Pillar of Strength

by Swish42

Summary:

Once again the young WingDings Gaster is flung across the multiverse in search of the missing pieces of his soul. This time he is forced to live on a diseased world where water is scarce and the sands eat away at those who are tough enough to survive. WingDings will need to learn how to survive in this broken world and hopefully not draw unwanted attention to himself as he finds the pieces of his soul.

Chapter 1: The Worst Spy

Notes:

Hello, as with all the stories in this series you don’t need to read the others to follow along, they are all stand alone. Not all the stories in this series may interest you and that’s fine. All you need to know is that WingDings Gaster is ten years old and looking for the pieces of his lost soul.

A warning for child peril/abuse and language in this chapter and future ones? Look it’s more than I typically use. No ‘F’ bomb, but everything else is there.

There is a brief moment just as your body is ready to drift to sleep when you feel like you’re falling. Of course you aren’t really falling, it’s just a sensation your body feels before startling awake since your mind isn’t quite ready to sleep. In WingDings case though he really does fall.

Physically.

And he falls on something dark and wet.

At first his mind and thoughts don’t comprehend what has just happened. After all, as far as he knows he’s drifting off during a boring math lecture he doesn’t need to hear. Taking a quick nap is completely acceptable, even if it is a little rude to his teacher. Yet, as his head slaps the inky black rocks he is forced to consider that taking a nap, even during math, can create complications.

Sitting up slowly, WingDings brushes the gritty rocks from his skull and looks forward into a dark chasm. Anxiety bubbles up in his soul and he swiftly turns away towards the neon blue light blaring behind him.

What he sees is a large cavern, with tiny narrow stalactites reaching down from the ceiling like thorns, dripping moister into an enormous underwater lake. The lake seems to glow blue and at the direct center of the calm ethereal water is a column of glass, an odd yet beautiful device in an otherwise earthy and natural setting.

After staring in awe for a second or two, a familiar tug reaches out for WingDings soul. He glances down at his glowing soul before gazing up again at the blue waters. Apparently the strange device has a piece of his soul in it. Steadily rising to his feet WingDings walks to the shore of the underwater lake and wades into the gently sloping bank.

There was a time long ago when he feared water, but since learning to swim it doesn’t frighten him at all. It is a lengthy distance between him and the glowing tube, but he’s fairly certain he has more than enough determination to get there. Shaking his hands and rolling his shoulders, he hops up and down a few times before slicing the water with his body as he swims forward.

Taking a breath, he goes under the surface and searches for anything possibly malevolent. The waters are crystal clear allowing the light to pass through well enough to make WingDings wince at the sight of it. In the tube are several shifting orbs of blue, blinking in and out without a predictable pattern. From what he can tell the glass like tube goes so deep the light isn’t strong enough to reach.

Returning to the surface for air, WingDings pivots onto his back and lazily paddles towards the center, unconcerned with running into anything in the undisturbed lake. It takes a long time, but he eventually reaches the enormous glass tube. He estimates that the circumference of the device is four times the size of a conventional sewage canal. As he gets closer he also discerns warmth and wisely doesn’t touch the flawless glass-like surface.

With a large breath, WingDings dives into the water, using his magic hands to propel him faster into the bright water. He zooms further and further down until he is eye level with his soul piece. Quickly he summons a hand on the other side of the glass, plucking up the piece and racing back for the surface. He is not willing to teleport and possibly mