays beside him. Eventually Papyrus joins him at the piano and plunks out the left hand as WingDings continues with the right.

“Are you three making music already!” a voice calls from the other side of the front door.

Grinning wide, Papyrus walks to the door and playfully peeks through the small curtain on the door.

“Oh you know it’s me, open the door!” the woman demands. “I once lived here too you know!”

“Don’t you still have the key Cordia?” Papyrus tells her as he opens the door wide.

“Of course I do, but that would be impolite,” Cordia bounds in and hugs him tightly with a kiss to his cheek, patting his back as she walks in followed by an elemental monster of black fire or smoke, it’s difficult to tell. She looks nearly identical to the Cordia from his memories except this version of her has thicker bones, is older, and comes across as happier. Her cheek bones are stuck with the creases of a smile. “And you must be Roman, it’s nice to meet you.” She lifts a hand to the boy who accepts it politely, genuinely glad to meet her again.

For a moment her left eye lid narrows in suspicion, but she quickly turns towards her husband who is shaking Papyrus hand and giving a hearty pat to the back. “And this is my husband Coal,” she introduces.

The dark elemental lifts a hand and WingDings accepts it. He’s never met this elemental before and can’t help but wonder if he’s related to Grillby or Violet. That is a little rude though, assuming just because you are an elemental you’re related to someone who shares similar characteristics.

“You are a brave lad, Roman,” his new uncle tells him, the ghost of a violet smile and eyes glowing at him.

“Thank you sir,” WingDings says, dutifully looking him in the eye even as he blushes yellow.

Coal chuckles and rubs WingDings skull when he releases his hand. “Call me Uncle Coal,” he says. “Doubt I can out do your Uncle Sans, but I’ll try my best to give him a run for his money.”

“You’re on, Smokey,” Sans shakes his hand before getting inevitably bowled over by a hug and kiss from his sister.

“And here I thought you’d be giving me a nephew or niece before your other half ever did,” Cordia swats at him playfully. “Where is that darling Frisky bits.”

“Meeting with mister King last I spoke with her Sunday,” Sans replies. “Come on in, we’re just getting ready.”

“The kids won’t be joining us till around noon I imagine,” Cordia says as she walks into the kitchen. “Traffic on the 101 was packed today.”

“At least its better leaving Santa Barbara then going, the other side was worse,” Coal remarks.

“Isn’t it always bad?” Papyrus comments as he brings things out from the fridge, Cordia takes them from her brother and puts them in one of the baskets. “The weathers nice and it’s the weekend.”

As they get ready, Sans motions to WingDings and the boy follows after him in the hall. “Got ya some play clothes for the beach, you’ll find them on the dresser,” Sans tells him.

“Sans can you help pack everything in the car,” Cordia calls.

“Sure thing,” he turns away and goes to gather their beach chairs and other beach gear with Coals help.

WingDings changes as he is asked, glad that he doesn’t have to tuck the shirt in and can leave it out. Even though they’re ‘play clothes’ they still feel snug to him, since he’s used to wearing more loose clothing. As expected the shorts are too short for his taste, but he is expecting it. At least the sandals fit comfortably. Racing from his room, he comes into the kitchen just in time to hear Cordia aggressively whispering at Papyrus.

“. . . Couldn’t have been born with those . . .” Cordia stops herself as soon as she hears WingDings step into the kitchen. “Oh you look adorable,” Cordia says, smiling fondly while giving her brother a brief ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look.

“Were you talking about me?” WingDings asks, knowing full well they were.

“What makes you say that,” Cordia puts a hand to her hip and lifts a brow.

“Because you were. You said, ‘Couldn’t have been born with those’,” WingDings continues completely undeterred. “Were you talking about my hands?” he holds up his hands for her to see and moves his feet around showing the holes there as well.

“He’s like me, he’s very perceptive and won’t let it drop,” Papyrus tells Cordia, stepping in front of his sister so she won’t be able to see his face. “I told her it wasn’t our place to ask you about it.”

“Well I can be stubborn too,” Cordia steps right beside him and WingDings is reminded of the Cordia who would force him to take a bath in dirty water and pluck a chicken. He doesn’t want to mess with this woman.

“I was born this way,” WingDings lies with a smile.

“No you weren’t,” Cordia states matter-of-factly. “No skeleton is born with such defects, it’s impossible.”

“Then I don’t want to talk about it,” WingDings crosses his arms, his eyes buzzing yellow and flickering red as his stubbornness raises to meet her own.

At first Cordia appears furious, ready to snap, but her features swiftly soften when she realizes how she’s behaving. “I’m sorry, this is not how I wanted our meeting to go,” she says humbly, pressing her hands in front of herself in shame. “I’m just worried, Roman. Cracks like that . . . well it means you weren’t treated right.”

Unknown to the woman her brother flinches beside her, but he doesn’t comment on it.

She bends over so she is eye level with Roman. “Your Dad would never want to ask about it, I know him very well,” she says with honest concern. “Keeping stuff like that bottled up isn’t good for a person. Especially a young person who just lost their mother.”

“I . . . don’t really know why I look like this,” WingDings answers honestly, unable to lie to her when she looks at him with such stern kindness.

“Did your mother do it to you?”

WingDings cannot bring himself to lie to her face and with shifting eyes looks at the floor.

The boy’s inability to respond is enough to feed the new aunt an answer that makes the most sense to her. She nods her head, as if it all makes sense, her eyes flashing with magic.

“What’s that look for?” Papyrus asks.

“I’m just glad he’s with you now,” Cordia answers swiftly, her fingers clacking in front of her as she holds them tight. “But,” she claps her hands waking WingDings from his confusion, trying to figure out what it is she thinks she’s learned. “That’s enough of that. We’re off to the beach!”

Instantly WingDings perks up, his fading smile snapping into something more genuine. “Yeah, let’s go,” he cheers moving to Papyrus and taking his hand automatically. The man is caught off guard, enough so that his eyes flash yellow briefly. Instead of dragging Papyrus to the door though WingDings just stands there holding his hand and looking up at him expectantly.

“I . . . yes let’s go,” Papyrus says awkwardly as he walks out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

“You aren’t going to teleport there?” WingDings asks. That’s the whole reason he bothered taking his hand after all.

“We’re going to drive there,” Cordia tells him, walking out the door towards her car parked just in front of the house. Her car just so happens to be a 1952 DeSoto Custom. “Otherwise we couldn’t carry everything.”

As soon as WingDings spots the very car he’s grown to know so well at the auto repair shop he points at the monstrosity as if it is an abomination. “NO! I refuse!” he exclaims.

Notes:

And Cordia returns! Honestly I’m so glad she’s in this story, I’ve missed her and she doesn’t appear very often in my stories. Also I did a lot of research on children shows for this chapter which is why that segment is included. It’s also there because this is the show my parents remember fondly from their childhood. My folks have been a big help in the writing of this, even if they don’t know it. Next chapter is the beach chapter.

Chapter 8: Meet the Family (Part 2)

Notes:

This chapter is long even after dividing it into two parts.

Pointing at the abomination, known as a 1952 Desoto Custom, WingDings shakes Papyrus’s hand, showing his distress clearly. His shake is so vigorous and unexpected that it causes Papyrus to drop his keys. Rather than get upset the man picks them up with his magic and locks it, dragging WingDings behind him as he walks down the steps.

“No, it’s a death machine!” WingDings yells for the entire block to hear, a buzzing beep cracking from him loudly in his native font.

“Oh wow, haven’t heard that sound in a while,” Cordia chuckles, wincing behind her smile.

“Heh, guess you were serious about the seat belt thing,” Sans muses as he opens the door for Papyrus.

“You can’t make me!” WingDings pulls against Papyrus’s hand, forcing the new dad to pick up the light sack of bones and carry him to the car. WingDings shouts in his font, but it doesn’t do him any good.

“You’re acting like a toddler,” Papyrus scolds the boy, placing him in the middle of the seat as Sans scoots in on the other side.

“Do you know the percentage of those saved by seat belts in a car crash,” WingDings shouts.

“Actually no? How many?” Coal asks genuinely curious.

“Fifty pe-mmmmffff.”

Sans and Papyrus simultaneously lift their hands to cover the boys mouth. Normally it wouldn’t be as effective with the holes in their palms, but together it does the job.

“Fifty percent?” Cordia turns in her seat as her husband starts the car and flips a U-ie. “Why don’t cars have seat belts then?”

“The manufactures think cars are safe enough without them and it would cost too much money to install em,” Sans answers for WingDings. “Also they don’t think people will bother using them.”

“Well is that true?” Cordia demands with a smile. “You’re the car expert after all.”

“They’re just being greedy,” Sans shrugs. “Seat belts can and will save lives.”

“Coal, next car we buy is going to have seat belts,” she lightly flicks his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he says, earning him a proud smile from Cordia, making a point to kiss his cheek right in front of WingDings.

If WingDings had a tongue he’d stick it out in mild disgust at their romance. In some worlds he has a tongue, but not in this one it would seem. Instead he has to settle with scrunching his nasal cavity and squinting. The expression amuses Cordia, along with the Astor brother’s beside him.

They travel down the street, make one turn and right there in front of them is the ocean. WingDings is shocked at how close it is. “It’s so close!” WingDings says in shock as Coal drives along the coast to an opening in the wall so he can drive out on the beach. “You can drive on it!”

“Is he always this excitable?” Cordia asks.

“Not often,” Papyrus says as he opens the door, WingDings scrambling over him to get out. “But I think the beach is special.”

WingDings races across the sand and makes ready to fling himself into the ocean, but he stops short when several hands appear and pull him back. And he was so close. He can feel the spray of the sea. For dramatic effect WingDings reaches for the water as he is dragged back to where they are staking their spot in the sand.

“Roman, what are you doing?” Cordia laughs at the boy as he continues to reach for the ocean even as he’s plopped down onto the blanket.

“It’s for dramatic effect,” WingDings answers her.

“Have you been to the beach before?” Coal asks him, sticking a large yellow, red and blue umbrella in the sand.

“. . . Yes?” WingDings answers.

“You don’t sound sure,” Sans says.

“I was five years old at the time,” he answers. “Can I go into the ocean?”

The brothers look at each other, each silently asking the other which of the two of them is going to stick themselves in the ocean. It’s funny to watch the two stare at each other, sitting on the towel and silently debating. In the end Papyrus picks himself up and throws off his shirt, walking towards the ocean with WingDings racing ahead of him.

“Have some quality father son bonding time,” Cordia encourages him as WingDings splashes into the water. “Oh wait, Roman your shirt.”

“I’ll keep it on,” WingDings shouts to her from the shore, quickly splashing some of the water at Papyrus as soon as he’s close enough. With the water moving through the hole in his hands it’s harder to splash the water around, but with over a dozen magic hands helping, he makes up the difference.

“You sure you don’t want to take your shirt off?” Papyrus asks, sitting down in the waves beside WingDings.

“I’m sure,” WingDings tells him.

They stare at the waves a moment and that’s all the time WingDings needs to get a sneaky idea. It’s one of his favorite pranks to pull on skeletons, because it’s something that sets him apart. Keeping his head forward, WingDings adopts a crafty grin as he looks sidelong at the cracked skull version of Papyrus.

Papyrus catches sight of the look and his eyes instantly narrow. “What are you . . .”

WingDings races out into the waves at full speed, easily slicing through the water as if it isn’t there.

“WingDi . . . Roman!” Papyrus shouts right as WingDings dives into the sea and proceeds to do a back stroke through the waves.

It’s a little harder to move through the wake of the shore, but it isn’t a matter of strength as much as control of his magic. WingDings is careful to keep his head out of the water, using a magic hand on his spine just in case a wave twirls him around. By the time he stops where his feet barely touch the sandy sea floor, everyone is at the shore shouting at him in a panic.

These guys were just as bad as his brothers back home. When he sees the hands reaching out to grab him from Papyrus, WingDings summons his own hands and carries himself back to them.

“Roman WingDings Astor, what were you thinking young man?!” Cordia admonishes the boy, hands planted on her hips. “You could have drowned.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” WingDings apologizes with practiced ease.

“No you ain’t,” Sans eye lights are completely out. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Yes and I don’t appreciate it,” Papyrus’s eye lights are also missing, which is normal for a Papyrus from most worlds, but on him it comes across as eerie.

“It wouldn’t be as fun if I told you I can swim before I go out and swim,” WingDings kicks the water.

“Skeletons can’t swim,” Cordia says flatly.

“Yes they can,” WingDings informs her evenly. “It just takes a lot of practice.”

Cordia looks at her brothers for an explanation.

“In theory it could be done,” Papyrus agrees.

“Very well Roman, you’ve proved your point, but. . .” She stops as Papyrus finishes the rest of her sentence for her.

“You’ve also been very inconsiderate,” he says reaching down. Papyrus takes WingDings by the back of the skull, bringing a flood of memories to the boys mind from when Cordia and his other aunties use to do the same exact thing to him as a four year old. He marches WingDings over to the blanket and motions for him to sit.

“Sit there until the rest of the family gets here, all right Roman,” Cordia says as she sits beside him.

“Yes Aunty,” WingDings doesn’t fight her and the name aunty rolls off the tongue surprisingly easy. At least he can entertain himself with the look on their faces when he gave them such a fright.

For about an hour WingDings stays in the shade of the umbrella while Coal, Papyrus and Sans play a game of Volleyball close by, talking about old times and trying to make the other fall into the sand. “How old is he?” WingDings asks Cordia who is reading a book. “Pa I mean.” He decides to reserve the name Dad for Sans and Pa seems like an appropriate name for this time period.

“Oh, well he just turned sixty-four two weeks ago,” Cordia tells him.

“Sixty-Four?” WingDings eyes go wide, until he considers that sixty-four might not be that old for skeletons in this world. “Is that old?”

She lightly drops her book to her chest and looks at the boy past her sunglasses. “We live to be around ninety, although your great-grandma lived to be a hundred ‘n ten,” she tells him.

Pressing his lips, WingDings nods his head and turns to watch the men playing their game. No offense to Coal, but the elemental isn’t moving as quickly as Sans and Papyrus suggesting that Sans and Papyrus aren’t that old. He looks back at Cordia more critically, noting the creases in her skull and blotches of discoloration, things he recognizes as older skeleton traits.

At first Cordia doesn’t react, continuing to read her book until she huffs and places it down again. “It’s rude to stare child,” she reprimands him with a grin.

“Just thinking,” WingDings tells her, looking back to Sans and Papyrus.

“I can see that,” Cordia nods.

“I find it very interesting that they don’t seem to be sixty-four,” WingDings says. “What do you think?”

“You make an astute observation Roman,” Cordia replies, turning the page of her book. Behind them a car rolls up and Cordia’s thoughtful expression is replaced with pure joy. “Tunga!” she shouts, rolling forward and onto her feet. “Heather, Calibri, Ebrima, you made it!”

Out of the car pops a family of four. The father is a skeletal monster who has wisps of blue smoke curling off his head and shoulders and is the first to greet Cordia with a hug and kiss to the cheek. Next a young woman, a scaly red monster comes out, with her two daughters, who are dark red skeletons with smoky black hair. They also have very sharp teeth. WingDings has never seen such a diverse family before.

“Roman this is my eldest son Tunga and his wife Heather,” Cordia introduces. WingDings shakes their hands politely, a small smile painted on his lips. Next they bring their two daughters forward.

“This is Calibri, she’s ten,” Tunga tells him. “And this is Ebrima, she’s the same age as you.”

“It’s nice to meet you Roman,” Calibri is the first to lift her hand which WingDings accepts. Ebrima is less forward so WingDings offers his hand to her for a shake while she smiles at him shyly.

“Will Cambria and Fred be making it?” Cordia asks as she begins bringing out the food.

“They should be,” Tunga says pulling out his own blanket and umbrella’s.

As the adults fall into conversation the kids are told to take a seat. The adults fill their plates with food, some chips, a sandwich and potato salad. WingDings has never really liked potato salad but he’s hungry and eats it anyway. He notices that Ebrima doesn’t like it much either, twirling it around with her fork and nibbling at it.

“Have you been living by yourself?” Calibri asks as she nibbles at her food.

“No, I’ve always had someone looking after me,” WingDings tells her.

“Is it true you’ve never seen a television before?” Ebrima asks quietly.

“Not really?” he answers. He’s certainly never watched a black and white television before this week.

“If you have any questions feel free to ask,” Calibri says head held high, as if it’s her duty to be helpful and mature.

Seeing her act entitled reminds WingDings of a few of his classmates and Ariel all those years ago. He’s never liked people like that, especially when he knows he’s smarter than them. “Can you tell me how a transistor radio works?” WingDings smiles sweetly, knowing full well she can’t.

Her brows furrow and her dark wispy hair flickers as her mind searches for a quick answer. “No,” she says blushing orange. “All I know is they are made of wires, vacuum tubes and a transistor.”

“Roman,” Papyrus says and if he didn’t put a hand on the boys shoulder, WingDings would have forgotten who Roman is. “Be the bigger man.”

WingDings presses his lips, but nods his head. Even though he’s never heard the term ‘be the bigger man’ he knows what it means. “What can you tell me about music?” he asks instead.

“Elvis Presley,” is Calibri’s immediate answer. “He’s in the army now, but he’s a great singer.”

“He isn’t very original though,” Ebrima comments.

“Oh hush, his voice is dreamy,” Calibri says.

“Ray Charles is better,” Ebrima counters softly.

“How about ‘Rockin Robin?’ I like that one,” WingDings says.

“Bobby Day? Yeah he’s got some good singles,” Calibri agrees.

“Naw, Little Richard is where it’s at,’ Sans speaks up from the group of adults.

“He’s converted you know,” Cordia comments, shaking her fork eagerly at him. “Might change his style.”

In this way WingDings learns a little more about the popular music of the time, mostly according to Calibri and Ebrima who enjoy rock and roll. Cordia likes gospel and R&B, while her husband enjoys Jazz. Papyrus and Sans both enjoy jazz, blues and rock and roll. Really though all of them have a joy for jazz, even the young girls.

Around this time the other members of Cordia’s family arrive. He is introduced to Cordia and Coals daughter Cambria who is mostly skeletal with smoky green hair. She is married to a dark skinned human named Charles. They have a four year old boy, who looks mostly human save his smoky black hair. WingDings isn’t sure what to make of the four year old, but little George is eager to hang out with him, wishing to sit with him and do everything with him from that point on.

After lunch the kids play in the shallows of the waves. Splashing each other, WingDings learns that his cousin’s hair is like magic smoke which becomes more goopy when it’s wet. He’s glad they aren’t flame monsters otherwise having fun in the water wouldn’t be safe. After that they construct an impressive sand castle that young George wants to smash every opportunity he gets. In the end Papyrus helps them out using his magic hands to keep the boy away long enough for the older children to build something worthy of a king . . . until the tide comes in and destroys it.

When the sun sinks low in the sky, they move their party back to the house where they take out all the leftovers again, along with the extra sandwich makings that didn’t get eaten yet. After dinner the girls automatically race for the hall and pull open a large barn door cabinet that WingDings hadn’t even thought to open before. “What do you want to play?” Calibri asks from a stepping stool. “They’ve got Sorry, Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, Nipper’s Ups and Downs, Yahtzee, Chinese checkers, Parcheesi . . .” she continues to list games as WingDings turns to Ebrima.

“That’s a lot of games,” he comments softly as she nods her head in agreement. Beside him George nods as well holding his hand while rocking back and forth impatiently. WingDings is kindly letting the boy do as he wants, allowing him to hold his hand and otherwise stay glued to his bones.

“George will be able to play Nipper’s Ups and Downs,” Ebrima says.

“I want to play Clue,” WingDings says. He’s heard of the game, having passed it in the toy isle, but he has never played it before.

“We’ll start with Ups and Downs, then play Clue,” Calibri decides.

“Ups and Downs is a little kid game,” George complains.

“It’s only a little kids game if you don’t play by the rules,” Calibri answers knowingly.

At first the comment confuses WingDings, but soon into the game he finds out what Calibri meant. The game is basically snakes and ladder’s or chutes and ladders and every time George lands on a space to go down he refuses to do it or if he lands on a space that is meant to go down he wants to go up. This creates a cranky four year old who is already tired and weary from his time in the sun.

The older children remain firm though and George is forced to play by the rules. When Cambria comes in to take George so they can go home, the boy throws a tantrum, clinging to WingDings and fussing. WingDings doesn’t react as Cambria swoops her child up with ease and says goodbye to the family, thanking WingDings for being such a responsible big cousin.

When they’ve gone, Papyrus comes in as the remaining children begin setting up the Clue game. “Roman,” Papyrus says and when he doesn’t get a response he taps the boy on his shoulder with a magic hand, getting his attention that way. “Would you be willing to give the girl’s your bed tonight,” he asks. In the other room he can hear the adults starting up their animated conversations again.

Looking at the clock he notes that it is fifteen minutes after seven. “That’s fine,” WingDings agrees, suspecting that Papyrus is thinking ahead.

“Thank you Roman,” he says. “You’ll sleep in the office tonight.” After that Papyrus returns to the kitchen inviting all present to stay the night if they wish.

The girls smile, Cambria taking the cards and shuffling them into three piles. “This means we might be able to finish our game,” she says.

“Have you ever played?” Ebrima asks.

“No, but it looks interesting,” he answers.

“Here’s how you play,” Cambria proceeds to tell him the rules. “There are room cards, suspect cards, and weapon cards. We’ll start by putting one of each into the box without anyone looking. Then we hand out the rest of the cards as evenly as we can. Our job then is to go around the board to the rooms with our character and guess who we think committed the crime, what weapon they used, and where they did it. If you have one of the cards you have to show the person your card. You cannot lie, otherwise the game doesn’t work.”

Interesting that she has to point out the obvious rule of not lying.

“I want to be Miss Scarlet this time,” Ebrima says picking up the red piece.

“But you played as her the last time,” Calibri complains, trying to snatch the piece.

“Who’s this,” WingDings picks up the white piece.

“That’s Mrs. White,” Ebrima answers.

“I’ll be her,” WingDings puts the character on her space as both girls look at him in surprise.

“Something wrong?” WingDings asks. “I like the color white.”

“No, its fine, Uncle Sans likes playing as Mrs. White too sometimes,” Calibri tells him. “I’ll be Professor Plum this time.”

“Really?” Ebrima is surprised.

“I like the color purple,” she shrugs and places her piece on the board.

Just a little under half an hour later, WingDings is declared the winner when he guesses that the murder was committed by Miss Scarlet in the kitchen, with the candle stick.

“Mmmph, I should have never picked Miss Scarlet,” Ebrima complains softly. “I never got to guess, being moved around so much.” It was discovered early on that her character was the murderer when WingDings made the mistake of constantly blaming Miss Scarlet for every turn. Calibri easily caught on and poor Ebrima never got a shot of doing much as she was moved around the board by WingDings and Calibri.

“Girl’s, time for a bath,” Heather says, motioning for the girls to follow. As they leave WingDings puts the game away and wanders into the kitchen, but no one is there. Peeking out into the hall he sees the girls getting ready for a bath with their mother while Cordia is down stairs busy doing something.

As he’s debating whether or not to ask Cordia where the others are, WingDings hears a loud laugh from outside. Opening the kitchen door he sees the garage open with the four men smoking and talking loudly with one another. He stands there a moment, unsure if he should join them or not. He is not used to this feeling of intimidation and decides that he doesn’t like it. Mounting his courage, and a little determination, he walks out into the moist cool air to the garage.

“. . . knot in the string so he could finish the symphony. Someone in the audience asked his companion, 'What's going on? Is there a problem?' His companion said, 'This is a critical point - it's the bottom of the Ninth, the score's tied, and the bassists are loaded’!” Tunga howls.

“If I had known that’s all you’d learn from Boy Scoots I’d never have put you in the program,” Coal laughs, shaking his head in humor and dismay.

Meanwhile, Papyrus and Sans are busting up laughing, showing that they really enjoy a good joke. Sans is hitting his workbench hard while Papyrus tries and fails to cover his mouth to hold himself back, clutching his ribs. WingDings stops at the entrance to the garage and smiles up at them.

“Hey kid,” Sans sputters. “Finish your game?” He pulls out a metal stool for WingDings to sit on granting him a higher vantage point with the males.

“Yes, we played Clue,” WingDings replies.

“Who won?” Tunga asks.

“I did,” WingDings says, sitting straighter and grinning with pride. “It was a lot of fun.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Coal directs towards Sans and Papyrus. “You should play it with him sometime.”

“I don’t know, Papyrus probably would have the advantage being a real detective,” Tunga adds to the mix.

“Clue is hardly an accurate representation of how a real detective solves a mystery,” Papyrus says, pointing a knowing finger and waving it around. “Although I most likely would have the upper hand.”

“Only if you put it higher than mine,” Sans waves a magic hand high above his brothers head and the two have a good laugh at the bad joke. It gets a chuckle out of WingDings but the other two adults sigh heavily and shake their heads.

As they continue to talk WingDings inevitably becomes forgotten in the comfortably din of voices but he doesn’t try to change this.

“Roman you can use the bath!” Cordia calls from the kitchen. “And the rest of you should come inside, don’t want the neighbors complaining.”

“Between us and you’re yelling I’d say it’s too late for that,” Sans hollers back.

They all head inside and WingDings takes his bath. When he’s finished he heads to the living room and sees Calibri and Ebrima playing a game of checkers. For the next hour, while the adults take turns using the bathrooms, chatting, and reading the paper, the kids play checkers, watch the television and play a game of pretend.

Now WingDings has never been an avid user of his imagination, at least when it comes to creating fantastical stories. Calibri on the other hand loves to tell stories and uses her sister along with anything she can get her hands on to add to the experience. By the time nine o’clock rolls around WingDings has somehow become an evil king while Calibri rescues her sister from his evil clutches.

The dining room table has become his evil castle, Frisk’s old dolls are his subjects and under the piano is his evil lair. He is wearing a towel like a sash around his shoulders that represents his kingly cowl, while Calibri uses a towel as her cape and Ebrima wears a napkin ring on her head as a princess’s crown. In all honesty, WingDings feels silly, but there is a part of him that is wrapped up in Calibri’s story and he wants to know what will happen next.

This is nothing like playing house or telling stories around the nest as he’s done in other worlds.

“Fight me, evil king, to the death,” Calibri says lifting her magic bone as if it were a rapier.

Playing along WingDings summons a bone as well and raises it towards her. “And I won’t let you have your sister back . . . ever,” he says stiffly. He doesn’t move, trying to think of something else to say. Calibri waits, but the longer his pause the more obvious his indecision. Slowly he drops the bone sword as his mouth squirms into a wiggly line of confusion.

“Now what,” Calibri asks, lifting a brow at him.

“Why do I want Ebrima again?” he asks.

“Because you’re the bad guy,” Calibri tells him, keeping her sword raised.

“I think the evil king needs a better reason,” WingDings counters.

When WingDings doesn’t raise his sword Calibri rolls her eye lights and lets her own sword drop down. “You’re really bad at this,” Calibri sighs, shaking her head sadly. She isn’t upset just a little disappointed.

Blushing, WingDings frowns and tries desperately to think of a reason he’d kidnap someone, just so he can prove he isn’t bad at something he clearly is bad at.

“I know, I know, you’re jealous of my beauty,” Ebrima suggests, coming to his aid.

Calibri, wrinkles her nasal cavity, her mouth opening slightly in confusion. “But he’s . . .”

“I like it, that will be my reason,” WingDings snatches at the idea as if it were his own and lifts his sword. “Apparently I’m an evil and vain king, those things go well together.”

“Uh, okay,” Calibri doesn’t argue or point out how boys can’t be beautiful, but she doesn’t want to hurt her new cousin’s feelings, unaware that she has unintentionally done so several times already. They raise their bones again and gently clack them together, making WingDings almost long for the days where he could put a little more effort into a play fight.

“Go! King Roman! Go!” Tunga cheers from the couch, having put his paper down in favor of watching the children play.

“Dad, you can’t cheer for the villain,” Calibri complains, turning away from WingDings.

“Sure I can,” the father stands from the couch, placing the paper on the table. “Because I’m the Dark Lord of the Mountain, his boss. Graaaahhhh!” He swoops down and picks up the valiant girl, slinging her under one of his arms before reaching down and plucking Ebrima up next before she can scramble under their dining room castle.

“Dad! That isn’t fair!” Calibri laughs as she lightly pounds her father’s back.

“Oh no, save me!” Ebrima giggles, putting her hands to her cheek bones dramatically.

“It’s time for the brave knight and princess to go to bed,” Tunga proclaims as he travels down the long hallway. “So says their Dark Lord father.”

Both girls laugh and WingDings watches them, smiling ear to ear. When they disappear into his room, WingDings turns back to the mess they made and proceeds to put it all away, feeling a little bad about demolishing the blanket castle they constructed. Building it was his favorite part of their game. He folds the towels, puts them in the bathroom cupboard before carefully bringing Frisk’s dolls downstairs to her chest.

It isn’t until he’s downstairs that he realizes Heather is there, where a trundle bed has been rolled out from the couch. “I’m sorry,” WingDings quickly says, mostly because he is surprised to see a bed there and her.

“It’s all right sweetie,” she tells him, smiling broadly and revealing very sharp teeth. Like mother like daughters. “Thank you for cleaning up.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says, swiftly putting the dolls away and closing the trunk. “Goodnight Mrs. Heather.” He’d call her by her last name, but he can’t remember what it is. After giving her a quick bow of his head he swiftly goes up the stairs to avoid the awkward feeling in his ribs.

“Goodnight Roman,” she sings up to him.

He walks into the kitchen where Cordia is sitting with a cup of tea quietly speaking with Papyrus and Sans. “Would you like some milk before bed, Roman?”

“Yes, but I can get it myself,” WingDings answers, summoning a hand to retrieve a cup from the cupboard while opening the fridge for the glass bottle of milk. He is very careful not to drop the heavy glass bottle or spill it as he pours the milk. His concentration is high enough that he doesn’t even notice the shocked stare from Cordia until after he’s put the milk away and comes to join them at the table.

“Is something wrong Auntie Cordia?” WingDings asks, cautiously looking from her to Papyrus and Sans who are sweating bullets from their foreheads.

That isn’t a good sign.

“You can use magic hands,” she says, folding one hand under her chin as she looks at him curiously.

“I can,” he nods.

“I didn’t think that trait could be passed on?” she turns to her brothers.

“Well . . . it happened,” Sans says with a shaky grin, showing only half his teeth.

“Huh,” she furrows her brow and nods her head, before grinning smugly. “Guess you don’t know everything.” She chuckles and turns back towards WingDings who has forgotten to drink his milk. “Sorry Roman, I just keep confusing you today don’t I?” she stands and rubs his skull gently as she passes. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” they all say at the same time causing Cordia to laugh again.

When she leaves they don’t say anything. WingDings stares at his milk a while before Tunga briefly appears at the door, wishing them all a goodnight and heading downstairs.

“What did she mean by that?” WingDings asks. “That magic hands can’t be passed on?”

“Just what it sounds like,” Papyrus answers. “It was something we had to teach ourselves, we weren’t born with the ability.”

“I was born with it,” WingDings muses, becoming quiet as he considers the possibilities.

“Don’t come to conclusions when you don’t have all the answers,” Sans tells him, scooting his chair back. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Finishing his milk, WingDings brushes his teeth again before heading to bed with Papyrus waiting for him. “I’ll leave the living room light on for you,” he says, keeping the door open a crack as he turns off the light.

“Thank you Pa,” WingDings grins when he sees Papyrus give a start, a glowing yellow blush hitting his cheeks as he walks away.

Notes:

Long chapter is long. This is a very slice of life moment and I probably could have condensed it more, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The moments provided in this chapter are very much inspired from my own childhood or stories from my parents. I hope it was enjoyable to some.

I'll try to include a pic of the layout of the house in the next chapter. . . if I remember.

Chapter 9: Finding Home

Notes:

Warning, a bug is eaten.

In the morning WingDings receives the wake up call to beat all wake up calls when Calibri and Ebrima shout his new name at the top of their lungs. “ROMAN!” In a flash of magic, WingDings accidentally teleports two inches above his bed before flopping onto it with a grunt.

Giggling manically, the girls scramble from the room but their footsteps stop just on the other side of the door as they peek back into the room. Glowing red with embarrassment, WingDings scrambles from the bed and makes to chase them, causing the girls to squeal in delight. Because of the layout of the house it is easy to go from the living room, into the dinning room, into the kitchen, past the stairwell into the hall, and back into the living room. It is a nice little circle and WingDings assumes they won’t go down the stairs or hall since they are dead ends.

Or so he thinks.

The third time around, Calibri goes down the stairs, while Ebrima goes down the hall. WingDings chooses to follow Ebrima since she isn’t quite as fast as Calibri. To his surprise though she spins into the room Sans and Papyrus’s are sleeping in.

“Good morning!” Ebrima says earning a groggy reply from her great uncles and a start of fear from WingDings. But with his prize nearly caught he doesn’t stop long and follows her to the end of the room where she opens another door he didn’t know was there and darts across the porch and through another door.

“Hey that isn’t fair!” WingDings yells at her with a smile, picking up his pace as she runs through the kitchen where their mother is preparing pancakes. She manages to step out of the way as her youngest daughter and cousin race by into the dining room where Ebrima surprises him again and opens another door onto the porch.

“Catch me if you can!” Ebrima goads him on, as she goes through Sans and Papyrus’s room again and towards the stairwell. “Quick open the door Calibri!”

“Already open!” Calibri calls as the other two stumble down the stairs. WingDings has to slow down when he nearly trips, holding the railing tight as Ebrima scrambles down. She races with her sister up a little ramp out into the backyard.

“What’s happening?” Tunga opens the bathroom door in the back of the basement and rather than stay to answer WingDings races after the girls.

Once outside he looks around, but doesn’t see them on the lawn or around the garage. When he hears the girls laughing on the other side of the house, WingDings goes up the driveway towards the kitchen again, only to find the door locked. He can hear the girls laughing hard as he quickly goes to check the other two doors. The dining room is locked and he hears the bed room lock seconds before he pries open the screen door.

Soul pounding, WingDings scrambles over the railing dropping down lightly with the help of a magic hand before racing for the door in the backyard, only to hear it lock when his magic hand latches onto the knob. Buzzing in frustration, WingDings fights against the door, an inkling of fear firing up his spine when it doesn’t open.

It’s in this moment, stuck outside in his pajama’s with the moist ground clinging to his naked feet that he feels that this is no longer a game. One minute he’s having a blast, intrigued by the numerous doors he didn’t know about and entertained by the challenge the girls have given him. Now he feels alone.

Drooping, WingDings holds his hands tightly behind his back as he keeps himself from moving. He doesn’t need to be scared, he reasons with himself, fighting the desire to call out and hit the door frantically. It’s just a game, a fun game, it’s not like he’s locked out of the house forever. He can just teleport inside, but would that be strange? Cordia acted strangely towards his hands, would teleporting be the same?

Caught in indecision, WingDings stands in front of the door as his mind races through ideas and scenarios which only makes his anxiety rise. When he’s about to return to the kitchen entrance, the door in front of him opens with Tunga standing there and two girls sheepishly standing beside him.

“Are you all right?” Tunga asks, opening the door wide so WingDings knows he is welcomed.

Noting the worried expressions on the sisters faces WingDings stands a little straighter and nods his head. “Yes I’m fine, Mr. Tunga,” WingDings assures the man. “We were just playing.” He flashes the girls a practiced grin who offer confused smiles of their own.

“Right,” Calibri nods slowly, not sure how to react.

“Well, breakfast is done, lets clean your feet so you can go upstairs,” Tunga says and proceeds to have the children sit on the ground, handing them each a damp towel to clean themselves. No one says a word, the girls waiting for WingDings to say something so they know he’s truly all right and WingDings not much feeling like talking.

When they head upstairs, Tunga stops his daughters allowing WingDings to continue to the kitchen. Instead of going all the way though, he goes into the hall, so he can hear what the father has to say.

“I know you were just playing, but I think you took it too far,” Tunga tells his girls.

“But he said he was fine,” Calibri is quick to say, but she doesn’t sound very convinced.

“He’s only lived here five days Calibri,” he sighs. “How would you feel being locked out of a house you were just welcomed into?”

“I’d be scared,” Ebrima says softly.

“You both owe him an apology,” Tunga tells them, shuffling towards the stairwell.

Since he doesn’t want to be seen, WingDings quickly goes around the circle to the kitchen where Heather is waiting. She smiles at him as he sits at the table and she places a stack of pancakes in front of him. Seconds later the rest of the family emerges, the girls sitting across from him at the table, while Tunga sits next to WingDings. When everyone is served, Heather joins them, scooting a chair up to the corner to eat with them.

For a while they just sit and eat until Tunga sets his fork down and looks pointedly at his daughters. “Girls, don’t you have something to say,” he encourages them.

“We’re sorry,” they say at the same time.

“It’s okay,” WingDings tells them still not sure why he was so scared in the first place. He’s ready to move on and doesn’t want to think about it.

“We really like playing with you,” Ebrima encourages him in her quiet way, finishing off her milk and smiling at him.

“And we would like to keep having fun with you,” Calibri elaborates. “Maybe you can visit our house sometime.”

“I’d like that,” WingDings says feeling much better at the prospect of hanging out with them. They aren’t like the siblings he had when he was four, Calibri and Ebrima are not nearly as annoying or bothersome as they were, although the girls will never be able to match his awesome brothers in the old west.

“Good morning everyone,” Cordia walks into the room wearing a floral hat and a very nice dress. “We’re going to be late for church at this rate. Papyrus, Sans, get up, breakfast is waiting!”

“Church?” WingDings asks, seems this world is another one that includes the practice.

“I suppose you’ve never been before,” Cordia says as she takes a few pancakes from a plate on the counter. Tunga stands and offers his seat to her as Heather takes the girls away to get ready.

“It’s boring,” Calibri complains.

“Don’t say that, Jesus will hear you,” Ebrima hisses back, looking up at the sky as if someone is watching.

“I think he’d agree with me,” Calibri replies, earning a chuckle from their mother as she corrals them down the hall.

“I set some clothes out for you in the guest room,” Cordia tells WingDings. “Need to look your best.”

WingDings does as he’s told, mentally complaining about tucking in his shirt as he walks out of the guest room and goes to brush his teeth. Once finished he goes to the piano and plays through some of the songs he knows before pulling out the hymnal. Before he gets started Calibri comes to sit beside him on the left.

“Do you know Heart and Soul?” she asks.

“Yeah, but I don’t know it by heart,” WingDings admits. Does it count as a joke saying the word ‘heart’, he likes to think it is a little funny.

Calibri waves WingDings off the bench and rifles through the sheet music until she finds what she’s looking for. She puts ‘Heart and Soul’ up and the two proceed to play it to the best of their ability. They do a fairly good job and Ebrima joins them on the bench, but doesn’t try to play. They are so focused that they don’t notice the camera pointed at them until the loud click and snap of the large device.

“Mom!” Calibri complains.

“I couldn’t pass it up,” she smiles at her girl, stepping forward to run her scaly hands through her daughter’s wispy hair.

“What kind of camera is that?” WingDings asks, his hands reaching for the device, as she came closer, but he doesn’t take it from her.

“It was a birthday gift,” she tells him, holding it out for him to see, but not letting him actually hold it. “It’s a Leica M3. It’s a 35 mm rangefinder camera.”

“Momma really likes camera’s,” Ebrima explains.

“All right, everybody in the car,” Cordia comes into the room smelling like she belongs in a flower shop.

At her call everyone charges from the house wearing their best clothes and smelling funny in WingDings opinion. He climbs into the back seat of the DeSoto Custom with Sans and Papyrus as they drive a short distance away to the family Baptist Church. While he’s there WingDings meets some of the local kids he’ll be attending school with and he learns that Papyrus and Sans attend every Sunday. WingDings also notices that there aren’t very many humans at the church, at least not white ones.

After church they all return home where the adults make a home-style meal of chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and squash. This time they all eat in the dining room together, praying before the meal and passing the food around. Afterward Calibri encourages her sister and new favorite cousin to play the game of pretend they started yesterday, but they don’t get to play long before they have to leave for home. Coal invites the three Astor’s to their home in Santa Barbara for a visit to which they agree.

The girls give WingDings a fond farewell hug, promising to see him soon.

It isn’t until they leave that WingDings realizes he’s becoming attached again, something he has mixed feeling about since he’s getting older.

For the remainder of the afternoon the Astor’s relax in the living room, reading the paper and watching the television. When Papyrus is thinking of getting WingDings things ready for school the phone rings and Sans is up in a flash of magic, quickly snatching the phone off the wall.

He waits for someone’s voice to say something before grinning ear to ear. “Kitten, how ya been?” Sans turns around and gets comfortable leaning against the wall, suggesting he’s going to be there a while.

“Kitten?” WingDings asks Papyrus with drawn brows.

“That would be his pet name for Frisk,” Papyrus answers standing to his feet. “Come, let’s get your things ready for tomorrow.”

WingDings stands but lingers as he watches Sans at the phone, curious about what Frisk’s counterpart is talking about.

“WingDings,” Papyrus calls, encouraging the boy to wrench himself away, his curiosity will have to wait just a little longer.

After collecting a small satchel bag they fill it with pencils, a notebook, crayons, a pair of scissors, an eraser and his new reading glasses. It also has enough room to fit his tin lunch box. When they’re finished the two prepare dinner while Sans continues to speak with Frisk. They’ve been chatting for a while, but when WingDings checks on him he’s confused to find that Sans is sweating uneasily.

The skeleton opens and closes his mouth several times before sighing and simply saying. “I miss ya kitten, not sure I can wait another month,” he chuckles weakly and when he hears Frisk’s response he quickly corrects himself. “No, no, everything’s fine. I wouldn’t want to take you away from work. It’s important.”

A pause.

“I believe in you kitten,” Sans says confidently, but it is evident from his frown that he’s sad and lonely. “Love you to, talk to you soon.” He hangs up and looks about twenty years older for the briefest of seconds, until he notices WingDings staring up at him. “Heh, how long you been their kid?”

“A while,” WingDings answers honestly.

“You didn’t tell her did you,” Papyrus says.

“. . . It didn’t feel right,” Sans scratches the back of his skull, letting it fall slowly to his side.

Papyrus shakes his head. “You need to tell her about WingDings,” he says with a tense jaw, his eyes sparking. “She’s a part of this family.”

“He’s your kid you should tell her,” Sans snaps.

“She’s your wife!” Papyrus snaps right back. “And if I tell her now she’ll wonder why you didn’t tell her.”

“Damn it, just . . . she has so much on her plate already, this ain’t something she needs to worry about,” Sans explodes, breathing hard and unable to meet his brother’s gaze. When Sans eyes meet WingDings only then does Sans reason seem to return.

WingDings is looking at him without much response, after all it isn’t his concern how or when they tell Frisk and it isn’t as if he knows how to call her on the phone so he can’t just tell her himself. Something about the calm detached way WingDings is looking at Sans with his plastered smile, unsettles the older skeleton.

Wishing to say so much more, but unable to do so, Papyrus turns and sits at the table. “Dinner’s getting’ cold,” he says.

They bless the food and eat, talking about what to expect at school the following day. It isn’t anything WingDings hasn’t heard already, but he does use the opportunity to ask them about which subjects he’ll be expected to know. The only one he knows will cause him trouble is Social Studies and English, since he isn’t as familiar with U.S. history or comfortable with the alphabet.

That night after watching the ‘Wonderful World of Disney,’ he enjoys a nice bath and bedtime story, but it is difficult to sleep. He finds himself tossing and turning all night, battling his anxiety of going to a new school with different expectations with a name he barely knows. In the end he falls asleep, but it’s mostly filled with dark dreams of his worries conjured within his mind. In the morning he dresses, eats and is ready before anyone is even awake. He looks at the clock which reads five minutes before six in the morning.

The clock chimes six and he hears Papyrus wake to take a shower. WingDings doesn’t ever remember feeling this anxious about going to school and doesn’t know why it’s so difficult this time. He takes a breath and goes to his satchel, finding the notebook and opening it up. As a way to unwind he works out some math problems and draws tinker toy designs of his own invention. There is nothing else in the world except his math and tinker toy puzzles, his single minded nature taking him to a place that makes sense and makes him happy.

“WingDings?” Papyrus comes into the room and sees WingDings vigorously writing in his notebook, eyes wide and glowing eagerly.

Papyrus leans over and whistles at the sight. “I’m going to have to buy you some more notebooks,” he says under his breath.

WingDings doesn’t hear him and continues working out the problem.

“We need to get going,” Papyrus taps the boys shoulder.

“Not yet, I’ve almost got it bro,” WingDings says in his font, focused on his design and nothing else.

Papyrus sighs glancing up at the clock on the mantle, ignoring being called ‘bro’ by the child. They’ve got time, so he allows the boy to finish, but has to pull the notebook away before the boy can work on another. WingDings eyes flash red as he lunges for the notebook, but when he realizes who is holding it he simmers down and puts the book away in his bag.

Before leaving the house Papyrus makes sure WingDings shirt is properly tucked in and helps him with his coat. They take a short cut to the school where WingDings is met by the Principle, Mr. Gardner who guides him to his classroom.

“Welcome Roman,” a female teacher with curly brown hair and a plaid dress greets him. “My name is Mrs. Smith. Every morning when you come in you can leave your coat here on one of the hooks, hang onto your bag for now. I need to collect the children from outside, but you can stand here until I get back.”

“Thank you Mrs. Smith,” WingDings answers standing next to the chalkboard and clasping his hands behind his back with his bag.

She smiles warmly at him and leaves the room. Typically a teacher should never leave a student alone in a classroom, but apparently in 1958 this isn’t an issue. Seconds later the hall fills with the sounds of scuffling feet and teacher’s speaking to their students. When the door opens again, the students file in, most of which are humans, but there is a handful of monsters scattered amongst them.

“Good morning class,” Mrs. Smith tells them.

“Good morning Mrs. Smith,” the class answers as they stand beside their wrap around wooden desks.

“We have a new student joining our class today,” Mrs. Smith continues. “Tell the class your name.”

“Roman WingDings Astor,” WingDings answers as close to the Roman font as he can. Since there aren’t any skeleton monsters in the class it doesn’t really matter, but he needs to practice. Luckily his Aunty and the others didn’t say anything about it, but he’s been stressing about this all night so he has to get it perfect.

What he doesn’t expect is some of the students to giggle when they hear the name WingDings. Like the name is some kind of joke.

Seems like these children are no different than those back home.

“He’s just recently come to live with his father,” Mrs. Smith tells them. “I want you all to make him feel welcome and help him adjust here. Go ahead and take a seat in the empty desk behind Mary.”

As WingDings goes to the desk he notices that no one is sitting yet, so he stays standing beside his desk. “Everyone it’s time for the pledge of allegiance. Hands over your soul,” Mrs. Smith turns to a small flag mounted in the corner of the room. “Ready, begin.”

Immediately everyone begins saying the pledge of allegiance, but WingDings doesn’t know it. Clutching the place above his sternum WingDings mouths the words he remembers, but doesn’t vocalize anything. No one appears to notice, except Mary who turns her blond tight curls and looks at him with a lifted brow.

He blushes bright and is saved any more staring when Mrs. Smith tells them to sit. As she takes roll, WingDings commits as many names as he can to memory. From there they work on basic arithmetic and English before going out to recess. Once outside the kids run wild and WingDings is shocked to see that there are no adults monitoring the children.

WingDings isn’t sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. After all how dangerous can a playground be compared to being unsupervised in the old west?

“Hi, I’m Tillo,” an armadillo monster boy tells him.

“And I’m Roberto,” another boy says, with dark wavy hair and glasses.

“Guys, Phil found a worm!” a passing boy shouts at them.

Immediately the two boys go racing after him and WingDings decides it won’t do any harm to join the crowd. It is no surprise to him that the boy named Phil ends up using the worm to chase the girls around, who scream and run for their lives.

Some things just don’t change.

WingDings watches for a little while before looking over to the swings and thinking it is a good solitary activity to do. Unfortunately, Phil notices the new kid and runs straight towards him. “Hey new kid, eat it!” the kids flings the worm right at his face.

The ‘new kid’ doesn’t react fast enough to try and catch it, but he does manage to close his eyes and mouth as the worm sticks to his skull. Carefully WingDings picks the earthworm off, noting that it is somehow still alive despite being pinched by Phil and flung into the air. As the group of children laugh at him, WingDings casually wipes his face off and his eyes briefly burn red.

Every child who is close enough tastes WingDings displeasure and stops laughing, watching him pensively. “You really want me to eat this?” WingDings asks, a smile curling his lips in an unsettling twist.

“Y-yeah!” Phil walks up to him, towering over WingDings a full two inches.

“Bet you can’t eat one,” WingDings says smugly.

“Sure I could!” Phil promises, his cheeks glowing red, still heaving for breath after running for so long.

“Hey Tillo, bring another worm,” WingDings calls to the monster boy. Earthworms are a dime a dozen on the moist California coast and as a bonus are safe for human consumption. He isn’t worried.

Not that this little punk of a human knows that.

Phil’s once red face steadily becomes pale as Tillo comes forward with a big juicy worm that is trying to wriggly up to his fingers, but lacking the ability to do so. “Go ahead, eat it,” WingDings tells Phil smugly, bringing his own worm up to his lips and slurping it up. “Mmm, tastes good.”

One of the girls gasps. “He ate it,” she whispers and then everyone looks at Phil.

“You don’t have to eat it, I understand,” WingDings pats his arm before turning to walk away. “The worm will thank you.”

“Hey! Don’t walk away,” Phil shouts at him. Slowly WingDings turns, lacing his arms over his ribs and leaning heavily on one leg.

“He’s chicken,” a child whispers.

“He ain’t gunna do it,” another says.

Pinching his eyes shut, Phil slurps up the worm and wipes his mouth. “Ha!” he shouts. On cue all of the girls run away screaming, going off to tell everyone on the playground what just happened and how they’d been the ones to witness it.

“Hey great job,” WingDings walks up to Phil. “That’s really cool.”

“I’m no chicken,” Phil grins and awkwardly laces his hands over his chest too. “What’s your name skeleton?”

“W. . . Roman,” WingDings corrects himself.

“Not bad for a monster,” Phil walks away and WingDings goes off to find Tillo and Roberto.

“That was disgusting,” Tillo, makes a face, making a point to wipe his hands on his shirt.

“You okay?” Roberto asks.

“Yeah,” WingDings reaches under his skull and retrieves the earthworm. Since it has only a base level of magic there’s no reason to bother digesting it. Careful not to pinch the squirming lumbricus terrestris, he flings it into the grass. Seems fitting it should live after all the torture the limbless creature endured this morning.

The boys stare at him, not comprehending what they just saw. “You didn’t eat it?” Tillo asks.

“I’m a skeleton,” WingDings shrugs. “I can chose to eat it or not.”

“Is Phil going to be okay?” Roberto asks, looking around for the older kid and expecting him to be falling over dying right about now.

“Yeah, lots of humans eat worms,” WingDings shrugs, before inching the inside of skull. “Grrttt, where’s the bathroom?”

“I’ll show you,” Tillo says leading him to the boys bathroom so WingDings can wash out the inside of his skull as best he can.

By the time recess ends every child in the entire school knows about the worm incident, raising Phil and ‘Roman’s’ infamy in the school. WingDings is just glad he broke the ice so easily in class, now he won’t have to worry about finding his place. He’ll be the weird worm kid.

Never thought he’d be the worm kid, but he isn’t ashamed. There are worse things to be known as.

After recess they do more math, a little history and then writing. WingDings never even considered writing since he’s used to typing things on his school tablet, he hardly has to write anything aside from his name and numbers.

And if that isn’t bad enough, Mrs. Smith is teaching them long hand, cursive, in the third grade! This isn’t a thing in his third grade class in Alberta Canada! In fact it wasn’t a thing in the West either! At least not for him, because Toriel spoiled him a bit. As Mrs. Smith writes the letters on the chalkboard she expects them to copy her on their own boards.

The harsh sound of the chalk scratching against the boards is nearly enough to drive WingDings up a wall. It makes his bones tense, his teeth clenched behind stiff cold lips. When they have to show Mrs. Smith their work WingDings visibly droops when she exhibits a classic double take at his board. He hides behind the board, wishing he could have been brought to a time when they had keyboards.

At lunch WingDings sits with Tillo and Roberto joins them once grabbing a ‘hot lunch.’ They are joined by several other classmates. Most of the conversation consists of the worm incident, but it eventually moves on to Roy Rogers whom WingDings knows nothing about. By the time they go out to play though, he feels like he knows everything he needs to about the greatest American cowboy on television and the silver screen, aka movie theater.

Outside, a lot of kids come up asking him to eat a worm again, but WingDings refuses, saying that it was a one time show. If he did it too much it wouldn’t be as special. This excuse seems to appease them well enough, much too eager to move on and play something else then think too long about it.

After lunch Mrs. Smith teaches them science and gives them time to work on their book reports.

As is expected, WingDings has never written a book report before, but lucky for him he’s already got a good start on Huckleberry Finn. While the children read their books, WingDings takes the opportunity to ask Mrs. Smith what a book report is. She doesn’t judge him, since the book report concept is new to third grade. Mrs. Smith has already earned a lot of WingDings respect, not only because she isn’t afraid to put kids in the corner of shame but keeps the class quiet and explains things to them as people, not babies.

Nothing like others schools he’s been to, even his own.

When school is let out WingDings says goodbye to his new friends and walks out the front of the school wondering how this is suppose to work. Papyrus said Sans would be picking him up, but he doesn’t see him standing in the courtyard like the other mothers. In answer to his question he hears the roar of a familiar motorcycle. Grinning ear to ear WingDings runs to Sans and hops onto the back, completely unaware of the shocked looks from his fellow classmates and their conservative mothers.

“Safety first,” Sans loudly calls back as he hands the boy a helmet.

“No better than an egg carton for an egg,” WingDings shouts back, but he puts the helmet on as he’s told.

Sans laughs and the two roar off down the main street towards the Gaster Garage. When they arrive, WingDings sets himself up at the back table and quickly gets started on his homework. The math poses no trouble at all, but he is sure to miss a few problems as to not alarm the teacher. Reading isn’t much trouble either, but writing is. WingDings slams his head against the table and groans.

“What’s up?” Sans asks, hanging out of a car part way. It’s as if the vehicle has eaten half his body.

“Handwriting,” WingDings moans.

“Yeah, hated that too,” Sans recalls. “You don’t have to do if you don’t want to.”

“What!?” WingDings head snaps up. “Why would I do that? Or . . . not do that?”

“Well, do you need it back where you come from?” Sans asks, pulling himself out of the hood and grabbing a rag to wipe himself off.

“. . . No,” WingDings answers.

“Then don’t worry about it,” Sans shrugs, shaking his head and retrieving a cigarette. “Don’t matter if your grades suck, I won’t judge.”

“I can’t do that!” WingDings eyes flash red and yellow, as he slams his fist into the table.

Sans puffs out a plume of smoke and chuckles. “Oh my gosh you’re a perfectionist,” he laughs.

“No I’m not!” WingDings shouts defensively.

“Yes you are,” Sans points his cigarette at the kid.

WingDings pouts and refocuses his efforts on his handwriting again, practicing the name Roman over and over again. “I just want to learn all I can,” he says with a pout.

“Look kid you only live once,” Sans walks up to him and turns on the radio. “Why bury yourself in work, it’s gunna kill ya.”

“I might have a few lives,” WingDings tells him bluntly.

“. . . You gotta point, but I’m still right,” Sans says resting one arm on the table and leaning on it.

“I might go to a place where I need to write cursive,” WingDings reasons his eyes burning red as he sets upon his task. “I need to be prepared.”

“. . . Pretty sure cursive isn’t gunna help anyone, despite what Mrs. Smith might say,” Sans grins.

WingDings scrunches his nasal cavity at Sans but keeps at it as the older skeleton goes to his workbench in the corner to tinker with something. By closing time WingDings is no closer to the perfection he desires, but it’s good enough to be passable. Sans takes the coastal route home which is a little out of the way avoiding the main street, but WingDings likes looking at the ocean while the sun sets. Once home, they prepare dinner and run a load of laundry.

When Papyrus comes home they bless the food and talk about the day, WingDings dominating most of the conversation with his first day of school activities. It reminds him a little of his days living with his other families. He recalls chill Sans and bubbly Papyrus when he’d been encouraged to talk about his day. Walter was always so enthusiastic to hear about the smallest details, no matter how mundane, from his children.

He misses them.

“Everything okay kid?” Sans asks when WingDings ecstatic babble slows and buzzes to a stop.

“Yes, just thinking,” WingDings answers automatically and finishes his meal.

The brothers share that look, a silent conversation WingDings can only guess at taking place between them. “It sounds like you had a successful first day,” Papyrus encourages the boy, picking up their plates and carrying them to the sink where his other hands are already busy at work. “Even if the worm ice breaker is a bit extreme.”

“What does it bug ya?” Sans jests with his brother.

“It got me out of a sticky situation,” WingDings grins.

“Can’t worm my way out of this game of word play can I?” Papyrus smiles, flicking some water in their direction.

“Nope!” WingDings and Sans answer.

They banter back and forth as they clean up after dinner, lightening WingDings mood considerably. For the following several days when the boy has moments of anxiety or hesitance his caretakers learn to interject a few puns and jokes into the conversation. It works wonders and helps WingDings feel more at home.

 

                                     

Notes:

Long chapter is long and I remembered to include the layout of the house. Hope you enjoy! Taking next week off, but I'll be back with two more chapters before taking a short hiatus.

Chapter 10: Pictures on the Wall

“Take out a piece of paper, it’s time for the spelling test,” Mrs. Smith announces that Friday.

There are several soft groans in the class, WingDings included as he tears out a page from his notebook. He’s been studying the words all week, but he can already feel his brain turning to mush when she says the first word.

When the test is over he turns in the paper as if he were turning in a job resume to his future employer, feeling like a failure and as if his entire future is on that paper. As soon as the cursed paper is in her hands though those fears vanish and he feels as if he’s been saved from a great burden. He promptly forgets about the test and as soon as the bell rings he’s racing out with the other kids, eager to start the weekend. Sans is waiting for him and before they speed off to the garage, the cool uncle takes him for ice cream at Baskin Robin’s 31 Flavors downtown.

Since Mrs. Smith didn’t assign any homework for the weekend, WingDings doesn’t have anything to do except sit on the rickety bench and watch Sans work on a hot rod needing his ‘love, care, and affection,’ as he calls it. As he watches, swinging his legs beneath him without hitting the bar, the radio plays ‘Rock Around The Clock’, encouraging the boy and Sans to bob their heads to the beat.

As soon as the song starts to play Sans backs away from the car and starts to dance, catching WingDings off guard.

“Oh common kid, don’t tell me you don’t know what dancin’ is,” Sans says as he summons two hands to act as his dancing partner.

“I know what it is, just didn’t think you’d dance,” WingDings responds, leaning forward with a grin.

“This is 1958 kid,” Sans offers his hand to said ‘kid’, still snapping his feet side to side in a quick pattern. “Everyone knows how to jive to Bill Haley’s Rock Around the Clock.”

“I . . . don’t dance,” WingDings buzzes.

“No one’s watching but me kid,” Sans waves him over again, his grin full and eyes sparking. It’s more than enough to get the kid off the seat and moving towards him. “It’s fun.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?” WingDings asks as he tries to mimic Sans moves.

The skeleton slows down the steps allowing WingDings to copy him at his own pace. “This is work kid,” he tells him. “Work any harder and I’d be out of a job.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” WingDings laughs as Sans takes his hand and spins him around.

“You don’t always have to make sense to get your point across,” Sans informs him, swinging WingDings back and forth as the kid gains more confidence. “There ya go, you’re getting it. Sure you never danced before.”

“Not really,” WingDings watches his feet intently but his smile remains, his eyes gleaming happily.

They dance for the next four or five songs before Sans makes a few changes to the hot rod and calls it a day, leaving early so they can pack for their trip to Santa Barbara the following day. As WingDings packs a small bag with his things and walks the hall he stops and studies the family pictures on the walls. He is drawn in by the black and white images depicting a young skeleton family’s happy moments and sharing their infectious grins.

Slowly moving down the hall, he easily spots Cordia, with her round skull and oval eyes, but he has trouble distinguishing Sans and Papyrus. The boys painted grin falters in confusion, turning into a line. With narrowed brows, WingDings returns up the hall and looks again. He see’s a skeleton that nearly looks identical to himself, same large eyes and unique lips that he has, minus the new cracks.

As he stares at the photos, squinting his eyes and leaning forward on his tippy-toes Papyrus appears beside him giving him a start. “You scared me,” he says, glaring lightly before turning his attention back onto the photographs. “Where are you in these pictures?”

“That’s me right there,” Papyrus points to the young boy who looks just like WingDings.

“Really?” WingDings scrunches his nasal cavity and tilts his head from side to side. “Then where’s Sans?”

“Oh he’s . . . in this one,” Papyrus points to another picture, with Cordia and the WingDings look alike.

“He looks just like you,” WingDings lids narrow.

“Yeah, well we are very similar,” he answers, beads of sweat appearing on his skull.

WingDings isn’t buying it. “You aren’t that similar,” he says.

“Are you finished packing?” Papyrus reaches down to take the bag and as WingDings eyes follow the movement he is distracted from the numerous magic hands that appear and grasp the pictures. When WingDings does notice he is treated to the sight of magic hands removing every picture from the hall and carrying them to Papyrus’s room.

“Pa, why are you doing that?” WingDings asks, now even more suspicious than he was before.

“Putting it away until a later date,” Papyrus answers, walking down the hall with WingDings bag.

Frowning and glaring at his surrogate father’s back, WingDings stomps after him knowing for certain that something important is being kept from him. “What aren’t you telling me? Why are you the only one in those pictures? Are you really brothers?” WingDings fires the questions off as Papyrus shuffles into the kitchen, leaving WingDings bag next to the others. Ficus said that the two would tell him in time, but he is growing impatient.

He wants to know now.

As they shuffle by, Sans watches the two briefly before turning back to the meal he’s preparing.

When Papyrus doesn’t give WingDings an answer the boy turns on Sans next. “What aren’t you telling me? Why can’t you tell me?” he says, his eye lights shrinking as his frustration mounts.

“Look, kid, we’ll tell you about it later,” Sans says, not bothering to look down at the boy as he puts on some oven mitts and checks on the small loaf of corn bread he’s baking.

“How much later?” WingDings asks, fingers tightening at his sides.

“When we’re both ready to talk about it,” Papyrus answers. “Now wash up so we can eat supper.”

WingDings eyes turn red as he looks between the two brother’s. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own,” he promises, momentarily forgetting his promise to Barbara, as he races down the hall to wash up in the bathroom.

For the remainder of the night WingDings remains relatively quiet, upset about the secrets Papyrus and Sans are keeping, but also busy trying to figure out what it all means. Now he is beginning to wonder if they really are brothers. Cordia certainly treats them both like family and they have similar features to one another, but they don’t look like the boy in the pictures he saw. No, that boy looked like him.

So, is Papyrus lying to him? He didn’t think Papyrus was capable of lying, but now he isn’t so sure. Which brings his thoughts back to the pictures.

As children they were never in the same picture together.

When he called them ‘brothers,’ when he first met them, they laughed.

Why would they do that?

As children they didn’t have holes in their hands.

They didn’t have scars.

And Cordia mentioned that scares like that don’t happen without a reason.

What does it all mean?

He wants to know!

After his shower, WingDings goes straight to bed, still contemplating what it all means and unable to think of anything else. He has a one track mind when faced with a problem and this circumstance is no different. Eventually he falls asleep with all the negative feelings and round about thoughts buzzing through his bones. It’s really no wonder that he finds himself in a terrible dream hours later.

In the dream he’s working really hard on a problem. A problem that makes no sense, no matter how much he tries to make sense of it. When he feels like he’s about to figure it out, the lights go out, replaced by a blaring siren and red blinking lights. A second later something explodes and a blazing heat overpowers him, giving his soul a painful fright as he startles awake, tangled in his bed sheets and sweating all over.

Breathing hard, WingDings quickly summons a hand and flicks on the light, banishing the darkness and making the child wish it could do the same for the dark feelings clutching his soul. Normally he never remembers his nightmares, only left with the fright and terror they conjure upon his waking, but this time he remembers the explosion. He doesn’t remember anything else, but he remembers that intense blast of energy.

Slowly, WingDings wiggles out of his covers and carefully slides to the floor. Every creek from his feet sounds like a shout in his skull, even the squeak of the door is like a blaring alarm. With as much care as he can WingDings lightly treads towards the kitchen, using his magic hands to lift himself where he can to avoid touching the ground altogether, but he can’t keep it up for long since his magic isn’t strong enough yet.

Opening the fridge, WingDings retrieves some milk, while a magic hand that isn’t his retrieves a cup from the cupboard. The boy gives a small start, but only because he’s already pretty rattled. He turns towards the entry point at the stairwell and sees Papyrus hunched there against the door-frame, with dark lines under his sockets, looking like an ancient version of himself.

“Sorry,” WingDings mumbles, accepting the cup from Papyrus.

“You have nothin’ to be sorry about,” Papyrus waves a hand, rubbing his face with his other hand as he steps into the room. The two take a seat at the table, while Papyrus goes ahead and pours two more glasses of milk. WingDings wonders at this until Sans comes shuffling into the room looking just as old as Papyrus.

“Did you have a nightmare too?” WingDings asks.

“Yeah,” Sans picks up the cup and takes a sip, a smile twisting his lips even as his sockets remain empty black holes. All of them are missing their eye lights, too tired and wound up all at once to see clearly.

“Tonight's, just one of those nights,” Papyrus sighs, fingering his cup a moment before taking a sip.

“I have nightmares quite often,” WingDings tells them. “Usually I don’t remember them though.”

“You remember this one?” Sans asks, his words slurring together.

“Not really,” WingDings admits. “Except an explosion.”

The brothers flinch at the word, the phalanges of their hands flicking along the sides of their cups. “Scary dream to have,” Papyrus murmurs. “You been in an explosion before?”

WingDings thinks about it, but doesn’t recall having ever been in an explosion before. Sure he’s been in fights, survived some difficult situations, and even seen violence, but he’s never been in an explosion. “I don’t think so,” WingDings answers, shaking his head. “Felt pretty real though.”

“Ain’t saying it wasn’t,” Sans says, even though he technically isn’t the one who said anything at all.

“Have you been in an explosion?” WingDings asks, finding the question a logical next step in the conversation.

“I was just a few minutes ago,” Sans says with a chuckle that dies before it can get started.

“You had the same dream?” WingDings leans forward finding this prospect fascinating. “Did we see the future? Is that a thing?”

“WingDings, it was just a dream,” Papyrus assures the boy, giving Sans a pointed glance before slowly standing and retrieving their empty cups. “And if we want to make it to Santa Barbara, we’d best try n’ sleep.”

“Hard to sleep after a dream like that,” Sans grumbles, slouching back in the chair.

“I should be fine now,” WingDings says, feeling better having talked about it and with the cool glass of milk soothing his bones. “Goodnight, thanks for the milk.” Standing from the chair WingDings moves to return to his room, but stops just in the hall out of sight.

“Wish I could sleep that easy,” Sans comments before WingDings hears the scuff of the man’s chair being pushed back.

“As do I, but he’s a child,” Papyrus reminds him, turning on the faucet and rinsing out the cups. “I’m glad he can sleep soundly.”

“. . . yeah,” Sans ends up agreeing before making his way towards the hall.

WingDings swiftly races away, unaware of the endearing grin on Sans face as he watches the boys disappear into his room.

After gaining a few more hours sleep and eating breakfast, the Astor’s pick up their bags and take WingDings hand. There is a brief wave of darkness before WingDings is dropped in front of a quaint adobe style home with a small yard and flower bed. Looking around WingDings sees that the house is planted on a hill with several houses of varying builds on the street.

It’s also a little foggy and nippy, but even without seeing any signs of an ocean he can smell the musty sea salt in the mist.

Walking up to the home, Papyrus knocks at the door where there is a distinct woven welcome mat and matching mail box with the name “Flint Family” written on it. Seconds later there is a scurry of footsteps before the door opens revealing a smiling Cordia. “Welcome, Welcome! Come on in,” she gives the men a hug and kiss before reaching forward to pinch WingDings cheek. He doesn’t much appreciate it, as seen by his forced grin, but this only encourages a laugh from his new aunt. She steps aside and leads them into the house, revealing a small living area, a kitchen and hall branching off to the left. “Leave your things in Tunga’s old room.”

As Papyrus goes off with their bags down the hall, Sans and WingDings take a seat in the living room. Sans picks up the morning paper and motions towards the TV in the corner. “Go ahead and watch some Howdy Doody,” he tells the boy.

WingDings doesn’t want to watch Howdy Doody again, but rather than protest he walks up to the television. He finds the dials on the side of the television which is odd and cumbersome, but what really surprises him is when the screen comes up in color. “It’s in color,” he blurts to Sans, pointing at the screen as if something is wrong with it.

“Yeah, Cordia and Coal just got it,” Sans says, not bothering to look up from the paper. “A real nice RCA Victor.”

“Why don’t you have one?” WingDings asks flipping the channel to NBC and catching the second half of the creepy puppet show. At least he knows that the Ruff and Reddy show will be broadcast next, a show he definitely prefers.

“The other one works just fine, why buy a new one?” Sans shrugs, his paper moving up and down with his shoulders. When Papyrus comes out of the hall he moves into the kitchen and he hears Coal offer the skeleton a cup of coffee. Cordia walks in next, making a point to sit next to Sans on the couch.

“Didn’t expect you to visit so soon or get here so early,” Cordia comments as she picks up her reading glasses from the coffee table. Without being prompted Sans hands her a section of the paper he’s finished reading.

“Weathers been nice and it’s good for the kid,” Sans replies as she brings the paper up, blocking WingDings view of both their faces.

“Hopefully the marine layer will burn off by lunch,” she says. “Perfect day to go out for a meal . . . as long as your paying.”

“How about that burger joint downtown?” Sans answers.

“So cheap,” she complains playfully.

“Hey, I’m paying right?” he laughs back.

While they converse among themselves, WingDings eyes wander the room, not at all interested in watching the man try to carry a tune on his guitar. During his visual exploration, WingDings notices the pictures in the hallway and without turning his head, glances back at his aunt and uncle to be sure they aren’t paying any attention to him.

“Heard they built an oil platform near Summerland,” Sans continues as WingDings carefully moves on his hands and knees around the couch and towards the hallway.

“It’s such an ugly thing,” Cordia complains. “Relying on foreign oil is dangerous, but did they really have to build one . . .” WingDings stops paying attention to anything else they might be saying as he stands to get a better look at the family photos she has displayed on her walls.

At first glance it is obvious that most of the photos are of Cordia’s own family, showing Tunga and Cambria growing up. As he continues his search though he does see a male skeleton that is picking up a young Tunga who is laughing in delight. He also sees a few pictures of what he assumes is Mr. and Mrs. Astor, the parents of the family, but that image of the young male skeleton grabs his full attention.

Who is he? He doesn’t look like Papyrus and Sans, not really.

“Enjoying the family album?” Uncle Coal crackles as he steps into the short hall. The smokey monster has a cup of steaming coffee in his hand and is looking at the picture’s with fondness. His eyes fall on one picture in particular that shows his young children Tunga and Cambria feeding a circus monkey a treat of some kind.

“MmmHmm,” WingDings nods his head, glancing at the picture with the monkey, before his eye lights inevitably travel back to the young skeleton monster. The picture reminds him of . . . well himself, if he were older.

There is a silence that overtakes the hall as Flint acknowledges the picture WingDings is looking at. “You’re just like him,” Flint finally says.

“Who was he?” WingDings asks.

“He was the most intelligent skeleton to ever come out of the Astor family,” Flint tells him. “Worked hard to get into the NACA, despite the prejudice against monsters. Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, they only cared about results and he became the face of brilliance for the entire nation, especially during the wars.”

“War’s?” WingDings asks.

“World War 1 and World War 2,” Flint replies. “He contributed so much, but he had a habit of going too far. Every time he saw a problem he just had to fix it, no matter how dangerous or outrageous it was.” When he teeters off, they notice that the chatter in the living room has stopped and both occupants of the hall are aware that the others are listening to them.

Despite the silence, WingDings boldly asks the inevitable question. “What happened to him?” he asks.

The sway in Coal’s dark smoke, curls slowly downward as if it’s lost some of it’s life. “You really do look just like him,” he repeats sadly.

Before WingDings can point out that Coal has failed to answer his question, the man puts a hand gently to his skull, stopping the young boy and the flame of red in his eyes. “It isn’t my place to say,” he says and encourages WingDings back into the living area to watch the Ruff and Reddy show.

It takes a while for the conversations to start up again, but Cordia is apparently used to such coldness from her brother’s and discuses the recent news of the historical Child’s Estate mansion being demolished. This encourages discussions of the Estate and how Lillian wished it to be used after her death. Somehow this discussion morphs into places to take WingDings for the day, while discussing influential women in Santa Barbara’s history. It is decided to take WingDings and ‘the girls’ to the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.

At first WingDings doesn’t know who ‘the girls’ are, but as they are sitting outside downtown at the popular burger joint, they meet up with Tunga, Heather, Calibri, and Ebrima.

“We’re going to the museum again,” Calibri complains as they sit at one of the outside picnic table with a plastic umbrella that does little good in the glare of the lingering marine layer that has yet to burn off.

“Roman has never been before,” their mother tells her patiently as she sets a basket with burger and fries in front of her. “Maybe next time we can go to Alameda Park or the Mission?”

Calibri buzzes under her breath. “The museum is fine,” she finally says, obviously not impressed by the other choices her mother has offered.

Heather adopts an all knowing smile before handing down WingDings and Ebrima’s hamburgers next.

“I was hoping we could go to the theaters,” Calibri says, nibbling at a fry. “Have you been to the theaters before Roman?”

WingDings considers saying yes, but he’s suppose to be illiterate when it comes to modern ‘conveniences’ so he hesitates. “Not really,” he says, deciding that he’s probably never seen a movie that came out in the 1950’s. “Although I’ve heard a lot about the Lone Ranger movie.”

“Westerns are really popular,” Calibri rolls her eyes, like westerns are a crime.

“I like them,” Ebrima says softly.

“They’re all the same,” Calibri says, taking a bite and unable to speak because of it.

Ebrima presses he lips and looks away taking another bite of her hamburger, unable to think of anything to combat her sister.

“I’ve never seen one and I would like to,” WingDings answers, wishing to encourage Ebrima, but also feeling the need to know what his classmates are so excited about. Not to mention the large selection of Western theme items offered in the Sears catalog.

“If you say so,” Calibri says with a shrug.

After eating they travel to the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History hidden away in a lush area with buildings that remind WingDings of his Aunt Cordia’s house. They are mission style, Calibri explains, something that is historical in the town of Santa Barbara, having been settled by Spaniards and Mexicans. WingDings enjoys the small exhibits, following after ‘the girls,’ as Calibri explains every item and Ebrima reads the placards WingDings has trouble with.

WingDings unwittingly avoids Papyrus and Sans, feeling uncomfortable around them since his conversation with Uncle Coal. It is only now that he remembers his promise, when Barbara told not to ask about it. But of course he did anyway. He couldn’t help it! He is curious to learn the family's secret.

And curious as to how many taxidermy birds this museum can manage to stuff into one room.

After several hours of exploring, WingDings, Calibri, and Ebrima are stuffed into the back of the De Soto and driven back to the Flint home to have dinner together. Cordia is already there with Heather who are busy finishing up a meal of chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, sweat potatoes, and beats. WingDings could go without the beats, but everything else is delicious and all of the children know better than to turn down a home made meal.

Although Ebrima does a good job sneaking the green beans off her plate and onto his.

As with the previous weekend, the men go out back to smoke, while the women chat in the kitchen, leaving the children to play games in the living room. “All right, this time we’re playing Fang den Hut,” Calibri declares as she brings out an old game from her dad’s childhood bedroom.

“Never played this before,” WingDings says, eagerly taking a seat beside Ebrima at the knee high coffee table.

Calibri lifts a brow at him, an expression WingDings is coming to realize is her favorite when he says something she deems as silly. “You haven’t played anything before Roman,” she reminds him.

“Yes, I have,” WingDings defends quickly, but scrambles to come up with a game that he knows for sure actually exists in this time period. “I’ve played mancala.” Proud of himself for coming up with a game he knows has to exist, WingDings bridges his arms over his ribs with a smug grin.

Calibri looks at him as if he’s spouted nonsense, while Ebrima tilts her head at him and says a soft, “Huh?”

“What kind of game is that?” Calibri asks.

“It’s a two players game, with stones and fourteen slots for them to go in,” WingDings articulates, managing to remain confident despite their disbelief. “The idea is to capture the other person’s stones as you move around the board.”

“Oh, that’s like this game,” Ebrima says, glowing with excitement. “Except you can play with up to four players.”

“Really?” WingDings proud facade breaks as his interest in this new game takes precedence.

From there Calibri once again takes over explaining the rules and they play a few rounds. When they are finished the small group is inevitably caught up in one of Calibri’s epic story adventures, only this time they have more costumes to work with as they raid Cambria’s old clothes and toys. As Calibri is searching for the perfect heroic cape, WingDings glances out the hall and back at the pictures on the wall, debating whether or not he should ask the sisters. Would they even know anything about it?

“Do you know who that skeleton is?” WingDings asks, pointing out into the hall. Again, he forgets his promise to Barbara.

“Which one,” Calibri asks, moving into the hall and trying to figure out which framed image he is trying to showcase. She knows these pictures well, having passed them by all her young life, making her an expert in her mind.

“This one,” he points at the picture with their young father on the shoulders of the young skeleton with smooth features and a gentle grin.

“That’s our uncle,” Ebrima speaks up as she looks at the picture. “He sure is handsome.”

“What’s his name?” WingDings asks, not trying to get his hopes up since no one has answered this question for him all day.

“WingDings I think,” Calibri says. “He died during World War 2 and was really famous. Made all kinds of weapons and machines for the military before joining the NACA. Dad really looked up to him.”

Even in the blurry black and white image the admiration Tunga had for WingDings Astor is clear. Now he knows why no one wants to talk about it. Death is horrible and even though WingDings doesn’t understand it entirely, he knows it changes the people who are left behind.

But then was Papyrus lying? He said that young man was him.

Someone must be lying to him and he rather doubts Calibri would lie in these circumstances. After all she’s bragging about how cool her great-uncle was.

WingDings would rather not think Papyrus is lying to him though, not after he’s come to trust the man.

As WingDings becomes silent, Calibri watches him a moment. She quickly finds that she dislikes the heavy air and so seeks to breaks it with her loud voice. “This is boring, let’s get back to scouring the depths of the sea for hidden treasure,” she says.

“Are we pirates now?” Ebrima asks with excitement.

“Arrrr, that we arrrrre,” Calibri says, getting into character.

Since WingDings is still lost in thought, Calibri simply slings an arm around his neck and drags him back into the bedroom where they continue their game. When they have nearly found all the treasure they are forced to clean it all up when the adults realize how late it is. They rush to get WingDings in the tub and the girls back home into bed so they’ll be ready for church the next day.

After they leave, with the promise to see him tomorrow, WingDings takes a bath and is given Cambria’s old room to sleep in, while Sans and Papyrus share Tunga’s old room.

In the morning, WingDings and Coal are the first to wake, enjoying a quiet breakfast while the Astor siblings get a few more winks of sleep. By the time they wake, it’s a mad rush to make it to church on time where WingDings is introduced to a new slew of Monsters and some humans. After enjoying lunch with the rest of the family, they return to the Flint home and spend the rest of the day being lazy. Or boring depending on who you ask and no one is asking WingDings. The young skeletons tries to keep himself occupied with old building toys from Tunga’s room, but without the company of Calibri and Ebrima it’s less exciting.

At sometime around four o’clock Sans disappears in the blink of an eye, causing Cordia to chuckle from her place on the couch.

“Would you rush to the phone that fast if I was on a trip?” Cordia asks her husband as he watches the game with Papyrus.

“You know I would,” Coal assures her, without looking away from the screen.

“Coal!” Cordia calls out indignantly when he doesn’t bat an eye at her. “This is last weeks game, you already know the Milwaukee Braves are playing the New York Yankees. You also know the New York Yankees are going to win.”

“Don’t be like that dear, we didn’t get to see the game last Sunday, being on the road,” Coal says, trying to placate his wife without sacrificing his time with America’s favorite pastime of baseball.

“Don’t dear me, do you want me to make dinner or not?” she says.

“Does Frisk always call on Sunday?” WingDings asks Cordia, distracting her momentarily from her wrath, much to Coal’s delight.

“That she does,” Cordia gladly tells him. “And Sans will always be there to pick it up.”

“When will she be coming home?” WingDings asks.

Papyrus is the one who answers this question, although his eyes never move from the screen. “She’ll be back October twelfth,” he tells WingDings.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” WingDings asks.

“Of course she will,” Cordia answers. “She’s a tough gal, but also the kindest lady I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

“Hopefully Sans will tell her about you before the big day,” Papyrus adds with a sniff from his nasal cavity.

“He hasn’t told her yet?” Cordia says in shock.

Papyrus and WingDings both shake their heads.

“Well, ain’t she’s going to be frosted when she finds out, heh,” the older woman sags back and shakes her head. “But that has nothing to do with you honey. That’ll be Sans trouble.”

After a few minutes of thinking and watching the baseball game Cordia stands. “Best I get started on heating the leftovers,” she says and WingDings jumps up, coming beside her.

“I’ll help,” he says.

“Well aren’t you the sweetest,” she smiles down at him, nearly patting his head, but thinks better of it as she has him pull out the ceramic dishes with the bits of leftovers from the previous night.

As soon as Sans arrives to partake in the meal they all ask. “Did you tell her?”

Hearing everyone ask him the same question at the same time is enough to make Sans eye lights momentarily go out. They don’t have to wait long for an answer though as he blushes and sheepishly answers in the negative. “She’s been really busy, helping out with Dr. King after his surgery,” he explains.

“I realize the scare with Dr. King is horrifying, but you know she won’t appreciate the concern,” Cordia tells him with a shake of her head. “She takes family very seriously,” the woman continues despite not receiving a reaction from her brother. “In fact if she knew how much you missed her she would move mountains to find a way to. . .”

“Cut the gas would ya Cordia,” Sans cuts her off, encouraging everyone at the table to go quiet.

Cordia looks at Sans coldly, but remains silent as everyone continues to eat. The atmosphere is rather frigid, but since when is any family perfect? After the meal the family sits around in the living area to watch the third episode of ‘The Invisible Man’ with the rest of the country. Sans and Cordia refuse to say anything to each other for the remainder of the night, but when it’s time to say goodbye they do give each other a hug and Sans whispers an apology with Cordia doing likewise. Since they don’t have to drive, Sans and Papyrus aren’t concerned about the late hour and get home in time to prepare for the following week and catch some Z’s.

Notes:

The mystery of the skeleton brothers unravels very quickly. Also, just a fun fact, in a year or two that hamburger joint in Santa Barbra becomes ‘The Hamburger Habit,’ and if you live in California you know what I’m talking about. You owe it to me to go there and eat something to remember me by. Thank you, have a nice day.~

Chapter 11: No Longer Strangers

Notes:

Shorter chapter and the truth comes out.

The week passes much like the last, with WingDings struggling to keep up with writing in school, but gaining a reputation as being the smartest kid in math. After school, WingDings joins Sans at the garage, doing his homework, while watching Sans ‘work’. Inevitably he becomes distracted though and winds up dancing with his uncle to pass the time. In the evenings, Papyrus sets time aside to read with WingDings or play a game, while Sans tries to work on that scanner of his to find the piece of the young skeleton’s wandering soul.

Enjoying the monotony of his new life, much of WingDings anxiety dwindles away, although the empty places in the hallway act as a constant reminder of the mystery he has yet to solve. Thursday night, as he plays a game of chess with Papyrus, WingDings is mysteriously shot with pain in his right hand causing him to physically wince and bring his hand back from the piece he is about to move.

In that exact same second Papyrus also flinches as if in pain. The two look up at one another in alarm ,when a crash of the garage door banging open brings their gaze to the source. When they hear Sans cursing, Papyrus is on his feet in a flash, with WingDings stumbling shortly after.

As soon as Papyrus opens the screen door and see’s his brother cursing, kicking the ground and holding his hand. The tallest brother races from the house, unintentionally slamming the screen door in WingDings face. When WingDings attempts to open it, he is met with resistance when several of Papyrus’s magic hands push against the doors frame.

“Get ready for bed WingDings,” Papyrus instructs him.

“But what about Sans,” WingDings calls in concern, pushing his body against the screen and seriously considering his choice to teleport onto the other side. “I can help!”

“Then get the first aid box,” Papyrus calls to him as he encourages Sans to stop kicking and hold still. “It’s in a yellow box, in the lower cupboard by the old ice box.”

Nodding his head, WingDings slides onto his knees across the linoleum floor and opens the cupboard, easily locating the yellow box. Pulling it out, WingDings hears the two men walk in with Papyrus leading Sans to a kitchen chair.

“I blew a transistor,” Sans babbles, wincing as Papyrus puts his hand on the table and retrieves the office desk lamp with a magic hand, plugging it into the wall and shining it on Sans right hand. “I thought I had all the pieces, but I must have missed something. This is so much harder then I remember it being. The information is there, it’s just. . . ” Sans scratches the tabletop with his left hand as he tries to grasp the word he’s missing. “It’s just misplaced or something. . .”

“It’s fine Sans, you’ll figure it out, I’ll help you,” Papyrus calms him, as WingDings carefully sets the first aid kit on the table. Papyrus opens it and sets about bandaging the damaged hand, after healing the majority of the cracks and small broken bones. “Small bones take longer to heal. You’ll need to rest it for at least four days.”

Sans curses again, but doesn’t argue. “Sorry kid, looks like this scanner’s going to be a bit harder than I first anticipated,” he says, looking at the boy with regret.

Since Sans has just gotten hurt working on a project meant to help him the last thing WingDings wants his honorary uncle to feel is guilt. “That’s okay, I don’t want you getting hurt because of me,” WingDings quickly says, clutching his hands behind his back, wishing to get closer, but assuming he might just get in the way.

“I’m sorry kid,” Sans says again, making WingDings shakef his head and move forward, leaning gentle against Sans as if doing so will make everything better. “I’ll be just fine, nothing Papyrus can’t fix with a little magic and I’ve got plenty of extra hands.” To prove his point, Sans summons several hands, twirling them in the air and making them dance.

At first WingDings refuses to smile, but he can’t keep it up as the hands continue to dance in funny twists and turns. “They sure do come in handy,” he agrees.

“I can handle whatever is thrown at me,” Sans pats WingDings shoulder with his good hand and gently encourages the boy to step back.

After a little encouragement, WingDings gets ready for bed and, although they all have a brief nightmare that evening, they managed to get enough rest to make it through Friday. Instead of visiting the rest of the family, the three Astor’s spend the weekend hanging around town, going to the port for fish and downtown for ice cream at 31 flavors. It’s nice and calm, until the event known as Frisk’s weekly phone call arrives.

As the phone rings, Sans is there to pick it up while Papyrus and WingDings watch him discreetly from the living room. She’ll be arriving the coming weekend, making this the last chance for Sans to tell her about WingDings before she ‘flips her lid’ as Papyrus puts it.

The conversation is going well like always, but the longer Papyrus and WingDings stare at Sans the more the recipient of said stares begins to falter. The smooth talking skeleton, plays it cool most of the time, until he has to put his back to them and starts using an excessive amount of ‘yeah’s’ and other slang terms.

“Naw, everything’s fine kitten . . .” Sans begins to say, but Frisk knows his tells, even over the phone and he has to give her an answer. “Well, yeah, but I don’t want to rattle your cage none. . . it’s nothing big, just hurt my hand a bit working in the garage. Nearly healed now.”

At hearing Sans answer WingDings slaps his own skull and with dramatic slowness drags it down his face as Sans lets the perfect opportunity slip by him yet again. Papyrus chuckles at the boys antics and while WingDings is distracted, flicks a finger over the boys ribs causing the smaller skeleton to yelp a laugh and flinch away. Seeing a perfect opportunity, Papyrus goes all in and tickles WingDings ribs with the boy laughing and crying out that he’s too old for tickles.

“Uh, that, that’s Papyrus,” is Sans excuse when the high and distinct pitched buzzing laugh pierces the air. “Well, it’s . . . it’s a surprise? No, no kitten, I’m not keeping anything . . . hey, hey, kitten, don’t blow it out of proportion . . . Right . . . Sorry. . .”

There is a pause as Sans carefully listens to Frisk speak and Papyrus has enough sense to stop his tickle attack, although the boy is still giggling despite no longer being touched.

“Papyrus discovered that he has a kid and the little guy is living with us now,” Sans scratches the back of his skull looking for all the world like a beaten dog that’s trying to act like nothing is wrong. “About three weeks.”

Another pause.

As Sans listens he pulls the phone away from his skull and motions toward Papyrus. “She wants to speak with ya,” he says, meeting his gaze for a whole second before looking away.

Papyrus gives WingDings a soft smile before digging his hands in his knees and pushing himself up off the couch. As he takes the phone, Sans pulls out one of the dinning room table chairs and takes a seat close by.

“Good evening Frisk,” Papyrus begins as he takes the phone. “Yes, it came as quite the shock.”

Eager to listen, WingDings takes a seat on the floor, beside the piano, leaning against the arch as he listens to the man speak. “We found him last month on the 8th, he was in good health, but doesn’t know much about the world. He was raised in a different environment, no one had ever seen him before he showed up in town. . . He has no mother.”

WingDings can barely make out Frisk’s voice as she speaks on the other end, her voice smooth and full of concern.

“Roman WingDings Astor,” Papyrus answers. “He looks just like me when I was child, aside from a few minor differences. Don’t be alarmed when you see him, but he does have a few scars.” Papyrus looks over to be sure WingDings is all right with the turn in the conversation and the boy gives him a nod with a thumbs up. “He’s eight years old, very bright, and is adjusting well.”

The praise is honest and genuine, making WingDings blush a little upon hearing it.

“Thank you Frisk, I’m sorry I never told anyone about it,” Papyrus says. “Yes, I promise to do right by him. He’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

“Can I say hi?” WingDings perks up and after Papyrus confers with Frisk, the tall skeleton motions to him with the phone.

“Hi Aunty Frisk,” WingDings immediately says upon receiving the bulky phone piece.

“Hi Roman, have Papyrus and my secretive husband been treating you well?”

“MmmHmm,” WingDings nods his head. “Sans shows me around cars and dances, and Papyrus helps me with my homework and plays games with me. They’ve also introduced me to Aunty Cordia, Uncle Coal, Mr. Tunga, Mrs. Heather, Calibri, Ebrima, Mrs. Cambria, uh Mr. Charles, and Georgie.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Frisk says, delight buzzing into his skull. “Have you made friends at school?”

“Yes, I have Tillo and Roberto and I think Ashley might be my friend but she likes to point out how bad my writing is and Phil likes to try making me eat worms. I tricked him into eating an earth worm my first day of class and I’ve gotten a few of the other boys to do it. Glued pieces of paper on Tim’s seat since he called me a zombie, said I smelled like one too. Mrs. Smith is really nice and is helping me catch up to the other students.”

“Wow, and you’ve only been in school how many weeks?” Frisk asks.

“Three,” WingDings says proudly. “I think I’ve made a good first impression.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you in person next week, we’re going to have good fun together,” she says.

“I can’t wait,” WingDings eyes spark with excitement. He loves Frisk, no matter what universe it is he is determined to like every Frisk he meets.

“Can I speak with Sans again,” Frisk asks.

“Yes you can,” WingDings says. “Bye Aunty.”

“Goodbye Roman,” Frisk giggles on the other end as he returns the phone to Sans. “She wants to speak with you again.”

As Sans takes the phone, Papyrus motions for WingDings to follow him into the kitchen and the two get started on dinner. WingDings feels really good about the conversation, although as they get ready for dinner, it’s obvious that Sans is having a bit of a bad time as Frisk lays into him about not telling her sooner. All of his excuses fall flat, but in the end Frisk forgives him and hopes both Papyrus and Sans will be more honest with her in the future.

Considering they’re not exactly telling her the whole truth, this makes all three skeletons feel a little guilt ridden, even WingDings who very much wants to please Frisk even without having met her in person yet.

“Should we tell her the truth?” WingDings asks spinning his fork around his empty plate.

“I don’t know kid,” Sans sighs. “Space time continuum travel isn’t normal and rather unbelievable.”

“But you trust her right? She probably even knows about the thing you won’t tell me,” WingDings points out, still waiting for an answer from the two about who WingDings Astor was and what happened to him.

“Ah, shit, she’ll probably tell you about that when she gets here,” Sans curses lightly. “One look at ya and she will.”

“We can tell her the truth, but it would be better to say behind closed doors,” Papyrus finally says.

“Yeah, you don’t mind do ya’ kid?” Sans asks.

“I don’t mind at all,” WingDings shrugs. “I even told Barbara the truth when I first got here, I’ve found that telling the truth about my existence is better and most people figure it out anyway.”

“You shouldn’t be so forward about it,” Papyrus warns him. “At least while you’re here.”

“Why? Even Barbara was super careful and told me not to tell anyone. Why?”

The brother’s share that look again, that annoying look where they talk to each other, but this time WingDings knows what they’re saying. They’re asking the other if they should say anything, if it’s worth the risk, and who is going to be the one to say it first.

“Does this have to do with WingDings Astor? The original WingDings Astor?” WingDings asks flat out. He’s tired of waiting. He even waited an entire week, being the ‘bigger man’ and giving them time like he promised Barbara, but it didn’t do anything! And now Frisk is coming back and he’s more than willing to share his secret. Is it so wrong that he wants to know their family secret too?

Doesn’t he deserve to know?

“Who told you that name?” Papyrus asks.

“Calibri,” WingDings says without batting an eye. “She said he died and that Mr. Tunga really looked up to him.”

When the Astor duo hear this their expressions fall.

“Did you lie to me?” WingDings asks, that seed of doubt growing in his soul as they come to the heart of the matter.

“I did not lie,” Papyrus says. “The picture I showed you was me.”

“But what about the one you said was Sans?” WingDings buzzes, trying to remain calm. “It wasn’t, it was WingDings Astor.”

“That’s because we are WingDings Astor,” Sans speaks up, his eye light have vanished as he twirls his empty cup in his hands absentmindedly. “He didn’t lie, none of them have lied.”

“But the WingDings Astor from those picture no longer exists,” Papyrus says softly, his own eye lights have vanished and he too is messing with his empty cup, just like his counterpart. The silence that follows is a stillness WingDings has rarely felt. It’s as if the world has stopped moving, frozen as if it were a movie paused before the climatic scene.

Confused, but feeling as if he can’t speak in this frozen silence, WingDings voice whispers his doubt. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“There was an accident at work that split WingDings Astor into two souls,” Papyrus softly reveals. “WingDings Astor became Comic Sans WingDings Astor and Papyrus WingDings Astor when he attempted to fold space and time.”

“Something went wrong,” Sans continues right off from where Papyrus stops, having relived the story several times in their minds. “As expected when trying to fold reality as if it were something as simple as paper you get an explosion. Managed to keep atoms from splitting and instead duplicated them.”

“The reason you can’t tell anyone the truth is because there are powerful men who would love to get their hands on you,” Papyrus says. “The very men we used to work for.”

“NASA?” WingDings asks.

“No, not NASA, all they care about is getting a white human male into space before the Soviet’s,” Sans chuckles darkly.

“We started working with the NACA, but during World War 2 worked for another branch,” Papyrus explains. “According to the public records they were disbanded after the war, but we don’t want to take any chances.”

“Is that why you burn everything that comes from NASA and aren’t in the phone book?” WingDings asks.

“Yes,” Papyrus answers simply.

WingDings would love to ask more, but as Papyrus and Sans stand and clear the table the boy knows that the conversation is over. As they clean WingDings looks at the men in wonder, now understanding that these two people aren’t Sans and Papyrus at all, they’re actually him! They’re a Gaster, who had the misfortune of being split in two. How does that even happen? They didn’t even claim that it was magic, science is what caused it, but it was probably a little of both.

Now all the little hints they gave him before make a whole lot more sense and he can understand why they don’t talk about it. For one thing it’s dangerous, but also how do you tell a younger version of yourself that your him from the future, only all messed up and two people. WingDings is glad they told him, it shows how much they care.

After placing his cutlery on the counter, WingDings gives each of the men a hug. “Thank you for telling me,” he says.

“Do you not think it’s strange?” Papyrus says.

“Sure it is, but no stranger than me,” WingDings says. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve met myself.”

“You did mention that,” Sans recalls.

“I feel a lot better,” WingDings says, all of his doubts blown gently away like the seeds of a spring dandelion, never to return. Now he can look forward to meeting Frisk without batting around the issue of Sans and Papyrus’s past.

By the next day, the pictures have returned to the hall and talk of Halloween circulates around school. Ashley wants to be a ghost, but her parents won’t let her because it’s racially insensitive. WingDings doesn’t understand why it would be politically incorrect. They even try to explain it to him, saying it would be like him dressing up as a human, but this does little to clarify since he’s dressed up as human characters for Halloween in the past.

“Maybe I’ll just go as a pirate,” WingDings says.

“I’m going to be a ranchero!” Tillo says.

“That’s no different than a cowboy,” Roberto points out. “Everyone is dressing as a cowboy.”

“But I’ll be authentic, I’m even borrowing my uncles stetson,” Tillo says, not at all discouraged.

“Maybe I’ll be an Indian,” Roberto says.

WingDings lifts a brow at him. “And you thought Ashley was racially insensitive,” WingDings sniffs, welcome to the 1950’s where everything is politically incorrect and yet you can get away with it.

At the garage WingDings and Sans eagerly mark off the large 12 month wall calendar, checking off the days till Frisk returns. Sans is in a good mood, singing and dancing through the garage as WingDings tries to get his homework done. In the end WingDings joins him as usual, for once putting homework aside to have some fun.

Notes:

They say the word Indian in this chapter, please don’t use this word, unless using it correctly. The 1950’s were sure swell weren’t they? Rolls eyes.

Also the truth is now out there. Hurray! So Sans and Papyrus are actually G-Sans and G-Papyrus. Not sure if I should change the tags to include their characters or not. . .

I’ll be taking a short break, although I do have some more chapters written I want to give myself more of a buffer. I’ll try to post again in a months time.

Chapter 12: Found Home Again

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait, have a long chapter.

Finally the big day arrives. The event is on a Sunday and Cordia and Coal are there to help welcome Frisk back home. After church, Sans takes a short cut all the way to the east coast to retrieve Frisk, while the rest of the family finishes preparing lunch and putting icing on a cake. Moments like this, when WingDings fingers are covered in icing, is when he wishes he had a tongue with which to lick the sweet substance. The young skeleton makes do without the appendage, enjoying the sweet treat even when Cordia playfully puts a dab of the white cream on the ridge of his nasal cavity.

When there is a knock at the door, everyone voices a cry of excitement as they rush through one of the two doors to greet one of the their favorite humans. “Something smells good,” Frisk says immediately upon entering the warm home, arms outstretched and ready to grab up Calibri and Ebrima as they race up to hug her.

“Aunty Frisk!” they cry in unison, for once Ebrima’s voice matching her sister’s in volume.

“That would be the cake,” Cordia informs Frisk, pushing her way playfully through the others to get the next hug from Frisk.

As they each take their turn greeting Frisk, WingDings watches a short distance away, feeling just a tad awkward as his aunts, uncles, and cousins welcome her. Frisk is a fairly petite woman, with short dark brown hair, a smile on her lips, and wearing a dashing pant suite. WingDings guesses she’s of Hispanic decent, but he isn’t an expert on human nationalities.

“Aunty Frisk meet Roman!” Calibri takes Frisks hand and drags her out of the swarm of adults who grow silent as they watch this coming interaction.

“Yes, we’ve spoken over the phone,” Frisk giggles, eyes squinting with mirth, but WingDings doesn’t miss the spark of intrigue when she see’s him. The expression happens so quickly WingDings feels he might be making assumptions again, but the woman’s gaze flicks over his face and hands before snapping over to Sans and Papyrus who are in the process of gathering her suitcases and bringing them inside the house.

Frisk’s questioning gaze doesn’t linger on them long as her dark eyes wander to Calibri and back to WingDings. “It is wonderful to meet you in person though,” she says, offering her hand to him. “I hope you and I will become good friends, but I leave the choice to you young sir.”

WingDings dipping smile swiftly returns to it’s proper upturned lift as he accepts her hand. “We are friends Aunty Frisk, I’m glad to finally meet you,” he says, giving her hand as hardy a shake as she is offering him. “Everyone has so much to say about you.”

With an ‘oh’ on her lips, Frisk leans forward in a conspirators fashion and replies, “Well I hope it is only good things.” She winks at him causing him to instantly blush.

“Of course kitten, only the best,” Sans says over the chorus of praise from the rest of the family. As Sans makes his way past them with her things, she gives her man a pointed look that means nothing to WingDings.

“He’s absolutely right the goof,” Cordia is quick to agree, waving her hands in front of herself as if she can sweep the family away and under a rug until she has need of them again. “Com'on, everyone back to work, need to let our Frisky get settled and comfortable. It’s good to have you back dear.”

“It’s great to be back,” Frisk agrees smiling at WingDings before standing and catching Papyrus’s arm as he passes with another of her cases. “Thank you Papy, you’re always such a gentlemen.”

“I helped too,” Sans calls from down the hall.

“Keep that talk up and you’ll be out in the dog house,” Frisk playfully threatens him. “Still a bit sore at you for keeping this sweetie a secret so long.”

“I’m sorry kitten,” Sans tries.

“Don’t kitten me,” Frisk says as she disappears down the hall.

“Uncle Sans is lucky to have a girl like her,” Calibri says with that all knowing nod of hers, stepping up to WingDings side as he continues to look on after them.

“Very lucky,” Ebrima echoes with an exaggerated nod to match.

“Lucky!” George bops up and grabs at WingDings hand, swinging it back and forth with a wiggle he cannot contain in just his arm.

“How did they end up together?” WingDings asks, turning his attention away from the hall and making his way towards the kitchen, dragging a bouncing George behind him.

“Who knows?” Calibri gives an exaggerated shrug and rolls her eyes. “She must see something in him but I don’t know what it is?”

“Maybe it’s his sense of humor?” WingDings offers.

“Humor!” George shouts beside him with a jump. The children come around the other side of counter, doing their best to peek over the edge to get a look at the cake and other goodies being finished. Poor George is much too small, but WingDings allows him to stand on the chair to get a better look.

“Can’t be that,” Calibri makes a face.

“Alright too many wandering bodies in this kitchen, unless you’re helping, leave and make yourselves useful elsewhere,” Cordia directs to everyone except Heather, Coal, and Cambria. “I see your finger in that bowl of strawberries, out Tunga. Kids why don’t you play something nice on the piano, I’m sure Frisk would love to hear you play.”

“Yes Grandma/Aunty,” the four say respectively.

On their way to the piano George continues to hold WingDings hand as they discuss what to play. Luckily, WingDings doesn’t have to play ‘Heart and Soul’ with his magic hands as Charles comes and relieves him of babysitting the littlest cousin. Sitting side by side, Calibri and WingDings play the song through a couple of times, receiving applause from various places in the house.

After ‘Heart n’ Soul’ is complete they debate over what to play next, which means Calibri makes a decision and WingDings questions it. When Ebrima mentions a song she is learning, WingDings slides off the bench and lets the girl’s play something together. At some point George escapes his father’s clutches and winds up trying to bang on the keys.

With a heavy sigh, Calibri picks George up and places him on her knee, taking his hands and lightly tapping the keys with them to give the young child the impression he is playing something beautiful. This seems to do the trick and George is entertained for at least five minutes until he’s attempting to bang on it again. When Charles comes around and closes the lid George pouts, but is squealing soon after as his father lifts him and spins him around the room.

“You played wonderfully, I missed hearing it,” Frisk says, coming out of the hall wearing something more comfortable and less formal, a cute dress.

“Thank you Aunty Frisk,” Calibri beams, shuffling off the bench along with her sister.

“Attention everyone, dinner is ready!” Cordia sings from the kitchen. There is a cheer heard from every corner of the house as everyone gathers to fill a plate with food.

At first WingDings is excited to hear more about Frisk, but is left disappointed when he and the other younger members of the family are segregated at the kitchen table while everyone else is at the formal dinning room table. WingDings has the distinct impression that this will be his fate for every large family gathering in his immediate future.

Being separated isn’t all bad though, when the kids are finished eating they clean off their plates and are about to go down stairs to have some fun when Frisk can be heard shouting something that makes every child turn their head. Although WingDings doesn’t understand the significance of the word.

“Disneyland!” a shout of pure appalled disappointment from Frisk that makes his fellow cousins smile.

“You have a son and you didn’t take him to Disneyland yet!” Frisk shouts, the sound of a fist hitting the table and rattling the cutlery.

“We took him to Santa Barbara,” Sans reminds her.

“Yes and right after that you should have taken him over to Disneyland,” Frisk insists. “That’s it we’re going to Disneyland tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Monday,” Sans reminds her even as everyone begins chatting excitedly about the great idea.

“So? Knott’s Berry Farm then,” Frisk says a near whine pitching her tone, like a young girl who’d been denied the prized doll in the corner shop window at Christmas time.

As the family tries to hash out a day to go to Disneyland together, Ebrima and Calibri are a squealing pair of jumping jelly beans, taking each others hands and circling together happily. “Disneyland, Disneyland, Disneyland,” they sing as George jumps up and down beside them, only his version is shortened to ‘Dizzy, Dizzy, Dizzy,’ as he spins.

“Disneyland, hmm, I’ve never been,” WingDings admits, grinning as he watches the others excitement, feeling it bubble in his own soul just watching them despite knowing nothing of the place.

“Oh Roman, you will absolutely love it!” Calibri releases her sister’s hand so she can take one of his hands, shaking it in excitement.

Ebrima takes his other hand, jumping up and down. “There are Cowboys, Indians, a castle, you can even go to the moon!” she squeals.

“Cowboys and Indians,” George hugs WingDings middle vibrating up and down.

“Sounds a little culturally insensitive, but also fantastical,” WingDings says, not wishing to diminish their excitement completely.

“Culturally what?” Ebrima echos, stopping her dance in favor of looking up at him in bafflement.

“Sounds like some little ones heard the whopping good news,” Cordia comments as she waddles into the room. “Who’s ready for cake and ice cream?”

“ME!” every child screams with a hand raised eagerly.

As they eat their cake and ice cream, the girls paint a fantastical picture of the happiest place on earth. WingDings has heard of the place, but it doesn’t sound exactly like the version he knows. Only once does he make the mistake of asking about something that doesn’t exist. He asks about the giant geodesic sphere Disney constructed, but the girls give him a look that tells him he’s talking crazy again.

After that, WingDings keeps his mouth shut and lets the girls continue to ramble on as George falls asleep against his side.

They spend the rest of the evening talking about this magical place until it gets really late for a school night. Before Calibri can start up a game of pretend revolving around Disneyland, the adults finally realize the late hour and rush to leave while spending every last minute talking. When you read every last minute understand that these ‘last minutes’ are fifteen minutes of the adults standing outside talking to one another around their cars.

When the various family members finally drive away, Papyrus picks WingDings up, surprising the boy, but he laughs, choosing to forget that he is ‘too old’ to be picked up anymore. Frisk and Sans hold each others side as they all walk into the house together and get ready for the following day.

In the morning WingDings is woken by Papyrus, feeling for all the word that the clock is lying to him. It can’t be 6:30 already! WingDings feels like he just closed his eyes.

Once he’s seated, half awake, at breakfast, a plate of waffles appears in front of him and he mumbles a ‘thank you’ as he digs in. As usual, Sans is still asleep, but Papyrus and Frisk are there.

“After school Frisk is going to pick you up,” Papyrus explains to him. When WingDings doesn’t react, Papyrus summons a hand to lightly tap his skull. “Did you get that Roman?”

“Mmmhmm,” WingDings nods numbly, making it obvious to the adults that no he didn’t get any of that.

Papyrus sighs, but doesn’t repeat himself when he looks at his watch and rushes to finish his meal and then get WingDings to do the same.

“So when are you going to tell me the truth hmm?” Frisk asks as she see’s them to the door.

“Either San’s will tell you when he wakes or we’ll tell you together at dinner,” Papyrus assures her, hugging the petite woman and encouraging WingDings to do the same. WingDings hugs her without a second thought, even if he wasn’t half asleep he’d hug Frisk without complaint.

As can be expected WingDings forgets all about Frisk picking him up from school until he sees her standing there by Sans motorcycle. “Ready to go kid?” she asks, smiling brightly and wearing one of Sans black jackets. Everyone in the near vicinity is rightly shocked seeing the young woman dressed for riding, some mothers even hide their daughters eyes.

For a second or two WingDings stares at the unexpected sight, wondering when Sans turned into a human, but he recovers fast and races up to her. “I sure am!” he shouts accepting the helmet. “I can’t believe he’s letting you ride his motorcycle.”

“Don’t know if you noticed but their isn’t any other vehicles in our garage,” Frisk laughs climbing on so he can slide on behind her. “Want to go anywhere?”

“Don’t know where we could go?” WingDings comments. “And what about homework?”

“Homework can wait,” Frisk get’s a playful look that reminds WingDings so much of Sans who has said that very thing several times to him. With musical laughter she sends the motor sputtering with a heavy kick and guttural purr of the engine. He holds on tight, laughing with her as she takes him downtown to the theater. The theater doesn’t look like the type WingDings is used to seeing, with a ticket booth right out front and a long flashing marquee on top of the building that reminds WingDings of a feathered plume.

“A movie theater?” WingDings asks as they wait in a short line out front.

“MmmHmm,” Frisk hums as she hands the ticket master a dollar, a quarter and a nickle to pay for two tickets. “I thought it would make for a good outing, doubt you’ve seen a movie on the big screen according to what Cordia tells me.”

“Something like that,” WingDings laughs, following his new aunt into the theater. They stop by the concession stand where Frisk hands him a quarter. At first WingDings doesn’t think this will be nearly enough to satisfy his sweet tooth, but he’s surprised to find that most of the candies only cost a nickle.

When WingDings is finished, he has a handful of candy and is able to return a nickle to Frisk. With their treats in hand, WingDings and Frisk move into the theater where a black and white Ruff and Reddy short plays. At first WingDings assumes this is what they are here to see, wondering why Frisk would bother since he could just see this show at home on Saturday mornings.

The click and clank of the film being switched over is heard behind them as the buzz of the speaker switches to another ream. Curious and frightened of the suddenly dark theater, WingDings glances behind him in search of the source of sound and some light, but Frisk directs him to keep looking forward. “It’s starting,” she says, just as a bronze shiny background appears with the curly words declaring ‘A Walt Disney Feature Production’. WingDings struggles to read it in time before it changes to reveal the title of the film.

“Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”

When the frame changes again showing different company names WingDings has no hopes of reading it all before the slide changes again. So they’re here to see Snow White? He’s never seen the film or really heard of it. The only sort of animation he’s seen before is anime, Undyne and Alphys having introduced him to the media when he was quite young.

When the quote from Disney appears, WingDings leans over to Frisk and asks her what it says.

Frisk is a little surprised, but she quietly reads it to him. “My sincere appreciation to the members of my staff whose loyalty and creative endeavor made possible this production, Walt Disney,” she reads to him.

“Thank you,” he whispers back.

After that they wait over a minute for the overture and credits to finish when a gold and pearly white cover of a book appears. It shares the same title of the movie with an etching of the seven dwarfs along the bottom. The book soon opens, revealing a large paragraph of text.

Without any prompting Frisk reads the text to him and he leans closer to listen so they don’t disturb the others in the theater. After two pages of text are shown, setting the scene, the screen fades to black and the animation begins. Unlike the crisp anime WingDings has seen before this is like a moving illustration, a soft look even as the bright scenes of the fairy tale castle turns into the dark lair of the evil queen.

From that point on WingDings watches silently, finding this film to be nothing like anime. The style is so different and the pacing is . . . well actually the pacing might be better. The songs are strange, but it’s cute, certainly something other young children would enjoy.

To WingDings surprise though there are segments that actually scare him, the spooky dark forest and the witches transformation make him very uncomfortable. He clutches the arm rests as he watches the witch queen fall to her death with a horrible scream and crash of lightning. The scene with the dwarfs and the dead Snow White makes WingDings tear up.

Then words show up on the screen again making WingDings a little miffed, but Frisk leans down and reads it for him again. Three frames of words later the animation begins again with the final scene and the happily ever after. WingDings is glad Snow White doesn’t stay dead, if fact he can sort of relate, except for the fact he’d never be as stupid as her. That and he isn’t interested in a prince charming, but he’s still happy for her.

“Did you enjoy the picture?” Frisk asks as they leave the dark movie theater, revealing a sun setting in the west.

“I did,” WingDings says, arms swinging at his sides as they return to the motorcycle. A few people give them strange glances as Frisk hands him a helmet and mounts the vehicle, but they ignore them. They take the route along the coast even though it’s out of the way.

WingDings rests his head on Frisk’s back enjoying the glimpses of the sea peeking out past the sand dunes every so often as they fly by. He can also feel Frisk’s determination and it makes WingDings soul warm with happiness.

When they arrive at the home WingDings races up the steps, opening the flimsy kitchen door, the metal banging closed behind him with a clang like shutter. “We went to the movies!” WingDings declares to Sans who is getting started on dinner.

“What did ya’ see?” Sans asks, chuckling and nearly swallowing that chuckle when Frisk walks in. A bit of sweat trickles against his skull as she walks past him towards the coat closet.

“Snow White,” WingDings answers, ignoring his uncles unease and following after Frisk so he can give her his coat to hang as well. With the first necessary arriving home ritual complete WingDings drags his school bag to the kitchen table to get started on his homework. “It was pretty good for a kids movie.”

“Pretty good?” Frisk sniffs, hands on her hips as she smiles down at him. “When I first saw Snow White I thought I was seeing magic, a fantastical fairy tale come to life,” she reveals honestly.

“Real magic is much cooler,” WingDings informs her with a smirk.

“Maybe,” Frisk winks and WingDings beams at the sight of it. “But animation is a sort of magic. I was seven years old when Snow White came out and it was the first animated picture ever made.” She takes a seat beside him as WingDings pulls out the paper he’s working on for his book report.

“Really!?” WingDings asks and you know, he has to agree with her. Not a hard thing to do since she is a version of Frisk. “I just watched the first animation ever . . . huh that’s actually pretty cool.” Alphys would be impressed, bonus points for watching the movie in the past!

“Pretty cool,” Frisk’s smile is bright. “You have something against dealing in absolutes Roman?”

“No,” WingDings says.

“Yeah, most uh the time e’s sprouting assump’tions like it’s truth,” Sans speaks up encouraging WingDings to scrunch his nasal cavity at the man. He doesn’t appreciate Sans making him look bad in front of Frisk.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” WingDings says, head held high and pencil tapping in a rapid motion. “And some of my assumptions weren’t wrong.”

“He knows?” Frisk asks in surprise, WingDings smirking unabashedly.

“Ehhhhh,” Sans looks everywhere except at them as he fishes for his answer. When his ‘eh’ is finally cut off he leans one arm casually against the counter as he answers. “Yeah kitten, he’s a smart cookie.”

“This is the part of the movie where you tell your wife the truth,” Frisk says, glancing over her shoulder at the man she calls husband behind her.

“You don’t think the kids’ that smart?” Sans evades weakly.

“Oh I know he is,” she says readily. “The question is . . . are you.”

When Sans deflates, washed with anger, shame, and betrayal WingDings actually feels it.

“He’s very intelligent!” WingDings nearly shouts in his defence. “It’s not even his secret . . . it’s mine. Please don’t be mad at him.” WingDings is putting Frisk in a difficult position and he knows it, but as much as he wants to impress Frisk, he wants the couple to be on good terms again.

They haven’t been since she saw his face, despite how well they’ve been hiding it.

“Your secret?” Frisk is caught between reassuring WingDings and confusion. As she struggles to find the words and questions she needs to ask the kitchen door opens with it’s grating squeak and crash, causing WingDings to jump in his chair.

“Good timing bro,” Sans sighs in relief. “Grub’s nearly done.”

“We’ll wash up then,” Papyrus says glancing at the awkward set up around his kitchen table. Sans is racing to stay busy, hands fidgeting over empty pots, while Frisk looks caught between frustration and an epiphany. Then there is WingDings who appears as if he wants to sink out of sight beneath the table. “Put your papers away Roman, I’ll help you with your school work after dinner.”

“Thank you Pa,” WingDings says, gathering up his work and sweeping it into his bag. He takes it to the living area’s coffee table before racing past everyone to the bathroom so he can wash his hands first.

The last words spoken at the table is their habitual dinner prayer. After that everyone falls silent. The gentle clank and clatter of forks and dishes offers more conversation than those possessing mouths.

Setting his fork and knife down, WingDings clears his throat and looks to Frisks’ designated seat beside Sans. “Miss Frisk,” WingDings says, instantly gaining everyone’s attention, not just Frisks. “I’m not actually Papyrus’s son.” It’s a bold start, but he first wants to clear up that misunderstanding, hoping it will make the rest of what he has to say easier.

As soon as the words leave his mouth Frisk looks to Papyrus who nods his head, showing that WingDings is speaking the truth. He encourages WingDings by smiling at him, which warms his soul.

“My name is WingDings Gaster and I come from another universe, a world from the future where WingDings Gaster wasn’t split into two different people,” he explains and immediately Frisk puts up a flat palm, splayed towards him. WingDings presses his lips, honoring her unspoken request to be quiet while wondering if perhaps that simple sentence was too much for her to take in all at once.

Taking an even breath, Frisk’s gaze glances at everyone before landing inevitably on Sans. “Another universe?” she asks skeptically.

“It’s more plausible than ya think kitten,” Sans replies. “Certainly more plausible then Papyrus hookin’ up n’ havin’ a jelly bean of his own.”

“He really does look like you though, just like you did as a child,” Frisk says, looking at him with new eyes, but WingDings doesn’t find that they love him any less. “Where did he come from . . .” she spins to look between Sans and Papyrus in concern, hand clutching the table. “Is it your old work?”

“No, no, kitten, nothing to do wit’ that,” Sans takes Frisk hand gently and WingDings is almost surprised to see this soft side to the cool and chill uncle. “He’s here fer other reasons.”

“His soul is broken, in a much more damaging way than our own,” Papyrus explains. “He’s here in search of a piece of it. WingDings, that is Roman’s true name, has been to many worlds, working to repair his soul.”

“You mean to tell me this is normal for you?” Frisk spins back to look at WingDings. Eyes brimming with alarm and something like horror. WingDings doesn’t much like seeing her gaze shake with such intensity, an intensity that is not birthed from determination, but understanding. “How can you live like that?”

Now, Frisk does not say this in a judgmental way, her voice trembling as she holds back pure soul felt concern, but WingDings interprets it as judgement.

“I live like this just fine,” WingDings says stiffly, head jutting forward just a bit and shoulders lifting.

“I . . . I’m sorry WingDings,” Frisk starts again, Sans thumb still rubbing her clenched hand. He leans forward and whispers something to her. Like cool water against a hot pan Frisk's hard features fizzle away and relax. Seeing her relax does the same for WingDings.

Frisk starts again. “I only mean that I’m sad to hear you going through such hardships,” she says with much more care. “To be going through something as serious as a broken soul alone, is no small trial. I’m glad you found Sans and Papyrus, they will surely help you.”

Quickly she turns to the men and sets that red gaze upon them. “You are helping him aren’t you? You are both extremely bright men,” she claims.

“Of course kitten,” Sans quickly says as Papyrus nods eagerly beside him.

“Good,” she gives them a perfect grin that could command a king. “And I’ll do my part as well! I’ve taken on lawyers, mobs, and brutes, and . . .” she reaches forward and lifts WingDings dipping chin. “I’ve set my soul on helping you.”

“Thank you Aunty Frisk,” WingDings eye lights shine, along with Sans and Papyrus. “I’m holding you to it.”

Tears well up in Frisk’s sockets and the petite woman leaves her chair so quickly that her seat protests with a bump and screech. She hugs WingDings tight into her chest, drawing him up partially from his own seat and refuses to let up even a little. “It’s going to be hard to let you go,” she says, kissing his skull once and sitting him down. “I’m going to be tempted to spoil you.”

“I wouldn’t protest against that,” WingDings winks at her, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You’re going to be popular with the young ladies and gents when you’re older,” Frisk laughs even as Papyrus glows yellow and protests such talk. “Were you both such a smooth talker when you were his age.”

“Yes/No,” Sans and Papyrus answer simultaneously, encouraging both Frisk and WingDings to laugh.

After cleaning up dinner the four settle in the living area. While Papyrus assists WingDings with his writing assignment Sans and Frisk read through the paper. When WingDings is about to take a shower Sans stands and moves towards the dinning room where the old record player sits. Without looking Sans removes a certain disk with his magic hand and sets it up.

Without words spoken Frisk stands and takes both of Sans hands. Grins wide and true, pinch both of their faces as the crackle of the needle is amplified in the horn of the player. As soon as the music starts to play Sans and Frisk bops their feet twice before stepping in a pattern, mirror images of each other as they hold hands.

WingDings stops his thoughts, eye lights riveted on the sight as the two dance. It’s Swing, the dance Sans has attempted to teach him in the garage when the music is just right on the radio. They swing in and out, perfectly in sync. Hopping and spinning with laughter in their eyes and on their lips.

Watching them dance puts a light in WingDings he hasn’t had before this point when dancing. Actually seeing what it looks like helps. No longer does it seem stupid or silly. Instead it looks fun and exciting. Made all the more exciting when Sans flips Frisk up and over around his arm.

With a knowing grin Papyrus stands and encourages WingDings off the floor, taking both of his hands. Nervously, WingDings gets up and slowly counts out the eight counts, looking down at his feet. He knows the steps though, it isn’t that difficult a pattern and Sans has taught him well. Isn’t long before he is dancing with Papyrus. Not as well or pretty as Frisk and Sans, but he is having fun.

Dancing like this isn’t so bad and WingDings knows that this is home. He’s found home again.

Notes:

Well I manged to write out four chapters before running into a wall. I wound up finishing another story of mine and starting a new one because . . . that’s just how well I contain my muse.

Some interesting facts glossed over in this chapter is the mention of going to Knott’s Berry Farm on Monday instead of Disneyland. This was because in the early years Disney had an agreement with the Knott’s family of which days their parks would be open during the off season in the week. I’m not sure if this was a thing in 1958, but Frisk would automatically assume this since it’s been a while since she’s been to the park. Another interesting bit is about the film Snow White. Since they obviously didn’t have home video during the 50’s movies would be re-released into the theaters for special occasions such as anniversary’s. Snow White was first released in (Dec 1937) 1938, making this it’s twentieth anniversary. You’d almost think I’d planned for this year on purpose.

Since I have the next three chapters written, you’ll get a few more updates before I take another hiatus to try and finish this monster of a story. Thank you for your patience, see you next week.

Chapter 13: Self Indulgent Playground

Notes:

Disneyland!!!!

A familiar pattern begins to take shape even with Frisk’s additional presence to the home. If anything it feels like she always belonged there, fitting perfectly into the rhythm of the day. Looking back, WingDings realizes that what he had before was only a piece of what he has now since Frisk returned.

Everyday after school Frisk picks him up, taking him home to help with his homework and play with his toys or taking him to the garage where they pester Sans while he works. Then they’ll make dinner together and spend the evening hours in front of the Television Set or dancing. The week passes quickly and before WingDings knows it the trip to Disneyland is upon them.

Friday night, their house is invaded by his cousins, aunts, and uncles. Since Cambria’s family is joining them they have to set up the living area with cots and WingDings is forced to share the small office bed with little George. The tiny boy is so excited he keeps WingDings up with soft whispers explaining the magic of Disney. WingDings is annoyed, irritated that this Walt fellow who, while a talented movie maker, thinks he knows anything about magic. Luckily George tires himself out soon enough and falls asleep.

Less fortunate is Ebrima and Calibri knocking softly at his door by six in the morning, too excited to sleep any more and bored out of their minds. WingDings gets them all some breakfast, still half asleep and all around carrying a cloak of irritation even as his fellow children whisper giddily around him.

It’s only when the adults are up that WingDings manages to sneak in a little more rest with the children occupied. WingDings only wakes when he finds himself crammed into the back seat of Cordia and Flint’s DeSoto Custom. The four children and Papyrus are all stuffed into the car along with Crodia and Flint. This isn’t a difficult feat considering all their small sizes, but it still sets WingDings off, waking him faster than a screaming alarm. Sputtering about how unsafe it is to have four people crammed in the back seat and Calibri sitting between Cordia and Flint in the front. For his efforts at reporting this safety hazard he’s rewarded with that exaggerate look of ‘are you for real’ patented by Calibri.

The group isn’t on the road long, only a little over an hour, when they reach Harbor Blvd. WingDings only becomes excited when he sees the construction of a giant mountain looming over the small city.

“Disneyland, Disneyland, Disneyland!” the children chant, bouncing up and down as they coast into a large parking lot. For as far as WingDings can see there is a sea of metallic colors, chrome, and asphalt. Despite WingDings efforts to remain passive, his cousins excitement catches and he finds himself dragging Papyrus towards the gates as Cordia and Coal’s grandchildren do the same for them.

There is a crowd of people waiting at the iron gates and WingDings can just catch a glimpse of a train station and floral Mickey Mouse head planted underneath. The cartoon mouse head made of flowers is kind of creepy in WingDings opinion, but the sound of music and a coming train whistle reignites his excitement. After buying ticket books at the kiosks and passing through the metal counter turnstiles, WingDings stands in awe of the train coming into the station above the creepy mouse head.

One thing is for sure this is way better than Calaway park.

This place is no West Edmonton Mall either, but nothing is as impressive as that.

“What do you think?” Papyrus asks with a light touch to the back of WingDings skull, drawing the dumbfounded boy gently out of his thoughts.

“What kind of theme park is this?” WingDings asks in awe. Having a full sized train is expensive, not just any park can have that! Can it?

“It’s Disneyland!” Calibri and Ebrima remind him on either side of his skull.

“I know that!” WingDings says loudly more out of shock from their sudden stereo sound than from anger.

Giggling the girls twirl and dance forward towards the right tunnel that travels under the train. There is a plaque that hangs above that reads ‘Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.’

They spill out into a highly detailed street from an old timey America that WingDings wouldn’t know about. While Papyrus and Cordia go off a short distance to find the others, Coal leads the children to a bench by one of the canons near the flag pole and takes a picture of the four smiling children. They don’t wait long before Sans, Frisk and the others join them with Calibri and Ebrima’s mother Heather pulling out her prized camera and taking a picture of the children for her own collection.

As the adults discuss plans the kids wander with Coal over to one of the horse drawn carriages. After asking politely the driver lets them pet the mare and then he invites them aboard. Papyrus rushes over and hands the cabby four ‘A’ tickets, allowing the children to take a ride down Main street USA. Heather joins them, camera ready to capture every moment on the young ones faces.

“Best way to enter the park is by carriage ride,” Heather gladly informs them.

As they make their way down Main Street their driver tells them about the shopping venues and other forms of entertainment as they pass the highly detailed storefronts. WingDings was impressed before, but as they pass the shops and then further towards a castle WingDings is finally accepting that his silly cousins were actually right to be excited.

Ever curious, WingDings is constantly pointing and asking what everything is, his minimal filter completely gone as his desire to know everything about this place comes to full light. As expected Calibri becomes annoyed, but their cabby driver gladly answers his questions, letting them off right in front of the castle. With a tip of his hat, he wishes them a good day and Heather takes the chance to snap a picture of the kids in front of the castle.

“Is that going to be a ride!” WingDings asks pointing over to the mountain of metal rebar being constructed right next to the castle.

“The Matterhorn won’t be opening till next year,” Calibri tells him with a sad shake of her head.

“Oh . . .” WingDings deflates. “We’ll just have to come back!”

“Yeah!” Ebrima gladly agrees as their mother laughs and shakes her head.

George takes WingDings hand and begins pushing him towards the castle. “It’s real!” he shouts.

WingDings doesn’t have the heart to tell George that it isn’t a real castle, but it is impressive. He grabs Ebrima’s hand who then takes Calibri’s hand who then takes their mothers hand, a small chain of monsters led by George skipping to the castle.

When they pass through the gates and enter a world of fantasy, the kids who know what’s here point and tug at Heather, declaring where they want to go. WingDings doesn’t know what’s here so he wanders a short distance away looking at the colorful tents proclaiming the rides they house. The area looks something like a medieval fair with colors and flags that correlate with their themed rides.

By the time Papyrus arrives with the ticket books the children have decided to ride on Peter Pan’s Flight and are handed four ‘C’ tickets. WingDings doesn’t understand the significance of these tickets, but he will by the end of the day. Since Calibri and Ebrima are riding together with their mother, WingDings rides with George and his mom Cambria.

At first WingDings isn’t thrilled about being plunged into the dark bedroom of character’s he doesn’t know, but the real horror is when they ‘fly’ over London. WingDings buzzes in alarm and grabs tightly onto a surprised Cambria. His eye lights are blown out as his fear of falling and the dark all but ruins his first themed ride of the day.

When the ride is over George is happy as can be, hopping off the ride and tugging at WingDings hand, but Cambria has to practically carry WingDings off the flying pirate ship. Now that the ride is over WingDings fear is replaced with embarrassment. He doesn’t know Cambria very well, but it’s very easy to use her body as a shield from the girls.

“Roman what’s wrong?” Ebrima asks, moving around Cambria to try and look at WingDings, concerned with his very sudden change in mood.

“Were you scared?” an edge of mockery pitches Calibri’s voice, but she can’t say more as her mother gives her ‘the look’, shutting her up quite effectively.

Remembering their time at the theater, Frisk steps forward and leans down to speak with him quietly. “Was it the dark?” she asks.

“And the height,” WingDings confirms, as Ebrima nods beside him and hugs him. Everything can be fixed with a hug and WingDings can’t complain because he silently agrees that hugs makes everything better.

“Then we’ll just stay away from rides like Dumbo or dark rides,” Frisk tells him, rubbing his skull fondly and standing up again. “There are plenty of other rides to go on, or other forms of entertainment.”

“I don’t like the loud noises on some of the rides,” Ebrima says, eager to console WingDings. After a brief look at her elder sister she leans forward and whispers against his skull, “Calibri doesn’t either.”

“Hmm?” Calibri laces her arms over her ribs and lifts a brow at her sister, encouraging Ebrima and WingDings to giggle.

“Can we ride the care-o-sell,” George asks finding WingDings hand again and tugging him towards the carousel.

“Oh I’ll ride that one with you,” Frisk says, taking both of their hands and skipping towards the carousel.

As they ride the carousel and teacups, the others go on the scarier rides, although Cordia becomes a little huffy when Frisk and Sans insist on riding Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Something about the ride depicting hell. WingDings doesn’t understand why it matters.

“You’ve never seen Peter Pan?” Ebrima asks in surprise as she points at the restaurant attraction behind them. They are sitting on a bench enjoying some pretzels just outside the ‘pirate ship’ restaurant based on Captain Hook’s ship from Peter Pan.

“Or the Mickey Mouse Club,” Calibri points forward to their right to the Mickey Mouse Club theater, right next to the teacups. She points a fingers up as she does when explaining something everyone should know. “They’re on the TV every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 5 on ABC. I need to have a word with uncle Papyrus about how to raise kids.”

WingDings snorts at the mere suggestion of a child telling an adult how to raise another child.

“Snow White is scary,” George points to the ride near the entrance of fantasy land, right across the way from Peter Pan’s Flight.

“Oh, I’ve seen that one!” WingDings proudly informs them. “Aunty Frisk took me Monday.”

“At least she knows what she’s doing,” Calibri nods in approval, as WingDings and Ebrima rolls their eye lights at her pretentious behavior.

“Yes, she’s a good Aunty,” WingDings chooses to say, turning back to George before he can repeat himself for having seemingly been ignored. “And you’re right Georgie, Snow White is a scary movie.”

“The ride is more scary!” George declares.

“It isn’t that scary,” Calibri claims.

“Yes it is!” George and Ebrima shout at her.

“You’re just being scaredy cats,” Calibri says.

“Hmm, if you want to go on, I’ll go with you,” Coal offers to his eldest granddaughter.

“Sure, grand-da,” Calibri is on her feet, handing what’s left of her pretzel to WingDings. “Save this for me.”

“She’s brave,” George whisper gasps as he watches his elder cousin walk away with bold strides.

“Pretty sure she’s just stupid,” Ebrima mumbles, surprising both WingDings and George. One, because she said the word stupid and two, because she hardly ever says anything rude about her sister.

George gasps and whisper, “You said stupid.”

“Pretty sure she’s just proving a point,” WingDings shrugs, glancing down at the yummy salty pretzel. She wouldn’t notice if he took one bite would she? How can she expect her younger family members to not be tempted to eat such a tasty treat?

“I’ll hold that,” Heather laughs at them as she plucks the pretzel from WingDings hands. “Don’t want the day to go sour too early in the day.”

WingDings pouts, but reasons that Heather is quite wise and adheres to her decision.

When Calibri returns her head is still held high, arms crossed over her ribs. “It was scary, but not enough to scare me,” she declares. “You should go with me next time Ebrima,” saying the name Ebrima with a song like quality.

Ebrima sticks her tongue out at her sister, to which Calibri response swiftly with a tongue of her own. A second later their father Tunga appears taking them each by their webbed ear flaps and dragging them aside to have a word with them.

“Teehee, they’re in trouble,” George whisper giggles up to WingDings.

“Good things we’re so well behaved,” WingDings says just as softly.

“Yeah!” George celebrates, even as his father comes around and picks the youngest up, placing the laughing child up on his shoulders.

Their exploration of Fantasyland concludes after they grant George’s grand wish to go inside the castle. It’s a ‘C’ ticket experience that is less castle and more story walk through, which depicts diorama like pieces of art for an upcoming Disney film called Sleeping Beauty. WingDings is fascinated by the ‘magic’ effects they use in each window, trying to figure out how they did such sparkle and flame effects without real magic. Although the continuous loop of ‘wish upon a star’ does get a little annoying after the first five minutes.

With fantasy land conquered the large group heads towards Tomorrowland through a side entrance of the castle. Since work is being done on the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea ride and the Matterhorn Bobsleds the Skyway and ViewLiner are closed. The attractions are going to be neat when they are finished, but oh boy does WingDings have quite the list of complaints upon seeing the rather plain and boring looking Tomorrowland. On the edge of Tomorrowland sits the strangest piece of modern art WingDings has every seen. And then he’s told that strange piece of art is suppose to be a house.

“This is not what the future looks like,” WingDings lifts his upper lip into a disgusted sneer as he looks at the house of the future.

“How would you know Roman? You haven’t been to the future,” Calibri points out logically. She isn’t trying to sound smart aleck but it still comes across that way.

“Mmmm,” WingDings hums even as Papyrus glances at him pointedly. “Well I’m about to go to the future with you right?”

“No way, the Monsanto House of the Future is lame,” Calibri says, turning towards the entrance of Tomorrowland with it’s glorified display of flags.

“Naw, it ain’t lame, it’s free!” Sans comes alongside and scoots all the children in mass to the house of plastic. “Don’t even cost a ticket.”

“I want to see the kitchen of the future,” Coal admits in his smokey voice, moving in front of them as Ebrima, Calibri, and Frisk groan in unison.

“Be careful you don’t set off the smoke detector,” Cambria picks up George and follows after him at a quickened pace. WingDings could be wrong, but it seems like the adults are more excited about the house of the future than the children in the group.

Except Frisk, but she might be a child at heart.

As they near the plastic house of the future, WingDings finds he is even less impressed. This is what they think the future looks like? Sure the ‘T’ shape is creative and the segmentation of the rooms are practical, but where’s the compact computers? Where are the tablets and Alexa’s? The house doesn’t even have a microwave oven in the kitchen!?!

“They need to include more electrical outlets,” WingDings says, testing out the sliding screen that separates the bedroom into sections, even as the cast member takes it from him and puts the sliding piece back. A discreet and polite way of saying, ‘please don’t touch that.’ Really ever since he entered this house a cast member has been stationed close to WingDings ever since he opened the fridge and tried pulling a shelf free in search of the ice maker that didn’t exist.

Calibri pretends as if she doesn’t know him, but George and Ebrima are entertained with WingDings stories of the future.

“I thought you didn’t have an imagination,” Ebrima says in confusion when he describes Virtual Reality.

WingDings shrugs. “Guess I’m more imaginative than even I knew,” he chuckles and Sans huffs in irritation even as Papyrus and Frisk chuckle softly.

“You’re the one who brought him into the ‘House of the Future’,” Frisk reminds her husband with a loving elbow to the ribs. “You have only yourself to blame.”

“Yeah well looks like this trains leaving,” he makes his way towards the kids this time waving them towards the exit much to the cast members relief. “Eh kiddies! Who’s ready to drive a car!”

“Me!” everyone sings, eagerly leaving the home, unaware of a cast member jotting down great notes for an improved house of tomorrow.

WingDings is under the assumption that he’ll get to drive real cars, but soon finds this isn’t the case when they come to a track with colorful bumper type vehicles. This little version of driving is called autopia and he admits it will perhaps be the closest he’ll ever get to the real thing until he’s an adult. WingDings is barely tall enough to drive and poor George is much to short, but before he can go full on tantrum mode dad Charles comes to the rescue taking him to ‘Midget’ Autopia.

Seems to WingDings like another socially incentive crime is being committed.

WingDings still has trouble reaching the pedal but Papyrus rides with him and his long leg easily reaches the gas pedal even when sitting beside him. At first WingDings is nervous, unable to see well over the hood of the car, but having Papyrus with him helps mount his determination and it isn’t long before he’s zooming down the track with Papyrus clutching his seat and the cars frame. When they come close to bumping the railing protecting the edges Papyrus swiftly reaches over and gently corrects the wheel, eye lights blown out for a second before he releases the wheel and lets WingDings continue.

Sheepishly WingDings drives a little slower after that, but playful swerves every once in a while just to mess with his Papa. When they reach the end Heather snaps a picture of them in the car with Papyrus wrapping an arm around him and WingDings laughing heartily.

Before releasing him Papyrus whispers to him, “Remind me to write a letter to your brothers warning them about your driving skills.” He says this playfully with an exaggerated wink so WingDings doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“Never! I was a perfectly good driver,” he claims with more laughter and a big grin.

After that they visit the moon and have lunch at the Red Wagon Inn located at the end of Main Street. Despite it being late October it is a warm day in Southern California, although the lack of trees and air conditioning coupled with the oppressive use of concrete makes it feel even hotter.

Which is why they are now at the Red Wagon Inn, one of the few places in the park with air conditioning.

“This is bad,” Calibri tells them as she sips her Cola, each of the children sipping at their own ice cool beverages. WingDings has a root beer and doesn’t really hear Calibri, much to busy studying the intricate architecture in the inn and it’s detailed stain glass window ceiling.

“Did you hear me, bad news,” Calibri says a little louder this time.

“What? What’s bad?” WingDings asks, waking from his study. “Today has been perfect.”

Ebrima and George nod in agreement. It’s Disneyland, the definition of perfect to every child present.

“We’re out of ‘C’ tickets!” Calibri says showing them her ticket book. For the entire day the adults have been holding onto the prized ticket books, but during lunch they gave them to the children so they knew what they had left. “Well, I’m sure Roman could get some by asking Papyrus, but we don’t have a Papyrus and I already used one of dad’s tickets.” She points between herself and Ebrima.

WingDings picks up his book and flips through it. Calibri is right, he doesn’t have any ‘C’ tickets left, but she never saw his book. How did she know. “How did you know I didn’t have any ‘C’ tickets?”

“I was keeping track,” Calibri confesses with a shrug, leaning forward on her hand and elbow. “Keeping track of your tickets is really important.” Her eyes wander down and she notices that WingDings glass is on his place-mat. Without asking she quickly removes the glass.

“What are you doing?” WingDings asks with lifted brow. He’s been stuck with her long enough not to get up in arms over every little rude thing she does.

“You shouldn’t put your glass on the mat Roman,” she explains with a patience that is easy to be irritated by. She careful places his glass down and picks up his place-mat, displaying the detailed map of Disneyland on it. “The mat is a map of Disneyland, it’s a souvenir that doesn’t cost any money . . . well except you have to pay for the food I guess.” She waves a hand over that detail. Not as if she had to pay for the meal after all.

“Oh, I see,” that is actually thoughtful of her. “Thank you Calibri.” He takes the place-mat and carefully folds it so can put away for safe keeping. Once again WingDings laments the loss of his loot box, an easy way to keep his little treasures.

“You’re welcome,” Calibri sings. “Us cousins need to look out for one another.”

In response George slurps up the last of his Root Beer through his straw, trying his best to get every drop.

Calibri makes a face, but manages to refrain from saying anything for five minutes before caving and reminding the youngest member of their little cousin group that slurping loudly is impolite.

After lunch the group travels to the Jungle Cruise where they go from one country to another without leaving the boat. The cast member really does a good job selling the act of traveling the wild rivers of the earth. Everything from the Amazon to the Nile, recounting interesting facts about the animals and even scaring off some angry hippos. What really makes the ride entertaining for WingDings is Sans punning his way through the whole ride under his breath. WingDings thinks his honorary uncle is really onto something, but the majority of the family doesn’t agree. Along with most of the other passengers on the boat.

“I can’t believe you made me bear witness to that,” Cordia complains, whacking her brother lightly with her phalanges as they make their way through the ‘bottle neck’ of Adventureland.

“Naw, you liked it, you’re just in d-nile about it,” Sans says with a wink as he saddles up to Frisk who chuckles and shakes her head at him.

Papyrus and WingDings also chuckle under their breath, but luckily Cordia doesn’t notices as she huffs and takes her granddaughters a short distance away as to not be bothered by such bad puns.

They make their way into Frontierland and the Rivers of America. Upon seeing Tom Sawyer island WingDings wants to go visit and explore with Calibri and Ebrima. As can be expected George also makes the demand. Since not all of the adults bought ticket books the only ones who still have ‘D’ tickets are the children along with Frisk, Sans, and Papyrus. They agree to go with the kids though.

There is plenty to explore on the island, but when it comes to the miners caves WingDings hesitates. The caves are much darker than the castle walk through is, but when George tugs him along like it’s nothing WingDings can’t very well stop him. The boys trail behind Ebrima and Calibri, searching the alcoves for hidden treasure. When they find the treasure down a little path, they celebrate their achievement and exit the cave.

Only Papyrus, Sans and Frisk aren’t there waiting for them.

Now, WingDings figures this is because they simply got bored and are a short ways away. There are a number of logical explanations as Calibri would love to remind everyone there, but George’s reaction is instantaneous. The young boy freaks out and, clutching WingDings hand, drags him back into the dark cave.

“George come back!” Calibri valiantly orders, but George doesn’t listen, running past several other exploring children. WingDings lets George run with him, figuring out the same thing George does by the time they make it out of the cave onto the other side.

There calmly waiting for them and chatting among themselves is Frisk, Sans and Papyrus.

“Did you find the treasure?” Frisk automatically asks.

Releasing WingDings sore hand, George throws himself at Papyrus, hiding his head in the tall mans’ knees.

Not long after that the girls emerge huffing and puffing. “Georgie we aren’t suppose to run in the park,” Calibri reminds the boy, wiping sweat from her brow and fixing her ruffled clothing.

“You could have fallen and gotten hurt,” Ebrima tags on.

“I’m sorry,” George says into Papyrus’s pants and the tall skeleton gently pats the hybrid humans head.

“That is quite all right,” Papyrus assures the boy, picking him up easily and lifting George’s mood with it. “I’m sure it was scary not finding us at the other end of the cave.”

George nods his head and they make their way towards the tree house.

WingDings honestly can’t fault George for being startled at not finding the adults at the other end of cave. After all, most caves only have one inlet, so logically they should have seen Frisk, Sans and Papyrus waiting for them at the other end. But this was a man made cave, an attraction, and it is far more efficient with people able to move through more than one entrance.

“Georgie can be so silly sometimes,” Calibri sighs, shaking her head as they walk up some steps to Tow Sawyers secret get away.

“It wasn’t that silly,” WingDings says, being mindful not to look down as they go higher up the tree house.

“Yes it was,” Calibri automatically slings back.

WingDings then proceeds to explain his opinion thoroughly to his cousin despite Calibri really having no interest. Still she puts up with the explanation and listens. Instead of shaking her head at Goerge’s behavior now she shakes it at WingDings.

“Do you overthink everything?” she asks.

“If I find it interesting, yes,” WingDings admits.

“Guess that’s what makes you so smart,” she sighs and admits defeat, leaving WingDings to wonder if that comment is some sort of compliment.

At the top of Tow Sawyer’s look-out they get a grand view of the park and island. The Columbia and Mark Twain make there way around the muddy river and WingDings can make out a Native American settlement and something that looks like a log cabin on fire through the brush. When Ebrima offers him a chance to look out the grimy telescope WingDings declines finding the prop to be very dirty and his fear of falling is getting to him.

Sensing WingDings unease Sans leads them on top of the caves they went through earlier where rocks and little details of Tom and Huck’s life can be found scattered around. There are a few people wandering around, but mostly they just take some pictures and move on. WingDings nearly follows after them, but Sans guides him to an elongated rock and encourages him to sit on one end while Frisk does the same for Ebrima. The two then proceed to ‘rock’ the rock like a teeter totter.

WingDings is surprised, never suspecting the rocks are actually carefully disguised play equipment. Papyrus has Calibri and George on another rock, spinning them around like a merry-go-round. They laugh and giggle as Papyrus huffs and puffs, spinning them around which in turn makes Ebrima, WingDings, Frisk and Sans laugh with them. Frisk takes several pictures, knowing the others would love to see this if they could. Several people stop what they’re doing and, after waiting for them to be finished, take their own children onto the rocks for some playground fun.

“I love how people just walk past those rocks without knowing what they are,” Frisk laughs as they make their way towards Fort Wilderness and the Village.

“Walt disguised them too well,” Calibri says, quick to offer her opinion.

“He really did,” Sans agrees.

For nearly an hour the group explores the island, traversing the bridges, exploring Fort Wilderness, and Castle Rock. There is a lot to see and do and in WingDings opinion this is the one attraction at the park that is worth the ‘D’ ticket. It takes them over an hour to explore everything and experience the islands hidden secrets.

Unfortunately, this is around the time George starts slowing down. While the girls and WingDings want to keep going the youngest of them is straggling, but doesn’t want to be left behind. Knowing something they do not, Papyrus picks up the youngest and carries him around as they explore the many levels of Fort Wilderness.

George seems to improve but as soon as they near the dock to return to the rest of the park George begins complaining loudly. For a five year old he’s sort of acting like a toddler in WingDings opinion, but he keeps it to himself knowing it will just make their youngest member whine more.

“What’s wrong?” Ebrima asks in concern.

“Oh it’s just the Disney Tantrum Hour,” Frisk explains to the three softly before the motor of the ferry can drown her out.

“Oooohhh,” the girls sing in a chorus.

“Tantrum hour?” WingDings asks.

“It happens to younger kids when they get tired,” Calibri explains. “Disneyland is a big exciting place and it can be tiring for younger kids.”

“I see, we should find some place quiet for him to relax,” WingDings says.

“We will,” Frisk says as Papyrus rubs his skull fondly.

When they return to shore Papyrus hands George over to his dad and it isn’t long before he’s calmed down. The group goes off to spend some of their B tickets at the Shooting Galleries and before it gets too late they take the Mike Fink Keel Boat on a trip around the rivers of America to see the Burning House and Unfriendly Native Monster Village. There are so many culturally insensitivity aspects of this portion of the park and WingDings is very quick to point all of them out.

“Roman everyone knows it isn’t real,” Calibri sighs.

“No Roman is right, these insensitive depictions of Monster’s and Native American’s is not an accurate portrayal of history and is racist,” Frisk explains, that air of the justice seeker coming out on full display. “Walt Disney is romanticizing history and striping it of facts just for entertainment.”

“If you feel that way about Walt Disney, than why are we here?” WingDings asks smartly.

“Because not all of it is bad,” Frisk says with a soft smile. “The world isn’t so simple as good and evil, or right and wrong. It’s grey. Walt Disney is an innovator and gives the consumer the best of what he can. It’s quality entertainment and you get what you pay for, I can’t fault him for that. He has a high work ethic and values children when most no one does in this day and age.”

“He gave us a place to all have fun with our children,” Coal reaches down and hugs his giggling granddaughters from behind. “Makes one feel like a kid again themselves.”

“It doesn’t excuse everything,” Frisk waves a hand at the burning house with the fake dead man with an arrow in his back. “We just have to be informed and it’s our responsibility to have these conversations with our families and children.”

There is a silence over the entire boat until one person begins to clap and then everyone is clapping. “And there you have it folks a true activist, Mrs. Frisk Astor,” their driver announces. Frisk nods her head and smiles at the mix of people crowded on the small boat and that’s WingDings first clue that Frisk might actually be someone of importance in this country.

“You’re going to be quite the mother some day,” WingDings hears Cordia say discreetly. The young woman immediately blushes scarlet as Sans laughs and heartily agrees with his sister.

WingDings turns away at their mushy act, like all the children are required to do on the boat. After their trip around the ‘Rivers of America’ they have dinner at the Casa de Fritos restaurant. This would be the very place Doritos would be branded, not that the Astor family or WingDings knows that.

After eating their fill, they make their way for Main Street USA where they use up their ‘A’ tickets at the Arcade, Main St. Cinema, and a ride on the Omnibus. For the last ride of the day they all buy an extra ‘D’ ticket at the train station and take a grand circle tour around Disneyland on the Fred Gurley. WingDings is feeling rather tired, but he is ecstatic that they finally get to ride the train and all of them are doing it together.

The route is rather dark because of the setting sun, but they get a very interesting view of everywhere they’ve been that day. By far WingDings favorite part though is when they pass through a large building with a Diorama of the Grand Canyon.

“This wasn’t here before,” Calibri tells WingDings in excitement, pointing at different things and shaking her sisters arm to make sure she sees everything she is seeing.

“It’s so big,” Ebrima says in awe.

WingDings ignores them, listening to the recording over the speakers claiming that this is the largest Diorama in the world.

Well it sure does seem large to WingDings.

As their trip comes to a close WingDings feels a weight of sadness, knowing it is the last ride of the day and that they’ll be leaving soon, but he’s also tired and eager to return to his own bed. As they climb down the steps of the station WingDings can feel his feet complaining and takes a seat on one of the benches around the flag pole as the adults figure out car arrangement's.

Streams of people flow past them exiting the park. All sorts of people of every color, background, and race. And it’s amazing. It reminds WingDings of home.

As WingDings watches everyone and takes in the sight of Main Street and the castle beyond he tries to take a mental picture, knowing he’ll most likely never be here again. Isn’t long before Papyrus comes over and picks him up, easily putting the eight year old up onto his shoulders. Thankful for the free ride that doesn’t cost a ticket, WingDings takes one more look around from this new perspective. Before passing through the tunnel back into the ‘real’ world the young skeletons gaze falls onto the fire house where a lone lamp is lit.

Notes:

I’m so proud of myself keeping this chapter at 6k. Sorry to say but this chapter is the reason I’m writing this story, because I’m self indulgent like that. Two scenes in particular were taken from my childhood and my dad when he was a child going to Disneyland. I did my best to keep it accurate to the time and lucky for me a lot of people have documented Disneyland’s history. I’m sorry if this was a bit too boring for most, thank you for putting up with my love of Disneyland and it’s history. Next time we’ll get back to the usual shenanigans as I wrap up this story.

Or at least try to.

Chapter 14: A Different sort of Fright

Notes:

Halloween . . . it's almost Halloween right. Meh, close enough.

WingDings doesn’t remember the drive home at all, dozing off with Ebrima in the back seat. The entire family stays at the Astor house, several people crammed into every room, but they make it work. This time sharing a bed with George isn’t so bad since the young boy sleeps through the night.

In the morning everyone is in a mad rush to get ready for church and WingDings wonders why they even have to go. This service isn’t even a pot luck day?

After church George’s family returns home and the rest spend the afternoon together with WingDings playing games with Ebrima and Calibri. They go through the usual games, Clue being WingDings favorite, before they inevitably get sucked into one of Calibri’s stories of make believe. WingDings once again plays the evil prince stealing away the innocent Ebrima as Calibri plays the hero. The same scenario irritates WingDings at first and he doesn’t put a lot of effort into the being ‘evil’ act, but then Calibri includes a twist ending where the evil prince isn’t evil at all, just lonely.

“They all gave the evil prince a big hug and they became best friends,” Calibri says, wrapping her arms around one side of him as Ebrima does the same on the other. WingDings sits their in bafflement blushing in embarrassment from the sudden attention.

“Roman are you blushing?” Ebrima asks, pulling a short distance away to look at him.

“No!” WingDings quickly claims.

Calibri gasps. “He is blushing,” she nearly squeals. “So cute.”

“I’m not cute,” WingDings huffs, becoming the eight year he’s always been as he swiftly denies his cousins accusations.

“Cute, cute, cute,” the girls chant and WingDings groans out a long ‘no’ as he squirms out of their hugging arms.

As soon as WingDings is free he’s running away and the girls give immediate chase, thus starting a child favorite game of tag. Sadly the game doesn’t last long as the girls are gathered up and everyone says goodbye. The quiet of the house they leave behind is the true reminder to WingDings that his weekend of fun is over. He doesn’t like the quiet for once and the loneliness that comes with it. Sure the girls are annoying at times, but they also don’t judge him like the kids at school are apt to do. They accept that he is strange and have fun with him.

Just like his family back home.

“Is everything all right WingDings?” Papyrus asks him as he plays with his blocks in front of the television. Hearing his real name surprises WingDings at first, but everyone present knows WingDings is his real name so there is no one to hide it from.

“It’s just really quiet I guess,” WingDings shrugs.

“We really did ‘ave a rockin’ good time,” Sans agrees. “Awful quiet when everyone’s gone.”

“Well that’s easy enough to fix,” Frisk stands and walks over to the record player, selecting a disk and putting it on. They don’t dance, much too tired for that, but the music is nice. A nice substitute for noise since they aren’t watching the television.

The evening is still calm, but the uncomfortable pressure of silence has been relieved with the crackle of music. “I miss them,” WingDings admits at length.

“You’ll see em’ again soon,” Sans tells him.

“That’s right, we still need to go to Knott’s Berry Farm!” Frisk celebrates.

“We just got back from Disneyland kitten!?” Sans sputters, looking at her as if she’s crazy as Papyrus shakes his head and chuckles behind his hand.

“I fail to see the problem!?” Frisk laughs. “I told you we were going to take WingDings everywhere and I meant it!”

“Well, righty-o, guess we’re going to Knott’s next,” Sans wraps an arm around Frisk and she offers a smug grin of victory.

“We’ll need to wait till after Halloween,” Papyrus tells them more seriously. “I’ve been put on a murder case and while our leads are forth coming with information we’re still trying to tie it up before the winter holiday.”

Frisk makes an ‘oh’ with her lips, but Sans is the one who answers. “It’s fine bro, will give the rest of the family time to recover after blowing all that dough at Disneyland,” Sans says.

“You’re right, going to two theme parks one after the other would be excessive,” Frisk agrees.

“Thank you,” Papyrus tells them both and then stands. “Time for bed WingDings, school is tomorrow. Do you have your bag packed.”

“I do,” WingDings gathers up his blocks and makes his way down the hall.

“Have you considered what you want to dress as for Halloween?” Papyrus asks next.
“I don’t know yet,” WingDings shrugs. “I don’t want to be a cowboy or a native American . . . like every other kid.”

“How about a pirate?” Papyrus offers, echoing the very thought WingDings had the other day. With all the excitement of Disneyland he’d nearly forgotten.

WingDings grins, glad that his idea is being voice by someone he’s come to admire. “I had that idea too Pa,” he says.

“Well, if we both thought of pirates, than it must be a good idea,” Papyrus chuckles.

The dream of the magical weekend is over, but at least the candy of the future Halloween is something WingDings can look forward to.

A dream that is hastily dashed as he’s dozing off in class when an irritating bell buzzes. Now back at his school back in Canada that irritating and frightening sound typically means a fire drill or a fire is happening, which means you line up at the door and go outside with your teacher. WingDings is on his feet ready to go, but then Ms. Smith says something odd. “Duck and Cover,” she says, scooting out from her chair and moving towards her students. “This is a drill.”

Confused and frightened by the loud noise of the bell, WingDings hesitates, looking around at his classmates in a fumble as his body shakes. Being caught unprepared with that loud hellish sound is not helping him think and he simply doesn’t know what to do while everyone else does.

“Roman, don’t worry, it’s just a drill,” Ms. Smith comes up to him and patiently explains what they are doing. Her calm is all he needs to brush most of his agitation aside. “This is your first drill so it’s okay to be nervous. It’s very similar to an earth-quake drill. Just get under your desk and pull your chair in behind you.”

“Yes Ms. Smith,” WingDings does as she instructs feeling rather uncomfortable on the floor and just a little embarrassed.

When WingDings is as comfortable as he can be while on the warn linoleum floor he looks at Ashley’s desk. As should come as no surprise the young girl is shaking her head at him as if he’s an idiot. He grimaces at her with a judgemental glare, looking pointedly away at his friends desk instead. As their teacher goes around the room she takes the opportunity to explain to her class why they have these atomic attack drills.

Furrowing his brow, WingDings silently scoffs at the little lesson. What does this government really think, that ducking and covering will save them from a nuclear bomb? Are they serious? But the way Ms. Smith goes on about it at least gives the impression she’s comfortable spewing such nonsense, even if she may not think it’s true.

WingDings sighs and rolls his eye lights. Yep, this is the 1950’s all right, where a desk has the super power to protect children from warfare.

After that dismal example of learning, WingDings hope for Halloween returns. In the coming days WingDings looks forward to his outings with Frisk in the afternoon even if they’re simply at home relaxing. One afternoon as WingDings finishes his homework Frisk steps up beside him, standing in such a way that tells him she has something to say. WingDings is currently looking through Frisk’s view master of the Oregon Caves, but he respects her silent request and lowers the simple device down to his chest.

“Why don’t you go outside and play with some of the neighborhood kids?” she encourages him, knocking her head towards the door.

“I like it in here,” WingDings says, moving to lift the view master again, she hones that look at him, the one that says ‘we aren’t done talking’ and WingDings can’t very well ignore that look from Frisk. “I do,” he repeats, as if he can convince her so easily.

“Don’t you have any friends at school?” she asks next and oh no she’s sitting down next to him. Only reason an adult does that is when it’s a serious discussion.

WingDings sighs and looks up at her, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold on the view master quite yet. “I play tether-ball with Tillo and Roberto . . . and sometimes Ashley, but she always wins,” he says, still a little upset with how she treated him during the drill. “And Phil doesn’t bully me anymore so maybe we’re friends?”

“Do you like playing tether-ball?” she asks and WingDings doesn’t know what she’s fishing for but this conversation reminds him of his brothers back home. And not in a good way.

“No, I just play it because I don’t hate it,” WingDings shrugs.

Frisk makes a face and at this point WingDings gives up on the view master lying on his ribs. He is resigned to his fate as the only child in this family unit with all it’s unwanted attention and scrutiny.

“Why don’t you go outside and play ‘kick the can’ or wall ball on someones garage,” Frisk encourages him, standing and playfully nudging his shoulder. “I know it must not be easy being a stranger in a new world, but this won’t be the only world you go to right? You need to be able meet new people and make fast friends.”

When she puts ‘playing outdoors’ that way any attempt WingDings might make to refute her seems rather silly or illogical. “I’d rather stay inside with you,” WingDings confesses and he rolls to his feet and sets the view master down on the coffee table. “. . . and what’s kick the can?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know what that is,” Frisk disappears shortly in search of this ‘can’ for ‘kick the can’. It’s in the name after all. “The game is just like hide n’ seek. The seeker kicks the can and counts, while the others run and hide. Every person who is tagged goes to a holding area and the game ends when everyone is captured. But if a ‘free’ player is able to kick the can again those who are prisoners are free to hide again.” She places the can in his hand and opens the door. “You can do this WingDings,” she winks at him. “At least give it a try. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t bug you about playing outdoors anymore.”

Making a face at the dented can, WingDings tries to smile at Frisk before heading out of the house. He feels rather stupid with the dented can in his palm as he walks down the street. What’s really confusing though is when Frisk waves to him, wishing him luck before closing the door.

What? She’s just going to leave him to his own devices and not even ‘keep watch’? What a strange time period this is where they not only let children run wild during recess, but let children play in the street without supervision.

Staring up at the blue sky a moment, WingDings releases one last exaggerated sigh and makes for the left down the hill. Once he’s just a block away he looks around and doesn’t see anyone, but he does hear children from somewhere, playing in the autumn afternoon.

Not exactly a shy child and having very little fear aside from falling and darkness, WingDings takes a big breath and shouts at the top of his lungs, “Anyone want to play kick the can!”

To his utter shock he watches as children come running from their backyards and down the street out of the woodwork. You’d think WingDings had used some sort of magic to summon young people from every direction.

“Kick the can, kick the can, kick the can,” a little kid chants beside him. Where did they come from!?!

“Okay, new kid you’ve got the can so you start with the kicking,” an older kid says. “That drain over there will be the jail all in favor.”

“Aye!” the dozen or so kids cheer.

“Fine by me, I’ll count to twenty,” WingDings says dropping the can in preparation.

“Kick it in the street, that way it doesn’t land on anyone’s lawn,” the big kid takes him by the shoulders and directs him into the street and WingDings nearly goes running right then in there. They really are playing in the streets!?! What the hell is wrong with these people!?

“Thanks?” WingDings says, waiting for the kids to move out from in front of him so he doesn’t accidentally kick any of them with the can. As soon as he kicks the modest can, WingDings starts counting as the screaming and giggling children rush to hide behind trees, various bushes and a trash can that was left out.

One by one WingDings tags the neighborhood kids he finds, starting up a modest collection of the captured till the eldest kid comes out of nowhere and kicks his can. Sighing as he watches all of his hard work go running away like loose confetti, WingDings gives chase after the large kid, determined to catch them. If he cheats a little no one would be able to tell unless they were watching him closely, closing the distance with well timed short cuts.

When he catches the kid they tumble onto someones lawn and for a second WingDings is worried the kid will be mad, but they only turn around and help him up. “Good catch little bones,” the kids says. “Names Jaden. Guard the can better.”

At first WingDings is a little dazed caught unprepared and not sure to trust Jaden, but he doesn’t sense anything dark in their soul. “Sure,” he says, spying a kid racing towards the can.

“He got Jaden!” one of the kids shouts in shock.

“No one gets Jaden!?” another says and they all go for the can at once to save their fearless leader.

But in so doing they make it very easy for WingDings to tag them all as they all gather close together. Thanks to the kids determination, and a little of his own, WingDings catches them and finds the younger children soon after.

“Good game little bones, what’s your name?” Jaden asks as they pick up the can.

“Roman,” WingDings answers.

“Great this is Katy, Jerry, Mitch, Carol, Billy, Jessica, Allison, Jack, C.J. and Dick,” Jaden introduces the other kids in one breath. “I’ll kick this time.”

The other kids groan, but don’t argue, telling Jaden to go easy on them to which the eldest makes no promises. To WingDings surprise Jaden doesn’t kick the can that far, instead kicking it high so it lands close to where they are standing. After counting Jaden begins to snap them up, one after another. WingDings manages to kick the can again, but then Jaden is on him like a cheetah. When WingDings uses his little short cut trick Jaden shouts in complaint and before WingDings knows it he’s on his face on another lawn when his soul is momentarily turned blue.

Jaden playfully flicks his skull. “No cheatin’ Roman,” they reprimand with a slight pout.

“I wasn’t cheatin’,” WingDings sits up blushing at being flicked in the head.

“It’s cheatin’ when you’re caught,” Jaden winks at him, making WingDings blush even harder and look away. The eldest laughs at him playfully and then sets off after the kids who got away.

The game ends when the parents shout out their children’s names, announcing dinner and fondly ordering the scoundrels to get cleaned up. WingDings doesn’t hear Frisk, but after retrieving the can goes racing towards his home, waving to the others as he passes. WingDings walks right into the house through the kitchen, surprised to find the noisy door unlocked.

Frisk didn’t even lock the door?

“Did you have fun?” Frisk asks, setting a shepherds pie onto the counter.

“I did,” WingDings says, setting the can down and making his way past her.

“Make any new friends?” Frisk calls as he makes his way down the hall to clean up for dinner.

“Maybe,” WingDings calls back, running back and forth down the hall before helping Frisk set the table.

Frisk doesn’t press him after that, satisfied with just his going outside at all. When the G brothers return home they talk about their days before going out to the garage to work on their secret machine. As they work Frisk and WingDings begin constructing his pirate costume. Now Frisk isn’t the best at sewing, but she can follow a pattern.

“Can you teach me?” WingDings asks as he watches her set out the pieces of old fabric they have on hand and match it up to paper cut outs of the pirate shirt and vest.

At first Frisk looks about ready to assure him that learning to sew isn’t necessary, but she stops herself. “Well I’m not such a great teacher, but I’ll show you what I know,” she tells him.

For the rest of the week WingDings spends his afternoons either playing outside or learning to sew with Frisk. She is a little nervous setting him up in front of the Astor family sewing machine, but the nice thing about having bones instead of skin is they are sturdier.

As Halloween approaches the children become more and more rowdy, something that irritates WingDings. Even Tillo, Roberto, and Ashley get caught up in the school drama that WingDings actively avoids. Something about who is trick or treating with who, or who isn’t coming to the party afterward and so on.

You’d think they were talking about boy friends and girls friends what with the ‘break ups’ and tears.

“Do you know who you want to trick or treat with?” Papyrus asks WingDings Tuesday night, three days before Halloween. “I’ll need to connect with their parents.”

“Tillo and Roberto,” WingDings says. “We were going to meet at Roberto’s home.”

“Do you know where he lives?” he asks next.

“He lives in the condos near the school on Meta Street,” WingDings recites.

The adults stare at him a moment, but before WingDings can think he’s said something wrong Papyrus continues. “You have a good memory,” he says instead. “Are any of your friends having parties?”

WingDings shrugs and shakes his head. “No, Roberto will be celebrating Día de Muertos with his family most of the night,” WingDings answers. “Tillo is thinking of going to Phil’s party, but I don’t even think Phil’s family is having a party. I think he made it up.” A lot of kids are full of talk this time of year.

Nice that some things in the 1950’s are the same.

“Why not have a sleep over and invite Tillo over,” Papyrus spins into WingDings thoughts. The boy didn’t even consider having someone come over for the night, he’s never had a friend stay the night even back home.

“I’d rather not,” WingDings says honestly, happy with his version of how the night should go that he’s constructed in his mind. The plan is simple. Go out and get as much candy as possible with Tillo and Roberto then come home and count it all. A simple plan, but this might be the first Halloween he actually goes out with kids he considers even remotely friends.

“Have you ever had a sleep over before?” Papyrus asks.

“No, not really,” WingDings answers. “Not unless you count family gatherings or the other houses I’ve stayed in while visiting new worlds.”

Frisk can no longer keep quiet. “Why not?”

“I don’t have many friends back home,” WingDings answers honestly. “Young people my age are loud and annoying.”

“We didn’t as kids either,” Sans answers, somewhat soothing Frisks concern with his answer. “We were a bit odd, kitten. Hard for us to understand other kids and vice versa.”

“Sometimes staying at my friends house was my only escape, I was sometimes happiest when spending the nights with my friends,” Frisk explains and WingDings wonders just how different her life must have been, how hard it must have been, for such a statement to be true. Personally WingDings can’t think of any place he’d rather be than in his own home with his brothers.

There is always exceptions like being here with Frisk, G-Sans, and G-Papyrus. They’ve made this place home for him.

“You’re all I need,” WingDings tells them, but mostly Frisk. “I’m not alone when I have you around.”

Before Frisk can say more Sans speaks up. “Baby steps,” he tells her and WingDings would love to know what he means by that, but none of the adults elaborate and Frisk lets whatever words were on her lips stay caged within her thoughts.

In the days that follow WingDings doesn’t play much with the neighborhood kids, instead focusing on finishing his awesome pirate outfit with Frisk. WingDings thinks the pirate outfit is really one of the best ideas that could be had since it’s perfect for a skeleton monster. Extra points for creeping humans out.

When the day of candy finally arrives Frisk helps WingDings get dressed and hands him an empty pillow case. Apparently instead of going around with pumpkin themed buckets or bags they just use whatever bag they have lying around. WingDings finds this ingenious since he’ll be able to fit more candy in a pillow case than a bucket.

After he has everything Papyrus takes WingDings to Roberto’s place, where the adults chat a bit. Before long the trio, along with Tillo and Roberto's siblings, they head out to the streets. At first WingDings is rightfully nervous since it’s just them, no adults trailing behind. WingDings isn’t sure what he expected though. So far adults barely watch their children so why would Halloween be any different?

The little cluster of monster and human young people make their way from door step to door step, even going to every door in the condos where more candy can be had with less walking. They eventually make it to Tillo’s house before heading towards WingDings house around the middle school after eight. Thanks to the countries ‘Fall Back’ cycle it is darker than WingDings expects at this time, but as long as he’s with his group it isn’t so bad.

WingDings gets quite a few good scares out of some people for his skeleton in a pirate costume, which is just the way he wants it. When they reach his house a little after half past eight, WingDings doesn’t continue, wishing them a Happy Halloween and Día de Muertos. His feet hurt almost as much as they did after his trip to Disneyland, the one main drawback to having holes in his feet.

Since his pillow is stuffed with candy, food, and little toys WingDings doesn’t mind stopping for the night, brandishing his haul to Frisk with the pride of a fisherman with his large catch. Frisk grabs the family's camera and snaps a picture of WingDings with his pillow case laden of loot. “I hope I can get some copies of all these pictures,” WingDings tells Frisk after posing. With the obligatory Halloween picture taken, WingDings proceeds to make his way to the kitchen, dumping his prized candy out on the table so they can count and look through it.

“We’ll make sure you get a copy of everything before you leave,” Frisk promises, setting the camera aside and joining WingDings at the table.

They count the candy together and Frisk checks to make sure nothing dangerous is hidden in the treats. They remove a few things they both find questionable and WingDings even sets some candies aside he doesn’t want, giving it to the ‘adult tax,’ as he refers to it. That gets a hearty laugh out of Frisk but she shows her thanks by enjoying a few M and M’s with him.

Around the time WingDings is wondering where Sans and Papyrus are he finds himself frozen with dread. There is some kind of fire sparking in his soul, a kind of fear hitting his soul with fright like ice down his spine. Jumping to his feet, WingDings races out the kitchen door onto the porch.

Something isn’t right.

“Pa! Uncle Sans!” WingDings shouts, Frisk just a few paces behind him as he jumps down all seven stairs towards the garage. He doesn’t hear Frisk shouting at him, he can only hear a buzzing machine in his skull.

Hands at the ready WingDings throws the garage door open finding Papyrus and Sans huddled around a rather large device they’ve Frankenstein monstered out of scraps. They seem to be frozen, lost in thought together.

And their duel souls are out in the open, layered in such a way that they almost look whole.

Despite them standing right there WingDings feels like they aren’t even there. Like their souls are someplace else and not directly in front of him.

WingDings doesn’t understand this feeling in his soul, but it is cold and scary. It feels like he’s alone.

Taking his magic hands, WingDings grabs the back of the skeletons collars and yanks them away and out of the garage. They manage to catch their footing, waking from their daze and staring at WingDings as if he’s been possessed.

The dread leaves WingDings soul just as swiftly as it came leaving him feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. Was that fear even there? Did he imagine it? Looking back he can’t think of a logical reason for his fear. Sans and Papyrus are just fine, cautiously coming towards him on the drive way as if WingDings is the one who is in danger.

Plummeting from his candy high, down to his fear, and then up again to his relief has tears threatening the sprout in the corners of his sockets.

“I . . . I’m sorry for disrupting you,” WingDings manages to sputter, looking down at the dark asphalt and grass beneath his feet. He feels so stupid. They were working on the machine together since it’s the weekend and he just broke their concentration for what? Because he was scared.

It was a strange sensation though.

“I’m sorry we scared you,” Papyrus kneels down and offers WingDings a hug. A hug that WingDings eagerly accepts.

“What was that?” WingDings asks, more apt to believe now that what he just experienced wasn’t just a figment of his imagination or a product of eating bad candy.

“We were sharing knowledge kid,” Sans explains, resting a slightly greasy hand on WingDings skull, but the little skeleton doesn’t mind. The touch is a comfort. “We couldn’t quite remember something so we were sharing.”

“Sharing knowledge?” WingDings asks into Papyrus’s chest, the gentle pull of his pa’s soul beating in a comforting rhythm.

“Through our souls,” Papyrus answers. “We were the same person at one time and our memories are jumbled between the both of us. When parts are missing we have a way to piece it together through this method.”

“Oh,” WingDings calms and with one last squeeze he releases Papyrus.

“Since your soul is connected to ours somehow you probably felt a bit of it,” Sans continues, a careful hand sliding to the back of his skull and directing him back towards the house.

Frisk is standing on the porch, looking on with concern, but actively waiting in case she is needed. “Is everything all right?” she asks Sans as they make their way up the stairs.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Sans assures her. Behind them Papyrus stays behind to close up the garage as Frisk gets some milk from the fridge.

“Thank you,” WingDings accepts the cool drink and doesn’t even look at his candy. How can he with his thoughts trying to piece together why he felt the way he did. Either way, they’ll be doing this ‘memory sharing’ again at some point and he’ll need to let them if he wants that machine to ever be finished.

“You’re welcome WingDings,” Frisk gets a bowl and starts cleaning up the table of candy, storing the treats away to be enjoyed in the coming months. The baked goods are stored elsewhere so they can be enjoyed before they go bad.

“I won’t freak out next time,” WingDings promises as Papyrus comes in to sit with them. “Now that I know what to expect I won’t freak out.”

Papyrus and Sans share ‘that look’ again, that silent conversation going between them and not for the first time WingDings wishes he knew what they were talking about.

“We’ll warn you before we do it again,” Papyrus promises and WingDings relaxes into his chair.

“Thank you,” WingDings says and out of the corner of his socket he spies a floating hand bring in his favorite board game of Clue. WingDings face lights up, fears forgotten as they set up the game. “I’ll be Mrs. Peacock,” WingDings promptly announces, troubles momentarily forgotten.

Notes:

When I finished writing this chapter I still didn’t have a clear idea of how I wanted to wrap things up. I’d originally planned on twenty chapters, but for my sanity I decided to shorten it so I could move onto my next idea. We’ll see if I can stick to that plan or not. On another note my folks helped me a lot with this chapter, picking at their brains to make it somewhat realistic.

Chapter 15: Big Sis

Notes:

Undyne wormed herself into the story.

The next time the G duo work on the machine they not only warn WingDings when they share memories, but allow the boy to join them in the garage. They spend nearly the entire weekend tweaking the soul finding device, WingDings sharing what he remembers of the device Walter Gaster from the old west created when tracking down the piece of his soul.

“Just how many different version of yourself have you met?” Papyrus asks.

“A lot,” WingDings shrugs. “I usually meet Gaster at some point so, I should have guessed that’s who you were.” He chuckles, scrunching his nasal cavity.

“Did you happen to get the schematics on Walter’s Soul Machine?” Sans asks, welding some pieces of metal together in what will be the ‘radar’ of this soul sensing machine. Basically it’s a radio designed to pick up WingDings soul signal.

“I didn’t think to ask,” WingDings says shaking his head. As he recalls though Walter kept a messy work space, it would have been difficult to obtain the correct blue prints if he bothered drawing them up.

“There is no guarantee such a device would work in our universe,” Papyrus pats his shoulder. “Every universe has it’s own rules to adhere to, some might be the same, but their is an infinite number of possibilities.” There aren’t very many times that this version of Papyrus sockets take on a starry look, but they do so now as he shares his opinions and theories.

Just thinking of all those possibilities is enough to get WingDings quiet and lost in his own skull for nearly half an hour.

By late Sunday evening the G brother’s have half of the radio dish constructed and the receivers inner workings figured out.

At school WingDings finds himself lost in thought most of the day thinking about the machine. WingDings is so lost that he doesn’t even notice just how many kids are absent till Ms. Smith points it out. Apparently it’s common after Halloween for kids to become ill after stuffing their faces with candy all weekend.

Makes WingDings glad Frisk hid most of the candy away to make sure he didn’t eat it all at once.

After school WingDings and Frisk head home for a quiet afternoon. When he’s finished with his homework, WingDings grabs an old can and heads for the front door only to open it and catch sight of a teenage fish monster crossing the street straight towards his house.

“Hey kid, you must be Roman!” she says, smiling sharp yellow teeth at him. She has blazing curly red hair, scrapes and bruises everywhere, and a false eye that doesn’t match her yellow eye perfectly.

“Do I know you?” WingDings asks, slowly inching the door closed. This is probably Undyne, but he doesn’t know if that is a good thing or not. In his experience Undyne can swing either way on the good guy/bad guy spectrum. Not that she was horrible in the west, but she was sure intense.

“Names Undyne, Nerd,” Undyne reaches a hand forward and WingDings politely accepts it.

“Frrrriiiiissssk,” WingDings slowly calls behind him, at a loss for what he’s suppose to do after completing the American ‘hand shake’ ritual.

“Aunty Frisk!” Undyne barrels past him, and his nearly closed door, straight into the kitchen. One thing is clear she knows exactly where to go, meaning she’s been here before.

“Undyne! It’s good to see you again,” Frisk laughs, followed by the exaggerated ‘OOooo’ sound for a hearty hug.

WingDings closes the door, leaving the can just outside the door, and returns to the kitchen to investigate this unexpected change in his otherwise calm life.

“Roman this is Undyne, she’ll be spending some afternoons with us for the next couple of weeks,” Frisk explains to him a large smile on her face. The smile looks genuine, but WingDings is wondering just when they were planning on telling him about it. Probably one of those evening ‘porch talks’ he missed out on.

“Just call me big sis,” Undyne says, coming around and slinging a bulging arm around WingDings skull, giving him a hard noogie.

As WingDings whines Frisk chuckles as he squirms away blushing. “Okay big sis,” WingDings says, trying to be friendly but still a little hesitant. After all, last child Undyne he met dragged him through town when he got just a little snarky with her.

“Undyne’s dad works at the police station with your dad,” Frisk continues to explain, perhaps sensing his scepticism of this new arrangement in his life. “They’ve been friends a long time.”

“Your dad talks about you alllllll the time,” Undyne reveals loudly. “He’s always bragging about how smart and independent you are.” As she rattles on about different things, WingDings does his best not the wince. He thought Papyrus and Undyne back home were loud, but this teenager has no control whatsoever. Although hearing that Papyrus says such nice things about him, does make his soul warm.

“Why don’t you two play outside with the neighborhood kids,” Frisk encourages them, ever eager to make sure WingDings socializes a little.

“Sure thing Aunty Frisk,” Undyne salutes the woman and practically picks WingDings up in her arm, dragging him out the kitchen door. Thanks to a summoned hand, WingDings manages to retrieve his soda can as Undyne jogs into the street.

“So how do you get everyone’s attention around here,” Undyne asks, one hand planted on her hip and she looks around at her new domain.

Taking a big breath WingDings yells, “Who wants to play Kick the Can!”

Like all the times before kids come racing from the backyards and streets nearby.

“Wow you can be loud when you want to be,” Undyne praises the skeleton still perched under her arm like some sort of large football. She sets him down as the regular kids come up with Jaden leading the pack.

“Undyne,” Jaden nods to her.

“Jaden,” Undyne nods back, bridging her arms over her chest in a power play. “Ready get a butt kickin’ at kick the can.”

WingDings snorts at the double use of the word kick.

“You know it,” Jaden winks and takes the can from WingDings palm. “I’ll start.” With an elegant turn they punt the can right then and there forcing the kids to jump and scatter in panic, racing to their favorite hiding spots.

Thus an exciting and intense round of ‘kick the can’ begins. Undyne isn’t good at hiding, much too loud to stay hidden for any length of time, but she’s easily the fastest runner out of the lot. Eventually all the other kids, including WingDings, are in the holding area with Undyne being the last to be tagged.

While Jaden and Undyne are having a great time WingDings and the others are bored sitting here, waiting for the two friends just to get on with it.

“How long are we gunna have to sit here,” Katy whines.

“My butt hurts,” Billy complains next.

WingDings has to agree with the other children, annoyed with this set up. If he was just going to sit and do nothing anyways he’d rather be comfortably indoors doing nothing or looking at Frisk’s view master.

“Roman! Undyne! Time to wash up!” Frisk calls from the house.

“We’re saved!” Mitch celebrates, flinging himself back onto the asphalt. WingDings feels the same relief, but he doesn’t fling himself onto dirty asphalt. Though his soul is with them.

“Better luck next time Jaden,” Undyne rushes over and plucks WingDings up from his purgatory, racing for the house at a breakneck pace. WingDings squirms under her arms, but gives up, glaring apathetically at the staring children.

“Hang in there Roman, she’s not that bad,” Jaden calls to him, laughing at the sight of WingDings apathy.

“What you implying, I’m not bad,” Undyne shouts back at them, glancing down at a disgruntled WingDings who refuses to look at her. Sure he’s being a little petty, but WingDings isn’t going to hide his displeasure. Seeing him be so moody makes Undyne slow down, setting him on his feet when they reach the kitchen door.

When they reach the kitchen WingDings realizes he forgot to collect the can, adding another reason for him to be upset with Undyne.

“Did you both have a good time?” Frisk asks brightly before noticing the frown creasing WingDings typically smooth facial features.

“We had a blast!” Undyne punches the sky and WingDings brushes past them both to get cleaned up.

“Wait up,” Undyne chases after him down the hall, but WingDings ignores her. “Hey, was it something I said?”

“No,” he said, washing his hands and moving aside so she can do the same.

“Did I pick you up wrong?” Undyne asks next, determined to figure the boy out and get to the bottom of what is bothering him. Probably wants to fix it too.

“No.”

“Did one the kids pick on you?”

“No.”

Growing frustrated with WingDings dull ‘no’s, Undyne sighs and rolls her eyes. “Then what the heck did I do?”

“You monopolized Jaden and the game,” WingDings says, trudging down the hall and not looking at her.

“Whhhaaaa?” Undyne says, that stupid expression stuck on her face as she follows after him back down the long hall to the kitchen. “I was trying to free you guys.”

“Didn’t look like that from where I was sitting,” WingDings says, a sneer on his lips as he summons his magic hands to set the table.

“Well then you weren’t sitting right, probably hurt that stubby tail bone of yours and put yourself in a bad mood,” Undyne claims, sparking WingDings anger to instantly return, but with more fire.

Making sure the dishes are on the table WingDings hastily spins on Undyne, eye lights blazing red. How dare she insinuate something she knows nothing about and pretend like she’s done nothing wrong. All she had to do was get tagged then they could have played another round! “Shut up!” WingDings shouts at her making Frisk instantly lock eyes with him, a red tint of her own sparking in her soul.

“Roman!” she doesn’t get any more words out as WingDings continues.

“Why are you getting mad at me,” WingDings swiftly contests, hurt that Frisk would automatically take Undyne’s side, while also scared that one of his favorite people in disappointed in him. “She’s the one being a selfish jerk.” By this point WingDings has his shoulders up, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his thoughts and emotions plain to see.

Both Undyne and Frisk flinch, but Undyne has the audacity to actually look embarrassed, rubbing the back of her neck and looking at Frisk.

Raising his head a bit more WingDings realizes Undyne is either agreeing or taking the higher ground. Frustrated and now embarrassed that he’s the one showing his emotions on his sleeve, WingDings turns to sit down when Undyne takes him by the shoulders.

“Lil’ Bro, I’m sorry,” she says, making WingDings squirm, conflicted now that he’s heard this teenage Undyne say the very words he wanted to hear. He’s acting so childish, but his soul is still frustrated that he wasted most of his afternoon sitting on the pavement and how he forgot the soda can.

“It’s fine,” WingDings claims, forcing a smile on his lips, but everyone can tell it’s fake. What’s worse is that Undyne looks even more bummed out than before. Squirming under her hands, WingDings backs away even as Frisk walks around the counter. As he sits in his seat, she sits beside him as WingDings shrinks.

Just what he wants, another ‘one on one’ talk with Frisk. The attention of an only child sucks.

“WingDings, she didn’t mean to hurt you okay,” Frisk starts carefully and WingDings hates that she’s treating him like this.

Embarrassed, WingDings skull turns a light peach, leaning away from Frisk and wishing she would just let this drop. “Mmhm,” he nods. “I’m sorry I forgot to bring back the soda can.” Since everyone is seeming to apologize he might as well get that off his chest too.

The look of surprise on the young woman’s face nearly makes WingDings face darken with embarrassment. Frisk looks as if she wants to say more and explain things, but something in his body language makes her think better of it. “That’s fine WingDings, I forgive you,” she says. Rubbing his skull gently she stands and returns to the kitchen to get the food set up.

Being forgiven feels good, even though it’s not the soda can that he is seeking forgiveness for. The child is unable to put into words exactly what he feels and alleviate this weight from his soul.

Cautiously, Undyne takes a seat in the extra chair they’ve set up. There is an awkward silence that stretches between them and WingDings knows he has to be the one to break it. What’s a conversation a normal kid would have?

“So . . . have you ever been to Disneyland?” WingDings says with more hesitance than is necessary for such a simple question.

“Who hasn’t!” Undyne proudly proclaims and WingDings is glad he’s been to Disneyland, otherwise that statement would sting a little. “One time I raced Peter Pan from Fantasyland all the way to Frontierland! I won of course.”

“They let you run in the park?” WingDings finds it hard to believe, unless what Calibri said was a lie.

“Since it was with Peter Pan they let me,” Undyne says and launches into the story with exaggerated hand motions and a loudness to match. While WingDings doesn’t appreciate the loudness, he lets Undyne do the talking, knowing that young people like the sounds of their own voices.

Not too long into Undyne’s tale does Sans and Papyrus show up. They drop off their coats and hats in the hall before cleaning up and joining them at the table. What strikes WingDings curiosity though is the older fish monster Papyrus brings home with him. This must be Undyne’s father. They pull up another chair and somehow they all manage to fit around the kitchen table instead of moving over into the dining room.

After saying grace they dine together and at first WingDings assumes the conversation will revolve around Undyne again, but Mr. Undyne addresses him. “It’s nice to finally meet you Roman,” he says with a nod, his voice nearly just as loud as his daughters. “Your father tells me you’re a smart young man.”

“Thank you,” WingDings says, pleased to hear what Papyrus thinks of him twice in one day. Feels even better hearing it from an adult though since Undyne and himself have had a rough start to their relationship today.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Mr. Undyne says next, catching WingDings off guard. He watches the man a moment as he reaches over to his daughter and puts a sturdy hand on her shoulder. Undyne doesn’t look at her father , instead she looks at WingDings, waiting for his answers.

“Thank you,” WingDings answers, thinking a simple answer is best. “I’m glad to be here now though, Pa, Uncle Sans, and Aunty Frisk are taking good care of me.”

“I’m sure they are,” Mr. Undyne smiles fondly at him and WingDings isn’t sure he deserves such fondness from a stranger. Perhaps it would be better if Papyrus didn’t brag about him at work because he doesn’t know anything about this man, but he seems to know a lot about him. Even if it’s all just fabricated lies of a backstory they created together.

“Guess we have something in common nerd,” Undyne says as she reaches over and rubs his skull. She doesn’t elaborate, but WingDings knows by this that she doesn’t have a mother anymore. The look of regret from Mr. Undyne says as much, which probably means she was a good mother.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” WingDings says respectfully.

“Yeah she was amazing,” and then Undyne launches into a story about just how wonderful her mother was. Half the things WingDings has trouble believing a real person was capable of doing, but no one at the table denies it, so either they’re being generous to Undyne or Mrs. Undyne really was that cool.

Extravagant and embellished stories is just one of the things Undyne brings with her as she is welded into a part of his family. Everyday after school Frisk picks up WingDings from school and he rushes to finish his homework before Undyne comes barging in through the creaking kitchen door. The Middle School is across the street from the house so Frisk doesn’t even have to pick her up. She doesn’t even have to pick up WingDings, but he likes it when she rides up on Sans motorcycle.

“What are we going to do today Nerd?” Undyne asks, plopping down beside him at the kitchen table with her own bag. Some days she has a bag with school work and other days she doesn’t even bother.

“Homework, I have a spelling test tomorrow,” WingDings says looking at his list.

“Here let me help,” Undyne snags his list without warning and starts with the first word. “Spell excellent.”

“E-X-C-E-L-L-E-N-T,” WingDings spells perfectly with a sigh.

“Spell beautiful,” Undyne says next.

“B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L,” WingDings spells in a bored fashion.

“Spell carefully,” Undyne makes a face. “Man these are hard for third grade.”

“C-A-R-E-F-U-L-L-Y,” WingDings rattles off.

With each word it becomes more and more apparent that WingDings knows these words backwards and forwards.

“Damn, you know all these words, what you studyin’ for?” Undyne goes through all twenty words and relinquishes the paper to him.

“Because Ms. Smith can’t understand my handwriting,” WingDings groans.

“Roman has an excellent memory, but his handwriting could use some work,” Frisk speaks up across from them. She’s looking through some store catalogs, drinking tea.

“It’s not that bad,” WingDings claims, a blush on his cheeks.

“You’ve improved a lot,” Frisk encourages him and really WingDings wishes that were true. “Why don’t you two take a break and play on the piano.”

“Do you know Heart and Soul?” WingDings asks.

“Hell yeah, let’s see how fast we can go!” Undyne yells, snagging WingDings up from his seat, much the same way she stole his spelling list earlier.

Undyne takes the left side of the keys and WingDings takes the right. Arguably the left side is easier, but with Undyne playing on that side it is also louder, which is completely her style of life. When they finish playing Heart and Soul once through, they play a few more contemporary songs, but WingDings doesn’t know as many as she does. At least not what is considered contemporary in the 1950’s.

Eventually he hands the piano over to Undyne as she pounds on the keys in a beautiful cacophony of Jazz. WingDings has only heard Sans play Jazz songs a few times on the record player and WingDings didn’t even know Jazz could be played on the piano. Undyne has sure given him a good taste for it.

“Mom taught me how to play,” Undyne shouts above the din of her own notes. “She was the best!”

WingDings can only nod in agreement. ‘You taught me,’ WingDings thinks to himself.

Not long after that a sax can be heard, which startles WingDings from his private performance. “Mind if I cut in?” Sans asks, tooting out a swirl of notes up and down the neck of his instrument.

“Sure can uncle Sans!” Undyne starts up another piece and Sans somehow finds the notes and tempo without her even announcing what song they’re playing.

Frisk comes in soon after, bobbing her head as she stands beside WingDings.

“What song is this?” WingDings asks her.

“Doesn’t have a name,” Frisk chuckles. “They’re just winging it.”

“Really?” WingDings doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to create something on the fly.

Not long after this Papyrus returns home and he promptly joins their little band, lugging out a large bass and strumming it like some sort of guitar. When they end their impromptu concert WingDings turns to Frisk and asks what instrument she plays.

With a musical laugh she points to the record player. “That’s the only instrument I can play,” she says proudly.

WingDings is about to correct her and tell her that the record player isn’t an instrument, but Sans stops him when he comes around and hugs her from the side. “That’s right kitten,” he agrees. “And you play it nice and easy like.”

Their afternoon full of music comes to a close. The following afternoon they spend it in much the same way, playing on the piano. Sans even comes home early to join in on the fun. They wait for Undyne’s dad, Ethan, to pick her up, but he’s late working so after dinner Undyne heads home despite the dark skies. They let her walk home to her grandmothers, who lives on the other side of the neighborhood. “Why didn’t you offer to take her?” WingDings asks his family.

“She wouldn’t have it,” Papyrus explains. “She enjoys the walk, even in the chill.”

“And she can take care of herself,” Frisk assures him, placing a stack of dirty dishes beside him. “Are you worried about her?”

“A little, my brothers never let me go out alone at night,” WingDings explains, briefly wondering why they bother. Seems a little unnecessary what with his ability to go to other worlds where they can’t even monitor him. “That and I wanted her to help with the dishes.”

“Sound ‘bout right,” Sans laughs. “Growing up, Cordia would wash the dishes and I would dry. We had a good system.”

“Gave Cordia the hard job,” Frisk jokes, pointing her chin to the magic hands drying the dishes and putting them away.

“Didn’t have these lovely helpers back then, WingDings has got it easy,” Sans winks.

“I can’t do what you do with them,” WingDings reveals.

“Just program em’, don’t have to be constantly thinkin’ bout it,” Sans explains. “Here let me teach ya.”

The remainder of their clean up is spent trying to teach WingDings to ‘program’ his hands to do simple tasks. WingDings doesn’t get it immediately which frustrates the young person who wants it to come easy like it does for Sans and Papyrus. Soon Sans is regretting bringing it up because for the rest of the night WingDings is hellbent on learning this skill. Luckily it’s the weekend so they can indulge the boys’ one track mind as they work on the machine. By the time WingDings falls asleep at the work bench, he’s managed to program two hands to dance.

WingDings doesn’t know it but those two hands dance well past the time he’s fallen asleep and is carried off to bed.

For the remainder of the weekend the skeletons work on the machine, while also finalizing holiday plans with rest of the family. WingDings had begun to assume every family event would take place in the Aster built home, but apparently they rotate who hosts, and of course their are in-laws to appease.

For WingDings such events back home aren’t as complicated he thinks. Monster kind, as a whole, are family and events include nearly everyone who is considered a friend. Thanksgiving, a holiday he has never heard of before this point, is a United States holiday and will be spent at Tunga’s family home. Christmas, or Gyftmas, will be celebrated three times with Christmas Eve spent at Cordia’s home, Christmas morning just them and Christmas dinner with Frisk’s mom.

Who lives in New York State.

Rather than ask how they’re going to get all the way to New York, WingDings assumes they’ll be taking the ‘Aster’ way of travel rather than flying by plane.

What WingDings is looking forward to most though is their trip to Knott’s Berry farm before Thanksgiving. Apparently it’s not as large as Disneyland, but WingDings already has some deep opinions on what Disneyland considers ‘quality’.

The days pass quickly and WingDings is actually starting to enjoy his time with Undyne. He plows through his homework at breakneck speeds so he’s ready for whatever mayhem the fish teen has in mind for the day.

WingDings is struggling through writing down his spelling words when his mind wanders to the families holiday plans. “Frisk, I have a question,” WingDings declares to Frisk who is sitting across from him, organizing mail and looking through bills.

“Ask away Wing-a-Ling,” she hums, briefly glancing at him past her reading glasses before returning to work.

“Can we take Undyne with us to Knott’s Berry Farm?” WingDings asks, not sure if Undyne’s family would have the money or have plans for that day.

“That’s a sweet idea,” Frisk praises him, encouraging WingDings uncertainty to all but vanish completely with this simple reassurance. “I’ll call Papyrus later while you distract Undyne, that way he can ask Mr. Ethan. Don’t mention it to Undyne though, we don’t want her getting her hopes up or influencing her father’s decision.”

“Yes Aunty,” WingDings agrees and no sooner are the words out of his mouth than Undyne is coming through their kitchen door, loudly announcing her presence with its irritating screech and bang. It’s almost as if the door is competing to be as loud as Undyne.

“Tell me what?” the fish teen demands.

“It’s a surprise Undyne,” Frisk says and winks at WingDings. “We are sworn to secrecy.”

“Noooo!” Undyne lets out a loud whine and drapes herself over WingDings, who is doing his best to stifle his giggles at her antics and push her off. “I’ll get it out of you by the end of the day.”

“No you won’t,” WingDings promises, playfully shoving her off and racing for the door.

“You can run, but I know where you live!” Undyne proclaims, making chase and starting their afternoon of fun outside.

Only to quickly return when the cold ocean breeze goes right through WingDings bones. He returns to retrieve a heavier coat, then goes outside again. Sadly it’s too cold to get many kids interested in playing outside so Undyne and WingDings wind up playing hand ball against the garage together. WingDings cheats to keep the ball in play, but it’s all he can do to keep up with Undyne.

During the entire game Undyne tries to figure out the secret, a convoluted version of twenty questions, that WingDings does his best to keep in play, much like the ball. WingDings can’t even guess at why Undyne asks some of her questions. What does eating squash have to do with anything? Or buying a mouse trap? Perhaps she’s only trying to throw him off his game, which she does manage to do several times.

At one point Frisk calls out past the kitchen screen door asking for their help in the kitchen. After washing up they help Frisk prepare some mac n’ cheese, with mashed potatoes, and canned meat. WingDings forces himself to eat the canned meat, but it tastes awful.

Undyne’s dad is late again, but at this point his adopted elder sister is a part of the dinner ritual anyway, sitting around with the rest of the family and eating.

“Undyne I have some good news, you’ll be coming with us to Knott’s Berry farm next week,” Papyrus announces after they’ve eaten most of the food and Undyne is quiet long enough for Papyrus to get a word in edge wise.

For a second Undyne doesn’t react until she’s on her feet. “What!? I haven’t been there since I was five!” Undyne’s face lights up and WingDings is glad that even a teenager is excited about going to a family amusement park. “This is going to be great! Nearly as great as you Papyrus!”

Papyrus doesn’t seem to know how to take that last statement, but he smiles at her as WingDings tries and fails to contain his chuckles. His Pa is perhaps one of the few Papyrus’s that wouldn’t immediately agree and be humble upon receiving such praise. Perhaps this Papyrus will take to it, if Undyne says it enough.

Fitting that the name comes from her in this world.

“Thank you for taking me,” Undyne finally says.

“Of course,” Papyrus pats her head and puts a palm towards WingDings. “It was Roman’s idea, he wanted you to have some fun with us.”

“Roman that’s rockin’!” Undyne launches herself forward and hugs him, lifting him partially out of his chair. “Rockin’ Roman, that’s you.”

“You’re welcome,” WingDings hugs her back, very much enjoying her hugs and attention.

“Gee, that’s only a week away!” Undyne celebrates all over again, but eventually she lets go of WingDings long enough to help him with the dishes.

Pleased that Undyne is happy, and that she is helping him with the dishes this time, WingDings listens to her rattle on about what she remembers about Knott’s Berry Farm. For once he doesn’t mind her ramblings, her excitement contagious as they stand side by side and WingDings has the strangest feeling that this is where she belongs. Gushing with loud joy and kindness that is subtly always present in everything she does without any effort.

Notes:

So as my first note suggests, Undyne was not suppose to be in this story at all, but she somehow got in here anyway. Undyne is my favorite character in Undertale so really I shouldn’t be surprised. There isn’t as much ‘historic’ stuff going on in this chapter, but I did draw upon my parents again for the ‘kick the can’ segment.

Since the ending hasn’t been written yet I’ll be taking another hiatus to try and finish this story. I know that if I go on to the next installment without finishing this one I have a slim chance of ever coming back to this one. I excel at starting stories or writing short stories, not finishing them. But I’ll try my best to wrap this up in a few chapters.

Chapter 16: Playground with Less Trivia

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait, I’ve had this chapter done for a while now, but I wasn’t ever ready to post it. No time like the present. Enjoy a trip to Knott’s and some good cousin bonding.

Their trip to Knott’s Berry Farm is upon them before WingDings knows it, meaning he is once again sharing a bed with George as the family gathers at the Aster residence. The only difference is that Undyne has to share a room with Calibri and Ebrima. WingDings isn’t sure if the girl’s get any sleep that night, probably just as much rest as he does with George’s constant bouncing and kicking throughout the night.

Early in the morning the family crams into their vehicles with WingDings once again wondering how they are getting away with this. He’s wedged between Undyne and Ebrima with Papyrus taking up the seat behind Coal who is once again acting as their chauffeur.

“The important thing is not to have you’re expectations too high for Knott’s,” Calibri tells them from the middle front seat that doesn’t exist. She easily falls into her ‘I’m the boss’ of this family despite Undyne being older than her. Although Undyne might as well be a little kid considering how excited she is, bouncing up and down like George. “This place is more enjoyable for adults.”

“Why is that?” WingDings asks, ever ready to ask questions anytime and anywhere.

“They have a lot of live entertainment and a calm atmosphere,” Calibri explains as Papyrus hides a chuckle behind one hand. The quick Calibri easily spots his subtlety and addresses him directly. “Uncle Papyrus do you have something to add, seeing as you are an adult.”

“You’re right, Knott’s is more calm and has a lot of great live entertainment,” Papyrus agrees. “But it’s also free to walk into the park without paying an admission fee. There aren’t too many attractions that require a ticket to experience. The themed old west ghost town is chalk full of detail and you don’t have to pay a dime to see it.”

“So basically it’s lighter on the check book,” WingDings waters it all down.

“Basically,” Papyrus chuckles and reaches over to pat his head, messing with Undyne’s wild red curls as his hand passes her as well. “But they also have better food.”

“That’s true,” Ebrima and Calibri agree simultaneously.

“They have the best chicken dinners in the country,” Papyrus explains. “And their jams are delicious as well. The strawberries are actually grown in Ventura county.”

“Cool!” Undyne shouts, which is an announcement to everyone present that Undyne’s mouth has been unlocked and the remainder of their car ride will be spent listening to her. WingDings doesn’t mind, having gotten used to it, but Calibri rolls her eyes and turns her back to them from her front row perch.

When they arrive at the park Coal drops them off at the front before driving off in search of parking. Since it’s the week of Thanksgiving it’s a little busy, but the crowds aren’t nearly as dense as they were at Disneyland.

The walk through the counter turnstiles is quick and it isn’t long before George has found WingDings hand. As expected the little boy is trying his very best to drag WingDings in a random direction. WingDings is surprised to hear the whistle of a train and see an accurate old west town. The town has everything, with it’s own saloon, jail, and market, the sight of which takes WingDings back to his life with Walter.

Unlike Disneyland this old west feels a bit more real to WingDings, except for the crypt that people are gaily wandering through as if it were a candy shop.

Beside him Calibri waits, arms crossed and pointedly looking down at WingDings. Any minute now she’s going to start tapping her foot. Ah there it goes now.

“Do you need something dear cousin?” WingDings asks with a heavy amount of charm and condescending pep.

“Yes,” Calibri says undeterred. “Aren’t you going to point out historical inaccuracies?”

“Naw, this is suppose to be a ‘ghost’ town after all,” WingDings replies smartly, displaying one hand outward to the entrance of the the ‘Ghost Town Village’ sign. “It isn’t suppose to look lived in, just old and western.”

With a huff Calibri rolls her eye lights, but accepts his answer. “At least today won’t be full of trivia I guess,” Calibri says with a smile.

“Kid’s go ahead and explore the grave yard, we’re going to buy some tickets for the train and horse show,” Cordia calls to them. “Undyne you’re in charge.”

Everything else in that statement is fine, but that last part worries WingDings. No sooner are the golden words spoken then Undyne is hollering out her lungs, taking each girls shoulder to charge head first into the cemetery.

First indicator that this isn’t a real cemetery is that they’re in an amusement park. Second indicator is the names and comical notes etched onto the stones. Third indicator is the distinctive lack of silence and all around solemn atmosphere.

That and Undyne is standing directly on top of a grave laughing because it’s ‘thumping’ beneath her feet.

All of the young people proceed to cram on top of the grave to feel it move. Only at a theme park could you get away with this.

“Don’t move,” Heather rushes up to them, pulling out her best friend the camera from her hand bag.

As always Calibri and Ebrima are ready with those smiles as their mother lines up the shot. WingDings and George are quick to recover, offering large smiles to the mother as Undyne give her own grin that looks truly frightening.

Despite Undyne’s questionable grin Heather doesn’t dare ask for another shot, how could she when the teenager looks as if she is fully capable of biting someones hand off.

Although everyone their knows that Undyne would never do such a thing.

At least not to any of them.

After exploring the graveyard, the adults find their children and make their way towards the train station at the back of the park. The trip is slow going as they stop at nearly every store front in the ghost town and explore the buildings. One building is even entirely made of glass bottles! WingDings is surprised that none of the building are false fronts, that every space is meant to be explored and houses a cast of colorful characters. When they finally reach the station they wait in line where they are entertained by show scenes and actors fully immersing them in the experience.

“When was the last time you came here?” WingDings asks Calibri and Ebrima as they wait.

“I think it was two years ago,” Calibri says, “Not too much has changed since then.”

“Feels like longer,” Ebrima says.

“I’ve never been,” George claims.

“You just don’t remember it Georgie,” Calibri corrects him. “We all came together, but this is the first time Frisk, Sans, and Papyrus have been with us.”

“We usually only ever came for the chicken dinner,” Papyrus breaks in briefly before returning his attention to his sister.

“All aboard, the Grand Sierra Railroad,” a man calls from the station and everyone moves forward as one. WingDings doesn’t much appreciate the push and pull of bodies and keeps careful hold of George as to not lose him.

Some workers move a wooden stair to one of the cars allowing their group to board. Unlike the train cars at Disneyland these cars make more sense to WingDings. They aren’t open to the elements, with windows and seats facing each other to allow people to talk to one another. This train isn’t so much about showing the Knott’s grounds as much as it is giving guests a taste of traveling by train. It’s about the train, not the amusement park.

The ‘kids’ sit together facing one another while the other adults take the seats close by. Calibri and Ebrima have impish grins on their faces, looking at WingDings, Undyne, and George across from them and giggling behind whispers and cupped hands.

Smiling at the younger girls Undyne is quick to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Calibri is quick to answer.

“Not even a hint,” WingDings prods, looking at Ebrima since she’s more likely to give it away.

“Nah ah, you can wait,” Calibri says, smiling at her sister who smiles right back. The few times they get along is when they’re up to something mischievous or when keeping a secret. This is one of those times.

“I think I have some idea,” Undyne leans back just as the train gives a loud whistle and lurches forward.

The shaky rumble of the wheels pushing forward and the creak of the coupling rod as they strain to move the large train is a sound that WingDings can feel through every bone. Hissing steam and the chill of a whistle add to the chorus and there is just something so invigorating in hearing this machine work. Arguably he heard these very sounds at Disneyland, but he was distracted and tired when they road the train there, this time he isn’t distracted and has a clear mind to enjoy it.

As they slowly move forward WingDings glances out the window, leaning forward with George in his lap. They aren’t long underway when their is a holler from one end of the car.

“Hey now, everyone put their hands up! This here is a hold up!” a man hollers from the front of the car.

A ripple of laughter and giggles vibrates with the chug of the train as two bandanna and cowboy dressed ruffians step into their car. For this being a hold up no one seems all that worried about it and now WingDings knows why his cousins were giggling so heartily.

As the two men make their way down the car they ask who has any money and everyone tells them they don’t have any. Apparently this is what they are suppose to say as the robbers make a comment about everyone being so dirt poor on this train and moving along.

When they reach their group of four they stop and the younger of the two points at the girls. “Hey boss, I think I seen double!”

“By golly, you two little ladies twins?” the ‘boss’ asks.

“No! I’m the eldest,” Calibri is quick to tell them. “I’m a lot taller than my sister.”

“And she won’t let you forget it either,” Undyne butts in as WingDings and George snickers.

“Hey now, no snickering, can’t you see here this is a hold up,” the lackey robber haphazardly waves his pistol around making a show of dropping it and diving for it. “I got it!!!”

“You robbers are lucky you’re so lousy at robbing, otherwise I’d arrest ya,” Undyne declares, hands planted on her hips with that large monstrous laugh of hers echoing through the entire train.

“You work for the sheriff!?! Ah, a thousand pardons, excuse me missy, many apologies,” the lackey quickly gets to their feet and makes a show of sputtering in a nervous fashion.

“Don’t be sputtering like that you nincompoop, I’m the boss not this here young lady,” the boss declares before turning and taking his hat off for Undyne. “No offense of course, you’d make an excellent boss miss.”

“Of course I would,” Undyne declares brightly with a scary grin and an encore performance of her trademark laughter.

“Folks! That here is the excellent makings of train robber, your group gets a free pass miss,” the boss declares. “As for the rest of you lot where’s that money! We aren’t getting any poorer.” The robbers continue down the train shouting and waving their pistols around haphazardly, the second of which drops it again for comedic affect.

As they continue along they say things like “Why you smiling? Only rich people smile,” Or WingDings favorite. “All them rich people are at Disneyland, we should rob their train next time.”

As the men leave their car the crowd of people clap and laugh at the men’s entertainment.

“You really gave them a show,” Calibri tells Undyne still laughing and clapping her hands. “If only they’d known your father works as a police man.”

“Then they’d really be ‘quaking in their boots’,” WingDings chuckles as George snickers in his lap.

Once there trip is complete the kids play around on a replica of old wagon trains, chasing George from one wagon to the next while Undyne keeps watch. The adults visit the shops and the children explore on their own. WingDings enjoys the bottle house, which is apparently a replica of a similar building in Texas . . . wherever that is.

There is a gold panning attraction at the ‘Gold Mine’ area and a shooting gallery, but despite having some money in his pocket WingDings instead explores the ‘peek-in’ buildings along the main street. Some of the peek-in’s include an Assay Office, Laundry, and Barber Shop. There are some painted wooden manikins sitting on benches throughout the area and Heather is quick to snag a few shots of the children. When they are watching the blacksmiths work making horseshoes the adults coral them all and take them to the Haunted Shack, another paid ticketed attraction.

The attraction, for lack of a better word, is bizarre in WingDings opinion, but at least Heather has an excuse to take more pictures of them with her camera. Pictures standing sideways, standing on tables and chair, and the popular self sustaining broom! Honestly WingDings isn’t impressed until he starts wrapping his skull around how such illusions are possible. Once he looks at these illusions as puzzles to solve, WingDings enjoys the experience more and has a fun time talking the others ears off about his theories.

After experiencing the Haunted Shack, they enjoy a few more shops. WingDings buys a souvenir, something he never had the chance to do at Disneyland. When they all have something they are happy with, the large family heads over to the Chicken Dinner Restaurant just outside of the park.

“You know what Calibri, there was one major inaccuracy in the Ghost Town,” WingDings says as they walk along the side of the villa style restaurant.

With a lazy roll of her head and a lifted brow Calibri sighs and entertains him by asking, “What inaccuracy might that be my dear cousin.”

“A real ghost town has less people,” WingDings grins.

“That’s because those Ghost Towns weren’t owned by Knott’s,” Calibri smartly replies and you know what WingDings can respect that answer. “Uncle Papy should take you to the real Calico some time.”

“If we have the chance,” Papyrus chuckles, joining a line with a bunch of other people.

“Why are we eating such an early dinner?” WingDings asks Papyrus peeking ahead and rather surprised there is any line at all at this time of day.

“This place is really popular,” Calibri is quick to inform him.

“People come from all over the area to grab some of Mrs. Knott’s famous fried chicken,” Papyrus explains. “She’s been running this restaurant since the mid thirties . . . around when Cambria was born.”

“Mommy!” George celebrates before scrunching his small nose and looking up at his mother with narrow eyes. “You’re old.”

“George!” Cambria tries to appear upset, but she struggles to hold back her giggles at her son’s point blank observation.

“Don’t worry, you still look young,” George quickly assures her and that earns him a sloppy kiss that he tries to squirm away from. There is just no winning when you call a woman old. WingDings decides then and there to never point out an aging woman’s age . . . ever.

Now if only he’ll remember that.

Once they’re inside they are given a special place to sit since their group is so large. To WingDings surprise they don’t have to wait for their meals very long. As long as it has chicken that is. Do they have these chickens on an assembly line or something? After one bite though WingDings has to admit it’s really good.

Fried chicken isn’t really a meal back home. For one thing Papyrus would likely consider it unhealthy, but there aren’t many places in the town he lives that sell fried chicken. At least not like this.

If only he had his inventory, than maybe he could store a piece to share with Sans when he goes home.

When he goes home . . . the thought lingers in WingDings mind like the tasty chicken as they leave Knott’s for the day. Has it really only been three month since he was with his brothers? Feels like longer. As WingDings looks at the faces of his found family sitting scrunched in the DeSoto he can see himself living years with them happily. The same way he did as the Blaster Beasts.

While this world technology is a bit archaic for his liking WingDings really enjoys the people and feels a strange heaviness in his soul for not wanting to leave so soon. WingDings thinks this feeling might be guilt, but he hasn’t done anything wrong? Would his brothers be sad or disappointed to learn he actually enjoys some of these worlds enough to not wish to return home so quickly?

WingDings’ guilt is swiftly forgotten when they return home, the kids scrambling to retrieve their favorite games from the cabinet and take over the living room as they talk about the day and play. They aren’t at it long before they are simply lying around and looking through Frisk View Master, because they’re so tired. George is put to bed and Undyne is picked up by her father soon after.

As the adults trickle out to talk in the living space, WingDings, Calibri, and Ebrima quietly pass the room where George is sleeping and go to WingDings room.

Ebrima and WingDings sit on the bed as Calibri takes the old rocking chair in the corner. As WingDings and Ebrima fight to stay awake Calibri reads ‘The Hobbit’ to them. She is an excellent reader, unlike himself, yet WingDings can’t find it in himself to be jealous or annoyed as he listens to the story of a reluctant hobbit who is pulled along onto his first ‘real’ adventure.

From the way Calibri reads the story WingDings can tells she’s read it before. Her eyes are glowing bright, the words crisp and clear, even the difficult words are easy. Based on the stories she tells and plays out with them WingDings knows she would enjoy hearing his story.

And for the first time he actually wants to share it with someone his own age.

A real adventure, with peril and mystery, not the sort that comes from a book or amusement park.

WingDings prefers the amusement parks.

In the morning the house is a rush of activity again, people packing up and WingDings joining in since he’ll be staying the next few days with Ebrima and Calibri at their home. They’re spending Thanksgiving at Tunga’s home in Santa Barbara and WingDings is looking forward to spending time in their home. The girls are excited too.

WingDings is excited that is until they are all crammed into the De Soto. Seriously why can’t they just take a short cut!

The girls’ home isn’t quite as large as the Aster home, but they somehow find a way to fit everyone inside. WingDings will be sleeping in the living room with Papyrus on some metal fold out contraption. When WingDings asks what it’s called they tell him it’s a metal folding bed and WingDings doesn’t know why he was expecting them to called anything different.

“Let’s go on an adventure!” Calibri declares as soon as the Aster’s are settled. Sleeping arrangement have been made and the discussion for what to eat for dinner is being debated by the adults. As long as they get food WingDings doesn’t really care what they decided.

“Can we play a game?” WingDings asks, hoping to add another option to the mix of activities. While Calibri’s stories are entertaining, they also require listening to her and letting her boss him around. In the back of his mind, far far away, he has the niggling of a memory from his adventures under the sea. A memory of ‘playing house’ and being forced into a closet?

In short, Calibri is a lot better at ‘playing pretend’ than that experience, but playing games puts him on equal footing with Calibri.

“Sure, we can play some games,” Calibri agrees, leading them to a cupboard under a collection of books. Opening the cabinet reveals an assortment of games, new and old. There is such an impressive collection, making it difficult to pick one. Some are familiar, but WingDings would rather try something new.

“We should play this one,” Calibri picks out an older game that consists of only a board and a circular metal tin. The game is called ‘Coppit and Cappit’ and the directions are written on the back of the board in three languages. The game looks just like Fang den Hut. “Dad got this as a gift from uncle WingDings. He got it from overseas during the war.”

“Isn’t this Fang den Hut?” WingDings asks, taking a peek at the familiar game board and choosing not to bring attention to the name of WingDings. Now that he knows the truth about the man, there is no reason to pester the girls about it.

“It is! Although this one isn’t as old as the one grandma and grandpa have,” Calibri smiles, standing tall with her head thrown back as if she’s guessed the correct answer to a game show.

“That one was pretty old,” WingDings agrees. The board is falling apart and well loved, while this one is well cared for. “Do you have Clue?” He asks, peeking back towards the cabinet only for Calibri to shove him towards her room.

“Don’t you think we’ve played that enough Roman?” Calibri complains as WingDings laughs and Ebrima playfully pushes him into the room as well. Playing along, WingDings crumbles, forcing the girls to catch him and drag him into the room. “You can be such a pill sometimes Roman,” Calibri huffs.

Ebrima only laughs, falling over WingDings and flattening him to the floor.

After they get their giggles out, they play a few games and have dinner with the rest of the family. That evening, when the adults have congregated in the living area to talk late into the night, the kids slink away to the bedroom where Calibri eagerly sets the stage of her latest creative story. WingDings stops her before she gets too far though, because this is his moment to share a bit of his story without them knowing the truth. And this way, he’ll be the one bossing them around rather than the other way around.

“Can I give it a try,” WingDings asks as Calibri rifles through her collection of dress up clothes under her bed. There was a time, a long time ago, he told his story to his beast friends in another world, but they didn’t know the truth. This will be just like that.

Calibri hesitates and the amount of time she takes debating with the answer is long enough for WingDings nonexistent patience runs out. “You’re always telling the stories Calibri,” he tells her with a huff, hoping she can be reasoned with. “I want a turn, but don’t worry you can still be the main character.” Letting Calibri play the role of himself is strange, but he can compromise.

Blowing out her lips with a buzz Calibri rolls her eye lights but agrees. “Fine, you can tell this one, until it get’s boring,” Calibri replies, encouraging a near identical eye roll from WingDings. She’s nearly as annoying as his beast siblings were.

Still lovable though.

“I don’t think you’ll get bored,” WingDings says confidently and paints the scene. “You are a hero born with a curse. Pieces of your soul have been scattered across the world and you are on a quest to find them all.”

A long gasp is sung from Ebrima as her sockets sparkle with interest. Calibri might be the story teller, but Ebrima is a great listener and knows what sorts of stories she likes to hear. Calibri’s sockets widen a bit, but she refrains from gasping like her sister.

Encouraged by their response WingDings continues his story, describing the setting of his Beast families home. WingDings gives Ebrima the role of Ariel, the daughter of the chief, while WingDings gives himself the role of Sans, the hero’s guardian and doctor.

“You also have the magical ability to turn back time when you die,” WingDings tacks on, trying to make the ability of dying not sound overly important.

“Are you sure this is a Mesoamerican story? Sounds more like Science Fiction,” Calibri fusses.

WingDings ignores her and continues, normally it’s his job to question historical inaccuracies. “The piece of your soul is hidden in a step pyramid,” he says, placing Ebrima in front of the bed, which is playing the part of the pyramid. “But the pyramid is sacred! The chief and her family live there and not even the hero has permission to step foot inside. The warrior Ariel stands between you and the piece of your soul, defending her home of the old god’s. What do you do oh great hero?”

“You’re giving me a choice?” Calibri asks baffled at this change in pace. While WingDings would love nothing more than to boss her around he also knows she won’t put up with it like he does.

“It’s like a choose you’re own adventure story!” Ebrima is excited, brandishing her chosen weapon with a twist of her wrist. The prop is an old wand, but WingDings chooses not to explain that this kingdom uses their teeth and claws to fight.

“Yes, just like that!” WingDings encourages her, pleased when she smiles up at him. Maybe he’s not so bad at this pretend game as he thought.

Except is it really playing pretend when it’s based on truth?

“I will fight for what is mine!” Calibri declares using a sword made of paper to take on her sisters wand.

Letting them ‘play fight’ a bit WingDings continues when Calibri’s sword is flopping around from overuse. “Since the hero is without a complete soul they die,” WingDings says, putting a karate chop move down on the sword so it falls from Calibri’s hand. Now technically that isn’t how it really happened, but creative license is a thing. Picking up the sword WingDings is almost worried he might have upset Calibri when she doesn’t react right away, but with a grin she proceeds to fall to the floor and make a dramatic show of being defeated.

“I am dead,” she says, collapsed on the floor. “Now what.”

WingDings fixes the sword as best he can with tape and hands it back to her. “You have gone back in time, just before the fight,” WingDings explains. “Now, what will you do this time great hero.”

“Will I lose if I fight the chiefs daughter again?” Calibri asks.

“You will,” WingDings confirms.

“Hmmm,” Calibri once again surprises WingDings when she doesn’t become frustrated, actually thinking about what to do. “I distract the chiefs daughter. I fight, but let her win before I can get hurt.” They act through the fight again, but this time Calibri lets Ebrima tap her with the wand and land on her back.

“That’s perfect,” WingDings is impressed and a little embarrassed since he didn’t think Calibri would try that. Somehow she perfectly guessed exactly what he did to avoid fighting Ariel way back when. Did they have more in common than he thought? “Ebrima . . . I mean Ariel, what do you want to do.”

“Oh uhhh, what do you think I should do?” Ebrima asks, cheeks glowing red from being put on the spot.

“Maybe you should make sure the hero is okay,” WingDings suggests, wishing to get the story moving along.

“I’ll do that,” Ebrima helps her sister up and then takes her to the bed, where they sit side to said. “I feel bad for hurting the hero so I take her home with me.”

“Now that the hero is in the great pyramid she takes this chance to find the piece of her soul hidden in an old giant vase,” WingDings says, looking around and picking up a jewellery box Calibri has on her dresser. He’s careful with the box and places it beside her. “Do you take the piece of you’re soul?”

“I do!” Calibri opens the jewelry box and pulls out one of her bracelets.

“Sadly when the hero takes back the piece of her soul she dies again because she is very sick from being without her soul for so long,” WingDings opens his hand, asking for the bracelet without words. “You’ll need to find a doctor to help you fit the piece of your soul back into place.”

“What!?!” Calibri plants her hands at her sides and with an exaggerated ‘ugh’ collapses back on her bed. “How many times does the hero die?”

“That was the last time,” WingDings promises, keeping his hand forward, waiting for the bracelet.

With a huff, Calibri puts the jewelry in his palm and he manages to catch it before it falls through the hole in his bones. “I was wondering what the point of the doctor character was,” Calibri snickers.

“That’s right, the hero learns her lesson and accepts the help of her doctor,” WingDings grins. “With his help she is able to safely return the pieces of her soul and live a long healthy life.”

“Doctor’s are scary, but I’m glad the hero is okay,” Ebrima says, hopping off the bed and gathering up their props to use for another time.

“Roman where did you read that story?” Calibri asks, returning her jewelry box to the end table.

“What do you mean?” WingDings asks, checking the time. The clock reads a little after half past nine. This is way past after their usual bed time, which is probably why WingDings is irritated with the innocent question.

“I get my stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” Calibri explains, but again WingDings wonders why she is bothering to ask him something so obvious. “Your story had a lot of details, you didn’t just make that up. It was too good.”

Irritated at the suggestion that he couldn’t make up a good story on his own, WingDings keeps his mouth shut, eyes glowing a mix between the Gaster yellow of this world and his inherited red.

“Don’t fight,” Ebrima quickly steps in, more in tune with WingDings emotions than anyone else in the room.

“We aren’t fighting, I’m just asking where he got the idea,” Calibri says matter-of-factly, placing her arms over her chest. Her go to pose when on the defensive.

“I got it from . . .” WingDings stops himself. He can’t tell them the truth, no matter how satisfying it would be. Sans and Papyrus have the best of intentions and he doesn’t want to make things harder on them. They don’t deserve that. “Myself,” WingDings finishes off softly, knowing this answer is a bad one.

The girls look at him a moment, several thoughts bouncing through Calibri’s skull. When she opens her mouth with a tone of snobbish annoyance Ebrima takes her arms, stopping her. The ten year old takes a moment to reconsider, actually looking at WingDings wilted frame. “Did it come from your life before?” she finally asks.

“Yes,” WingDings jumps on the easy out, wishing he’d thought of it on his own.

“Okay,” just like that Calibri drops the subject, like magic!

Steadily WingDings wilted shame and regret fall away, allowing his to stand straighter, realizing this new power he’s been given. The idea of someone pitying him is bothersome, but the results give him an easy out of explaining who he really is.

Brightening, WingDings steps forward and hugs them both. Ebrima gladly returns the hug, while Calibri releases an exaggerated sigh before awkwardly hugging him back.

“Can I tell you another story!” WingDings asks, free to tell his stories without fear.

“Yes!” Ebrima shouts while her sister lets out another sigh.

“I guess,” Calibri says, a small smile on her face as she takes a seat on the floor.

Eagerly WingDings tells them more about the ‘hero’ from his beast life, but they don’t act it out. As he tells the story he steadily loses steam, the late hour catching up with Ebrima and himself. Before he’s even done Ebrima and WingDings have fallen asleep beside Calibri who only wakes them long enough to put them to bed.

They are all unaware of Papyrus standing beside the door frame listening quietly to every word, a fond smile on his face.

Notes:

Like the Disneyland chapter, I could go on and on about Knott’s Berry Farm and what a charming place it is, but I’ll keep it short. I only went once as a child, but my dad went throughout his childhood. So once again I picked his brain for some of this chapter. The ‘playing pretend’ segment was a happy accident and very much was taken from my own life. Once again sorry for the wait. The coming chapters won’t be as well done as the previous ones, but I am determined to finish this story.

Chapter 17: Family Worth Keeping

Notes:

Warning for sick skeletons, but nothing graphic.

The following day is Thanksgiving, a holiday WingDings is having trouble seeing the merit in at first. The entire family is present including members he’s never met before from Heather’s side of the family and Charles. All the noise is aggravating and overwhelming at times. He’ll just stay planted in front of the television and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade thank you. But the parade eventually ends encouraging the kids to retreat to the girls room and play games. Sadly they are expected to mingle most of the time in the most awkward moments WingDings thinks he’s ever experienced.

What’s worse than the mingling though is waiting for the food. The smell of cooking food, saturates the entire house and there is no escape. Crisp sweet honey glaze sings against WingDings teeth, along with the spice and warmth of homemade stuffing. They are allowed to snack on a few things during the afternoon, but they are not allowed to satisfied the growing ache of hunger in their souls.

There is also pie in the oven.

Only once WingDings has a a plate full of food that evening does he see the merit in such a holiday. Although, before they eat, Frisk gives them all a very humbling reminder that the natives view this day as one of mourning and rightly so.

If they feel so strongly about how wrong it’s founding is than why are they celebrating it? This time period is so confusing sometimes, what with all the racist and cultural misappropriations, but what can WingDings do? Tell them they are all living in the past because they are?

At least the food is good.

After eating WingDings doesn’t feel much like moving around, but the youngest members of the large family want to play. When the youngest members of the family start making too much noise they are all kicked outside to find something to do in the backyard . . . in the dark. While one of the older cousins organizes some games WingDings takes a seat on one of the metal and plastic woven lawn chairs. Having no interest in joining the game of flashlight tag, WingDings watches silently. There is no way he’s playing a game out in the dark. Not because he’s scared, but because it’s dangerous. The lie is good enough he believes it.

“You’re being a party pooper Roman,” Calibri complains, standing once again by his chair with a hand placed on her hip.

“You know I’d win,” WingDings shrugs as she lightly slaps his arm.

“And so humble too,” Calibri rolls her eyes. She looks out at her sister and George playing with the others. For whatever reason she only watches until finally pulling up a chair and taking a seat. “I’m just tired is all,” she claims stubbornly.

“Sure,” WingDings doesn’t question it, leaning back in the chair and inevitably falling asleep while listening to George squeal as he runs through the night.

When WingDings wakes he’s in his cot with Papyrus sleeping close by.

In the morning they return home laden with leftovers, because Cordia wouldn’t let them leave otherwise. Back at the house, WingDings is relieved at the quiet and calm that surrounds him. The family begins the process of unpacking the Christmas decor before calling it a day and relaxing around the television. WingDings busies himself with his building supplies as the adults watch the news. While WingDings tinkers, the adults discuss future plans like shopping for Christmas and the upcoming potluck at church. The thought of more food makes WingDings feel a little ill, but he keeps his mouth shut.

As soon as the week starts WingDings feels as if the quiet, calm, and consistency of his life is turned upside down. After school Frisk picks him up and they are zooming off to the department store. They are there for what feels like hours, but it is only forty-five minutes. Frisk buys a few things, but is rushing home so they are there to unlock the door when Undyne shows up on their side porch.

WingDings is getting a head start on his homework for the week and Undyne at least makes an attempt before giving up and dragging the skeleton to the living room. “Hey aunty can you put on some tunes,” she asks, looking through the collection of records in the cabinet nook beside the record player.

“What are we doing?” WingDings asks, knowing that whatever Undyne chooses, is what they’ll wind up doing.

“We’re going to dance!” Undyne declares, before she levels narrow eyes at him and places two fists on her hips. “You know how to cut a rug right?”

Sighing WingDings lops his arms over his chest, putting his weight on one hip as he clearly shows how he feels about her assumptions. “Papa has been teaching me,” he says, proving that he isn’t completely inept in this time period any longer.

“That’s great let’s Swing!” Undyne takes his hand and eagerly awaits for Frisk to set the disk.

His aunt is holding back a chuckle, cheeks glowing pink beneath all that makeup she puts on her face. WingDings wonders what is so funny, but as soon as the music crackles into the megaphone Undyne is swinging him around. In seconds flat WingDings learns exactly what Frisk was keeping hidden behind her perfect smile.

Undyne cannot dance. At least not the way Papyrus, Frisk and Sans have been attempting to teach him. This wild creature is all over the place, swinging him out and pulling him back in like he’s some kind of skeleton yo-yo.

“Undyne, your timing is all off!” WingDings complains, summoning a hand to shove awkwardly in her face.

“My timing is not off, you’re going to slow!’ Undyne shouts back.

As they dance and shout at each other Frisk is forced to intervene when WingDings nearly stomps off in protest.

“Are you giving up?” Frisk asks, hand to her hip and a playful twinkle in her eye.

“No!” both determined souls declare.

“Than let’s try this one more time, but you’ll follow my example,” Frisk tells them.

WingDings agrees immediately while Undyne does so more begrudgingly. In the end WingDings learns that yes he was going too slow, but Undyne also accepts that her count is off. Turns out the Middle School is going to have a Holiday Dance and she wants to be the best dancer there. WingDings foresees that they’ll be dancing everyday after school in the coming weeks, but he can’t say he’s bothered. After all, it beats playing outside in the chilly breeze of the Ventura marine layer.

As WingDings predicted he spends the following days dancing with Undyne, while juggling several trips to stores with Frisk, homework, decorating the house and baking cookies for the countless neighbors and family friends on the Astor families list. The rush is a little overwhelming and WingDings completely forgets about the machine, even as Papyrus and Sans continue to work on it in the evenings, late into the night.

On Thursday, WingDings is feeling very sluggish and so is Papyrus, by the look of him.

“I can take him to school today,” Frisk tells Papyrus, taking one look at him and sensing his wariness in much the same way as WingDings can.

WingDings doesn’t know how to explain it, but he can feel Papyrus’s tired slump in his soul, like someone poured a gallon of liquid iron inside to weight him down.

“I’m all right Frisk,” Papyrus insists, stubbornly making his way to the hall to grab his coat and hat. “This case can’t end soon enough. I only hope we have this wrapped up in time for the holidays.” When he meets Frisk at the kitchen door she has her arms crossed looking up at him as if she were the one who was ten feet tall. “I’m fine,” he insists again, leaning down and kissing her cheek.

In response, Frisk sighs and shakes her hear. “You’re both too stubborn for your own good,” she moves aside, grabbing up WingDings sack lunch. “I’ll see you after school, “ she leans down and kisses WingDings skull as he attempts to slide past her before she can catch him.

Frisk stops him long enough to catch that kiss even as WingDings grumbles down a blush. Deep down he likes the attention and loves Frisk, but back home people don’t just kiss each other like they do here. Although he’s starting to get used to it.

“Be good,” Frisk calls to them both, a look of concern on her face as she touches her lips. A mild look of confusing wavering behind her eyes as Papyrus and WingDings vanish from the driveway and walk up to his school.

As the school appears WingDings blinks his sockets, feeling just a little heavier after traveling through the in-between.

“Have a good day WingDings,” Papyrus tells him softly, using his actually name and rubbing his skull fondly. A second later he’s gone and WingDings walks his way to the school yard in search of Tillo and Roberto.

As the day goes on WingDings can’t stop thinking about Papyrus. WingDings doesn’t know why, but he’s worried about him and feeling a little tired to be honest. The day just seems to drag and WingDings finds himself resting his head on the desk much to Miss Smith’s disappointment. Normally she never has to slap his desk with her ruler, but for first time she does so today, sending WingDings bolt upright with his soul hammering in his chest, nearly toppling from his chair.

After that he doesn’t lay his head down and feels much more alert and awake. Still the day drags and WingDings is bursting out of his seat as soon as the bell rings. Like the days before Frisk is there and they do a little shopping. This time WingDings is able to pick out some gifts for Sans, Papyrus, Frisk and his cousins. He’s walked these aisle so many times at this point it isn’t difficult to do. After insisting he buy everything on his own, so Frisk can’t see her gift, they return home just in time to unlock the door and let Undyne careen into their Piano.

“Lets dance!” she insists immediately and WingDings is so used to the demand he agrees without thinking anything of his homework or the heaviness still weighing down his soul.

If Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree had been written WingDings is sure they would have been dancing to it as they swing around the place there tree will be set up when they get it. The plan is to go to a certain patch up in the mountains and cut one down. Back in his world they have a fake tree after Papyrus and Undyne put it on fire. They wanted to put candles on the tree like the humans used to do it.

Luckily Grillby had been there at the time and they didn’t lose their house.

WingDings really hopes they don’t put candles on their trees in the 1950’s.

As they dance around the dinning room table it soon becomes clear to WingDings that something is wrong with him. Typically Undyne is the one losing track of the beat, but this time it’s WingDings losing pace. When WingDings actually stumbles and falls Undyne realizes that something is actually seriously wrong with her stubborn dance partner.

“Aunty Frisk!” Undyne cradles WingDings, well more like hugs him as he struggles to escape her grasp, insisting he’s all right.

When Frisk peeks in through the kitchen door, she hastily sets the bowl of eggs she is beating down and comes to kneel beside WingDings. Putting a hand to WingDings skull is enough to stop the young skeletons struggles, her cool hand feeling pleasant against his head.

Under her breath, Frisk mutters a quick “Maldición,” and is on her feet again. Picking up the phone she quickly dials, foot tapping as she mutters several strings of phrases in Spanish. All WingDings can make out is Frisk begging the person on the other end to pick up.

“Sans!” Frisk shouts. “Sans something is wrong with Roman and I know Papyrus is incredibly busy with the Duncan investigation is there any chance . . . Sans . . . Sans what’s wrong? . . .idiota! Don’t ‘kitten’ me you bones for brains. I’m on my way!” Without another word, Frisk slams down the receiver and races towards the hall closet.

“Undyne you’re in charge while I’m gone,” Frisk says, a flurry of cloth making it past her muffled voice as she rushes. When she comes back around she’s grabbing the keys to the motorcycle. “Get Roman into bed and take the cookies out of the oven in five minutes. If anyone calls pick it up.”

“Understood!” Undyne nods and in one swift motion picks WingDings up before he can do anything about it.

“I can walk!” WingDings yells as the kitchen door opens and slams shut.

“And I can carry you, same difference!” Undyne shouts back, easily taking him to his room and settling him onto the bed. “You heard Aunty Frisk, you’re on bed rest. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.”

WingDings wants to scream, but his skull is already ringing and he doesn’t want to add to the noise. “This isn’t necessary,” WingDings insists and he wriggles out of his shoes and loosens the first two buttons of his shirt. “I was feeling fine most of the day . . . I wonder what happened?”

“You got sick,” Undyne shrugs, taking his shoes and putting them beside his bed. “Happens to everyone skull brain.”

Before WingDings can make a case for at least staying in the living room, the phone rings in the dinning room.

“Don’t move,” Undyne tells him and dashes down the hall at full speed.

To WingDings credit he at least waits until Undyn’s pounding footsteps reach the end of the hall before crawling out of bed. With careful steps WingDings tiptoes his way part way down the hall, stopping just before the stairwell since Undyne could spy him sneaking if she’s facing the hall. Stopping where he’s at, WingDings sits low to the cold ground and listens.

He also takes the time to turn off the oven with a discreet magic hand because it’s been about five minutes.

“Dad why are you calling?” Undyne asks, loud astonishment easily echoing through the house. Perhaps leaving his room wasn’t necessary. Undyne’s voice carries through the entire house. She can probably even be heard in the basement.

“Wait what!? Uhhhh, actually . . .” Undyne teeters off and WingDings can hear her walk a pace only to turn around and go back towards the phone she’s tethered to. “Frisk isn’t home . . . right now,” Undyne says softly.

“Well Roman and I were dancing then he nearly collapsed then Frisk called Sans and she started freaking out and left on the motorcycle to go get him,” Undyne rattles off in one breath, taking a large gasping intake of air before continuing. “Frisk left me in charge until she got back. . . You’re coming over now? But what about work?”

There is a pause and Undyne opens her mouth to speak several times, but she listens intently to Mister Sur. “You got it dad, orders received.” WingDings can see Undyne salute from his hiding spot, which is his cue to scamper back to his room. In this moment WingDings wishes his room wasn’t the very last room in the house, because Undyne easily catches a glimpse of his foot as he disappears into his room.

“Hey I saw that!” Undyne races down the hall and by the time WingDings is on the bed she’s entering his door. “I told you to stay in bed.”

“I’m not good at following orders,” WingDings offers as his explanation.

“Well you have to follow this one because it’s coming from Frisk,” Undyne reminds him, stepping further into the room. “You want Santa Claus to give you a lot of gifts don’t you?”

“. . . You believe in Santa Claus?” WingDings asks instead.

Now it is Undyne’s turn to be at a loss for words. “You don’t believe in Santa Claus? What kid doesn’t believe in Father Christmas!” Undyne shouts. “How do they keep you so well behaved.”

A deadpan scowl is WingDings initial answer to that lovely assumption. “Maybe I don’t have to be threatened with coal to be well behaved,” WingDings offers and regrets it when Undyne flies towards him for a noogie, only to stop and kick the wall just before catching him.

“Dang it I can’t noogie a sick kid! Gaaaahhhh!” the fish teen screams as WingDings uncurls himself from his sloppy huddle. “Well you better not move because I’m in charge and . . .” she sniffs the air. “DAMN it the cookies!!!” And just like that Undyne is racing out of his room again to scrape Frisk’s cookies off the pan.

Shaking his head WingDings shuffles out of the bed. If he’s going to be stuck in his room he might as well be comfortable. As he stands though the world swims and he is forced to latch onto his dresser as he regains his bearings. Biting his lower lip, WingDings grabs a change of clothes and goes to the bathroom ensuring that Undyne won’t barge in.

WingDings doesn’t like being sick. When he gets sick his brothers take him out of school and fret over him. Sometimes it requires a lot of hospital visits if it gets bad enough. The medicine the Sans from the Blaster world gave him helps, but it doesn’t work with normal illness which this seems to be.

Carefully, WingDings changes, going slow as he swiftly deteriorates. This sickness is progressing a lot quicker now or perhaps he’s running low on DT to fight it’s effects. When he opens the door Undyne looks about ready to shout at him again, but he must look horrible because all that fire swiftly vanishes. Instead she steps back and allows him to walk back to his room.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Undyne says after tucking him into bed. WingDings is too tired to offer any other suggestions and actually appreciates the cool drink. As he drifts to sleep a cool wash cloth slides onto his skull, offering him some relief.

Strangely, as he drifts in and out of sleep, he has dreams. Dreams of Sans being practically carried into bed by Frisk and another dream of Papyrus being dragged to bed by Mister Sur and Frisk. He remembers seeing Undyne in and out of his room, before she eventually leaves him with a fresh wash cloth and wishing him a good night.

WingDings doesn’t sleep well that night and neither do Papyrus and Sans. All night long Frisk is doing her best to keep an eye on all of them. She doesn’t sleep at all.

The next morning WingDings doesn’t go to school. In fact none of the skeletons leave the house, but neither Papyrus or WingDings can be convinced to stay in their beds. The more restless of the three find themselves in the living room, Papyrus stretched out on the couch with WingDings positioned between his legs on the other end.

“Why are we all sick?” WingDings asks, trying to read a book, but even with his glasses he just can’t focus with his head feeling like it’s full of cotton balls.

“Must have caught something during Thanksgiving, just took a bit to get to us,” Papyrus answers WingDings.

“I mean,” WingDings sighs and tries for the hundredth time to get comfortable and failing. His bones ache everywhere. “Why are all three of us sick at the same time. Frisk is fine.”

“We all share parts of our soul,” Papyrus explains. “Sans and I share a soul as you know and since your soul is broken, it’s connected ours. So we all get to be sick together.”

There is a reasonable length for a pause before WingDings replies, “I don’t want to be sick together.”

“As do I, but here we are,” Papyrus chuckles, playfully nudging WingDings leg. “Try to get some sleep WingDings, it will be good for you.”

“I don’t think I can,” WingDings complains, even as he sets his book down and sinks into the cushions. WingDings doesn’t even have the opportunity to hear what Papyrus has to say next before falling asleep. He wakes up in his bed hours later, not disturbed once even when Frisk carries him.

The following day is tough for WingDings, while Sans and Papyrus aren’t much better they can at least get up and walk to eat in the kitchen. WingDings can’t even do that, unable to walk in a straight line let alone walk. They feed him in bed, but he has trouble keeping food down. Sadly, any time WingDings gets nauseous the other two follow suit.

There is little improvement the following day, but at least he sleeps through most of it. On Monday Frisk asks why they can’t all go to the family doctor, but while Sans and Papyrus will be able to go WingDings cannot. If they did it would be obvious WingDings isn’t Papyrus’s son at all, but something unnatural. They cannot risk it, their paranoia of their past keeping them from taking WingDings to the doctor, but the split soul brothers go at Frisks insistence.

Frisk is in charge and no one questions her decisions.

As the week goes on WingDings starts feeling better as Papyrus and Sans take care of themselves, indirectly helping their young charge recover. Frisk sets WingDings up on the couch most days so the young skeleton has a change of scenery. Undyne still comes over after school and even helps WingDings wrap his Christmas gifts for his family. She isn’t exactly good at it, but she’s better than he is.

By Wednesday he’s feeling well enough to help bake cookies with Frisk and by help that means eat the bad ones as Undyne actually helps. Frisk has a bright smile on her face, but WingDings can see the dark lines under her sockets and hear the wariness in her laugh. She’s been overworked with Christmas on the way and three skeletons to take care of. Not to mention Undyne coming over every afternoon, but the normally crazy teen has been on her best behavior.

They’re in the middle of a batch of snowflake cookies when there is a knock at the door. Undyne is quick to answer the door and to WingDings surprise it is a voice he recognizes. Cordia, in all her wisdom brought groceries for Frisk, along with a pot of soup. Just the sight of all the food is nearly enough to make Frisk cry, but she doesn’t. Instead she thanks Cordia gracefully and welcomes her into the kitchen.

After that Cordia gets busy, she strips the bedding on their beds, starts that load of laundry Frisk keeps forgetting about, and heats up the soup for the ailing skeletons. At some point Frisk disappears to take a shower and Cordia moves WingDings and Undyne into the living room to play a game of clue. Undyne doesn’t very much enjoy the game, but she’ll play since WingDings enjoys it so much.

When dinner is nearly ready Cordia comes into the room and carefully takes a seat on the floor beside them. Her old bones creak and shake a little, but she only smiles past it, asking them how the game is going and how WingDings is feeling.

“Is Aunty Frisk okay?” WingDings asks as they finish up their game, Undyne picking up the pieces. WingDings can’t lift his head any longer, it feels heavy and like it’s full of liquid, but he refuses to go lay down, tired of seeing his four walls after three days of it.

“She’s right as rain Roman,” Cordia assures him. “She’s only a little weighed down is all.”

“Thank you for coming over,” WingDings says after a spell, words coming a bit slower to his mind than he appreciates.

“Of course I would sweet pea,” Cordia leans over and plants a kiss on his warm skull. Since everything is so delayed his little groan of complaint comes a little too late to mean much. She only laughs at him, pushing herself up with a chuckle that turns into groan. “Oh I’m getting too old for carpets times with you ankle biters. Undyne, pick Roman up and get him to bed.”

“On it Aunt Cordia,” Undyne is quick to agree even as WingDings groans loudly again.

“No, you can’t make me,” WingDings complains, not feeling well enough to keep the whine from his voice. For once he sounds very much like the eight year old he always was.

“We can and will, that stubborn fever of yours is back,” Cordia informs him and after a few brooding feverish moments of contemplation WingDings knows exactly why she risked kissing his sick skull. It wasn’t a kiss at all but a sneaky way to check his temperature. “Oh don’t give me that look Roamin’ Roman, you want to get better don’t ya?”

Once on her feet Cordia moves down the hall, hiding her concern from the young people as she checks on her brothers.

“You better get better soon, bud,” Undyne says as she reaches down and picks him up quite easily.

When they arrive in his room the sheets have been changed, freshly pressed and laundered. Sighing with relief, WingDings props his pillows and sits carefully. Not much later Cordia returns with a tray and soup. He is extra careful not to spill because it would be a real shame if his sheets got all dirty again.

After eating he lays down, WingDings can hear the females of the house talking softly, but he can’t make out what they are saying. What he would give to be able to sneak out of bed and spy on them, but he is asleep before then.

To WingDings surprise Cordia is still there in the morning and Frisk is looking a lot better. WingDings feels well enough to slowly make his way to breakfast, sitting at the table and enjoying some oatmeal. Another day of school missed, he’s starting to miss his friends.

“Are you staying Aunty Cordia?” WingDings asks as she enjoys some coffee with Frisk, each sharing pieces of the paper as they keep a subtle eye on him.

“As long as you need me,” Cordia tells him with a warm smile. “Family sticks with you through thick and thin, at least the family worth keeping.”

WingDings understands the first part, since his brother’s very much look out for him to the point of being annoying, but that last part will take some time before he understands.

With Cordia helping, the male skeletons of the house steadily recover and by that weekend they are on the mend. Less then two weeks till Christmas and WingDings can hardly wait, the contagious enthusiasm of those around him catching as easily as the sickness leaving his tired bones.

Notes:

Sickness is going to be fairly common in WingDings life, although this time it didn’t have anything to do with his broken soul. Also can I just say I love Cordia. She’ll be making a few more appearances in this series, but not as much as I would like. I try not to get attached to OC’s, but she’s fun.

There is one chapter left. Had to shorten this installment for my own sanity. I’m sorry for the rushed ending, but at least this way I’ll be able to move on to the rest of his story.

Chapter 18: I Will Remember

Notes:

Here we are the last chapter. Not as refined as the other chapters in this story, but the idea is down and it’s a decent conclusion.

Christmas is upon them and WingDings is doing his best to not get in trouble at school. His fellow classmates are practically bouncing in their seats as Ms. Smith gives out the assignments. He can tell she is tired, but there is an excitement shining in her eyes as well. In Canada they usually have a ‘class party’ before they go on winter break, but apparently that isn’t a thing in 1958 America.

When the bell rings Friday afternoon everyone cheers, rushing for their bags and the door. Smith is calling well wishes to them and WingDings is easily racing along with his classmates out the door. Frisk is there to greet him and off they roar to start off a fun filled holiday break.

As always their first stop is the kitchen, WingDings pulling off his hat and coat to put it in the coat closet. To his surprise though Papyrus is already home.

“Papa,” WingDings says automatically. There is no reason to call him ‘Papa’ since Undyne isn’t present, but it just slips out. “What are you doing home?”

Papyrus pretends to be hurt even as he walks over and wraps WingDings up in a hug. WingDings gladly returns the hug, squeezing the tall skeleton tightly.

“The case I was working is over,” he gives Frisk a glance who in turn smiles at him and wiggles past the two to get her coat put away. “I’m taking the next couple of weeks off.”

“I thought Suytar ordered you to take a break,” Frisk recalls knowingly.

“It might have happened that way,” Papyrus takes the opportunity to hug Frisk as well, causing both WingDings and Frisk to laugh, before he releases them.

The rest of the day is spent cooking and WingDings wonders how he’s suppose to pass the days till Christmas. Undyne comes over briefly, but she’s getting ready for the Christmas Dance at the middle school. Being around her excited presence helps distract WingDings from his inevitable boredom, but she is off to the dance as soon as she’s gobbled down her dinner. WingDings doubts he’ll be seeing her much in the coming days. She’ll be too be busy with her own family in the coming weeks, leaving him to his own devices.

The woes of being an only child.

Hoping to help, and keep WingDings from getting under toe, Sans takes him to the garage one day. WingDings becomes Sans young assistant, whether it be handing him tools, listening to car stories, or dancing a jig to the radio. At first Sans seems a little hesitant to dance with him, knowing WingDings got rather weak after being sick, but WingDings is ready to ‘cut a rug’. Funny how he actually enjoys dancing, something he never thought he’d learn, let alone enjoy.

“Wanna tell you this up front, but I’m afraid the soul radar isn’t going to be finished by Christmas,” Sans tells him at one point.

“You were trying to finish it in time for Christmas?” WingDings is understandably surprised. They were just as sick as he was, if not more so? The Gaster brothers didn’t have the time or strength to work on the machine and the constant Christmas projects going on isn’t helping either.

“We were hoping tah’, but that sickness sure took us down hard,” Sans chuckles, reaching a hand out so WingDings can dutifully hand him the next tool. “Sorry you had to experience that too.”

“We’re all connected,” WingDings shrugs even though Sans can’t see him. They’ve shared enough dreams, hurts, and now an illness, for WingDings to be well aware of this magical connection.

“We are, you need tah be aware of that happening in other alternate realities you visit in the future,” Sans tells him as if he can see WingDings face as the boy scrunches his face at him. “Yer incomplete right now WingDings, gunna be taken what yer missing from other Gaster’s when you can. You’re connected tah not just us, but all the other Gaster’s that may or may not exist. Without that, well I imagine you wouldn’t be able to survive outside your own home.”

“Why do you think that? I haven’t had this happen anywhere else before coming here?” WingDings says, thinking he knows best since he’s the one who has actually traveled to several worlds before coming here.

Sans hums and actually digs his head out of the engine. He rests his elbows on the lip of the open hatch and gives WingDings a half smile. WingDings looks directly at him as well, a slight tilt to his chin as he waits pointedly for Sans explanation.

What a sight these two make.

“Because I know a thing or two about how broken soul exist past they’re expiration date,” Sans replies and WingDings can’t help sighing and rolling his eye lights. Sans laughs. “You’re gunna be loads ov’ fun as a teenager.”

“I’m loads of fun now,” WingDings states proudly.

In that moment they hear the click and the vibrations of film from somewhere behind them. They both look up and see Papyrus standing at the garage entrance, a pair of magic hands taking a picture of them. The camera then snaps a second picture of them looking in surprise at the camera and yet another when they inevitably smile and pose.

“You think yer so clever, bro,” Sans chuckles, leaning against the grill and shaking his head.

“I am clever,” Papyrus gladly reminds them both.

“You are,” WingDings agrees.

They spend the rest of the afternoon together, goofing off while Sans more or less tries to work. Their time together reminds WingDings of when he first came to be in their care. They enjoy some tri-tip sandwiches together, joke around the hood of a beat up De-soto radiator, and dance to the radio. The moment isn’t monumental in anything they do together, but the feeling of warmth fills WingDings up. A simple peace and feeling of home. It makes the sting of remembering his own brothers during the holiday less painful.

As the days up to Christmas pass, WingDings anticipation grows. Since everyone is feeling well they are able to take that trip up the mountain to cut down a proper tree. They don’t even have to borrow a car. They just get bundled up and the two skeleton duplicates teleport them all to the perfect spot. After playing in the snow and cutting down the tree, they spend the evening enjoying hot coco and decorating the tree.

Along with placing the growing amount of gifts under the tree’s prickly green pines.

There are many gifts under the tree, so many in fact they have to move the record player and rocking chair to make room for it all. Over the next several days WingDings will sneak into the room when the rest of his family is busy to check the tags, seeing just how many have his name written on them. They have a separate pile on the piano of gifts they will be taking with them to Cordia’s place on Christmas Eve. He is pleased with the few gifts he’s set aside for his cousins. Just little gifts. One of the many art project’s he worked on the last few days of school is going to Cordia with a thank you card for taking care of them when they were sick. That was Frisk’s idea.

When Christmas Eve arrives at last WingDings is doing his best not to rush his found family out the door, but by the way he stands at the adults elbows nearly every minute of the afternoon clearly shows his anticipation. Since they can’t all fit on the motorcycle, the family takes a short cut to Cordia’s home, which is how WingDings prefers they travel. As soon as they’re welcomed into the home WingDings is greeted by their bubbly host who has managed to escape her kitchen. Cordia gives them each a kiss and a hug, booping WingDings’ nasal ridge playfully. This time he doesn’t glare at her for it.

Calibri and Ebrima collect him next, showing him where to put the gifts they will be opening later in the evening. First they are all going to church, before eating a big delicious dinner. Only after all of that will they be allowed to open some gifts. Calibri and Ebrima beg to open at least one before church, because as every child knows it takes forever. Even George get’s in on the plea, but after a light reprimand about setting a good example and Santa Claus, they are swiftly silenced.

Does WingDings tell them that Santa Claus isn’t real? No, that would break George’s little soul and WingDings wouldn’t want to deal with those tears the rest of the evening. Tonight is suppose to be happy. If he could wait all month for this, he can wait another hour or two.

One hour into the service and WingDings is convinced this is agony. Normally they at least have ‘Sunday School’ for the kids, but nope they have to stay with the adults. Poor George looks about ready to either poo in his pants with all that wiggling or teeter onto his mom’s arm and fall asleep.

When the congregation is dismissed WingDings expects they’ll return home, but instead the adults linger a bit as they make their way out of their seats, catching up with acquaintances and old friends. WingDings is introduced to so many people and he really does try his best to smile and pretend to be invested, but it all seems rather pointless. He won’t be here next year for them to coo over, making comments on how handsome he is or how tall he’s grown. Actually he doesn’t envy the girls, since that’s exactly what they are enduring right now.

The girls discomfort is clear to him, looking at those forced smiles, and what a horror it is to see Calibri’s defiant know-it-all streak subdued. Looks like it’s up to him to save the day.

“PaPa, I’m feeling a bit hungry,” WingDings says softly, tugging very lightly on his guardians coat.

“You haven’t eaten yet, oh you poor things,” a random citizen contributes to WingDings cause.

A chorus of concerned adults chime in, voicing things about growing boys needing food and a bunch of other nonsense. Still it helps him reach his goal so he doesn’t complain.

When Sans and Papyrus move to leave, WingDings takes Calibri and Ebrima’s hands playfully. “Time to eat,” he declares, encouraging a laugh from Tunga and Heather as they let the girls go.

“WingDings stop acting so silly,” Calibri complains and there’s that spunk he both hates and admires.

“Is that how you treat your hero?” WingDings laughs as he heads to the de’soto he typically hates, but this time it will be his magnificent stallion to take him far far away from this place.

“Yes, it is,” Calibri sticks her tongue out and how WingDings envy’s her ability to do so.

“Very well Mister Hero, into the car you all go,” Papyrus chuckles, opening the door for them, having acquired the keys from Cordia somehow when he wasn’t looking.

“Where’s Grandma and Grandpa?” Ebrima asks as they all squeeze into the back with Sans scooting in with them. Frisk wisely comes around to sit in the passenger seat.

“They’ll meet us at the house,” Papyrus assures them all. “They’re taking your car back. Cordia and your father had a few more people they wanted to chat with.”

In unison the three children groan together and just for fun Sans groans with them, that clever little smirk tilting his lips.

“Oh no, whatever shall we do, we’ll starve,” Sans sags partially onto the three young monsters who laugh and do their best to push off the goofy uncle.

“Uncle you’re heavy,” Calibri complains pushing on him.

“I’m not heavy, I’m nothin’ but bones,” Sans reminds them.

“You’ve already used that one,” Ebrima complains softly, but she’s giggling.

“Can’t beat the classic’s,” Sans contests.

By the time Papyrus pulls out of the parking spot, Sans has been pushed into his proper place. The back seat is a chorus of laughter and bad puns.

When they arrive at the house George’s family is already there. Cambria and Charles are doing their very best to distract their son from the gifts, a task that becomes much easier when WingDings appears for George to hang all over. In an attempt to distract themselves the little monster’s vanish into Tunga’s old room to play a game. WingDings doesn’t know how many board games they go through, but it feels like twenty when in fact it is only three.

Finally the rest of the family arrives and they get to eat dinner and what a feast it is. WingDings easily compares it to Thanksgiving, only this time they have ham rather than turkey. As can be expected, the children gobble up their food like they’re having a race, but to their great disappointment they still can’t open up any gifts, not until they’ve had dessert.

The adults, well aware of the children’s agony, bestow mercy upon them at last. They all crowd into the modest sized living room, the ‘youngin’s’ delivering the gifts one by one to everyone in the room.

WingDings has a modest pile of gifts and he is over the moon. All night this anticipation has been building and building and now that it’s here he’s a vibrating buzz of happiness. The smile on his lips is such a permanent fixture on his face by this point that he can’t even feel his cheeks.

One by one they go through the gifts, everyone getting a turn and taking the time to thank those who gifted it. WingDings finds himself pausing in his own gift opening when Calibri, Ebrima, and George open the gifts from him. He watches with anticipation and isn’t disappointed when they each thank him and give him a hug. Funny that those hugs and words of thanks bring him just as much joy, if not more, than the gifts he receives.

When all the gifts of the night have been uncovered the adults start the process of cleaning up while the cousins play with the gifts they’ve received. They don’t get to do this long though as George dozes in and out of sleep while sitting up. Before they leave though Heather pulls out one more gift for WingDings.

WingDings isn’t sure what’s so special about this gift until he opens it. The gift is a photo album full of pictures from the past four months. There is even the picture of Sans and WingDings with their heads in the engine of a car at the garage. They must have rushed to have that photo developed and put into the album on time.

With tears in his eyes, WingDings thanks them, because this is something he’s missed. The ability to take picture’s so he can keep the memories he is making for a long time. He always regretted being unable to do so with his other families, he insisted in the latest version of his loot box that it had a camera. With this photo album he has these memories, this proof of his being here.

Most of them do not understand his tears, but Papyrus and Sans might. A hint of it seen in the tears they can’t help but shed with him.

After drying his tears, they head home to prepare from Christmas day.

For the first time perhaps in WingDings life, he is gladly awake before everyone else the next morning, waiting impatiently in the kitchen and spying the mountain of gifts for him under the tree. He doesn’t know how, but there are even more gifts then the previous evening. They must have been sneaky and shuffled even more gifts while he was sleeping. WingDings is obviously the only child and he is being spoiled by his favorite people.

After breakfast they all gather around in the living room with hot cocoa, dressed in their PJ’s and sifting through gifts for one another. WingDings plays the part of bringing the gifts from the tree to everyone, but most of the gifts are for him. Like the previous evening, WingDings finds himself waiting expectantly as they open the gifts from him, pleased when they voice their thanks and praise him for his choice.

Then the moment arrives.

The one he forgot he was waiting for.

He get’s a chemistry set! Seems like so long ago when he circled this item in the catalog.

The day is a blur for WingDings, mostly spent playing with his gifts. His family joins him on the floor, becoming children themselves for at least a couple hours. After cleaning up the mess of paper, they have lunch and spend the afternoon playing and getting ready for their trip to the home of Frisk’s mothers.

At three in the afternoon, Sans and Papyrus prepare for a more ambitious jump through time and space. Instead of going to somewhere else in the state, they skip over several. In fact they hop over the entire country in a second as they travel to New York City.

While the chemistry set was a bit surprising it isn’t as fascinating as New York is at Christmas. The apartment is fairly small and old, but it is cozy and warm. WingDings has never been in a city this large. Looking out the window feels like he’s looking out on a completely new world, with it’s towering buildings all topped in snow and lights.

WingDings won’t remember most of the whirlwind of the day, but he’ll have the picture’s they take. He’ll have the warmth of laughter ringing in his soul and skull, dancing the night away to ‘In the Mood’ by some Miller fellow.

As they settle down, they set up WingDings on the couch, deciding to just spend the night since it’s so late.

“Thank you,” WingDings tells Papyrus as the tall skeleton ducks down to tuck the smaller version of himself in for the evening. WingDings is covered in a mountain of quilts to keep the chill away, just in case the old radiator by the window isn’t enough.

“You’re welcome,” Papyrus says, tapping his skull again WingDings gently. The wiser skeleton waits patiently, sensing that WingDings wants to say more.

“I’m not sure I want to leave,” WingDings confesses softly. “Is that wrong?”

Papyrus hums thoughtfully and takes a seat on the arm of the couch, looking down at WingDings blurry eye lights. “Do you think it’s wrong?” he asks instead.

“Yes, my brothers would be sad,” WingDings says softly.

“I don’t think they would be sad knowing you were happy,” Papyrus reaches down and scratches WingDings skull fondly. “Would you stay here instead of return home.”

“No, I miss my home,” WingDings says without hesitation.

“Then there is your answer,” Papyrus says with the wisdom of a man who has lost it all and found so much more. “It’s not wrong to enjoy these moments WingDings. You can enjoy this world and enjoy your own. You don’t need to feel guilty for that. Anyone who truly cares about you will tell you that.”

Once again WingDings won’t remember these words, but he’ll remember the way his Papa made him feel that cozy Christmas night as he drifts off to sleep.

In the coming days WingDings enjoys himself as Papyrus suggests. He spends time with his family and friends, fighting and making up with Undyne. Telling stories with Calibri and Ebrima late into the night. Helping Sans in the garage and dancing with his family.

Not all of it is perfect. A life ‘made in the shade’ only looks perfect when seen through a lens of nostalgia. There are times WingDings is caught sneaking out of bed to spy on the adults while they smoke. There are times he has his nasal cavity in chemicals of chemistry that will tint his eye lights another shade of yellow for a few days. There are those moments in school where he makes more enemies then friends because of his smart mouth.

Still, over all, WingDings has a good life thanks to the family and friends who found him.

WingDings knows it’s nearly time to return home when Papyrus tells him Barbara will be coming to visit. On a Tuesday afternoon in May Barbara Ficus knocks on their front door with Sans standing beside her. WingDings has the pleasure of greeting her first.

Large unblinking eyes gaze at WingDings, just as unnerving as when he first met her. At least she smiles this time, which does help make WingDings feel happy to see her again.

“Welcome Barbara, thank you for coming,” WingDings greets her, hugging the small monster before she can awkwardly stand there too long. He brings her inside and she stumbles just a little as he announces her presence to the rest of the household.

“What about me, don’t your uncle get a welcome home?” Sans complains with a grunt.

“You were gone ten minutes,” WingDings huffs, but just to make a point the eight year old hugs him too and pats his back. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you dearest nephew, I knew you cared,” Sans jokes as Papyrus and Frisk come in to take Barbara’s bags and make her feel at home.

Now that Barbara is here, they can actually map out where the piece of his soul is without his soul or the other ‘Gaster souls’ interfering. While they retrieve the piece and store it someplace safe WingDings and Frisk break the news to the rest of the family and friends that he’ll be leaving. After WingDings leaves they’ll tell the family the truth, but for now the cover story is that WingDings is going to a special oversees school because he’s so smart. This way he’ll have the chance to say goodbye to his friends and have a going away party with his family.

On paper it sounds easy, but in actuality it feels very much like it has for all the other goodbye’s WingDings has had to give over the years.

“What do you mean you’re smart!?” Undyne claims when he tells her the news one afternoon. “You aren’t that smart, that isn’t a good enough reason to leave anyway!”

“I am smart,” WingDings swiftly defends, because now it’s not a matter of saying goodbye but his intelligence.

“Undyne this is a great opportunity for Roman,” Frisk interjects when WingDings pretends he isn’t pouting.

“I don’t care. Will I get to see you again?” Undyne spits out.

“Of course you wi-” Frisk is cut off by a very quiet voice.

“. . . no,” WingDings says, looking down at the floor.

“What!?” Undyne yells.

“I said no!” WingDings shouts, sockets full of tears. “You’ll never see me again!”

“WingDings . . .” Frisk tries, but WingDings is already racing out of the room, down the hall and into his room. He slams the door behind him, already feeling extremely guilty and ashamed even as he does it, because Frisk doesn’t deserve that. Unfortunately, he is too upset to do anything about it as he flings himself on the bed and screams.

Why did Undyne have to make this so difficult. Why does he keep having to do this. Why can’t he have a normal life. It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair fair fair.

WingDings is caught off guard when his screams reach his soul and with a painful throb the world goes dark and two familiar words present themselves in front of him.

‘Load’ and ‘Continue’.

Tears streaming down his skull WingDings hand lingers over the load. He doesn’t want his goodbye to Undyne to be full of hate and anguish. Sure she frustrates him, but he also cares about her a lot.

Except he doesn’t know how far back he would go. Would he go all the way back to the beginning? When was the last time he felt determined? He can’t remember.

Before he can do anything a slender hand takes his own.

WingDings looks up and sees Aunty Frisk, eyes glistening with tears firmly held back. Frisk’s touch doesn’t trap his hand, it is a light grip that has the strength to hold him up, but the delicacy to grant him freedom.

“I’ve got you WingDings,” Frisk assures him. “You’re going to be okay.”

With tears flowing down his cheeks WingDings presses continue.

The world comes into focus and as soon as it does Undyne is flinging herself at him.

“I’m going to miss you idiot,” Undyne says. The fiery fish monster is refusing to shed tears, but she still gives off the impression that she is crying.

WingDings cries with her. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, not your fault you’re smart.”

“But you said I wasn’t that smart,” WingDings tears become little huffs of laughter.

“You know I don’t mean half the stuff I say, you’re so sensitive,” Undyne mumbles, hugging him tighter.

“If you say so,” WingDings chuckles, sniffing and rubbing his face against her.

“Hey, stop being a smarty pants, ewwww you’re getting your emotions all over me,” Undyne complains, but she doesn’t let go.

Frisk stays by their side, watching over them both.

After that the goodbyes are handled with more care. That weekend everyone and their dog is at the Aster house, wishing WingDings a good trip and safe travels. There are so many people at the home it’s a little overwhelming, but the event does give WingDings the closure he needs.

After the main party he stays up late with Ebrima and Calibri, telling stories like they always do, pretending like this won’t be the last time.

With Barbara’s help, Sans and Papyrus are able to find the piece of WingDings soul.

The day of his actual departure is a modest affair, surrounded by his immediate family and the one who found him.

“Thank you for taking me in uncle Sans,” WingDings hugs him first.

“You made a sound argument ya gremlin,” Sans keeps it short, giving him a hug and a pat on the back.

“Thank you for guiding me, I know it was hard for you,” WingDings tells Barbara next.
“. . . For you, it wasn’t hard,” she opens her arms belatedly and he hugs her. “What an act to follow.”

Strange, but he doesn’t question her and just leaves it at that. If he asks they’ll be there for another fifteen minutes.

“Thank you for taking care of me Aunty Frisk,” WingDings rushes to hug her and she eagerly returns the gesture.

“I’m going to miss you and . . .” she backs away just a bit and leans down to whisper to him. “And I’ll name my child after you. Roman WingDings Aster.”

WingDings looks up at her in confusion, before realization dawns on him. With a brighter smile he hugs her again, twisting around with her contagious joy.

When he backs away his gaze spies Sans who is colored so brightly, eye lights pinpricks of shock. Frisk laughs and gives him a delighted kiss on the cheek as he smiles like the goofball he secretly is.

“Thank you for being my Papa,” WingDings hugs Papyrus last. “If we’re connected maybe I’ll find you again someday.”

“Maybe you will,” Papyrus agrees despite the odds against it. “I love you WingDings.”

“I love you too,” WingDings echoes, tears in his sockets.

With a gentle tug Frisk returns the piece of his soul and WingDings falls back into the comforting arms of home while looking in the faces of those he will never forget.

And he didn’t forget.

Notes:

In the original draft I had in my head, there was a villain in the government and NASA had the piece of WingDings soul. All dramatic stuff. I scraped all of it because this story never needed a villain and it was getting long and lost. Doesn’t need to be complicated, so this is a story about WingDings living in the 1950’s. It is about him uncovering the truth of his alternate selves and getting his first glimpse of who he once was.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed and see you soon for the next installment. Next story will be short, but so far it’s turning out pretty dark.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 7 of Shattered Soul Series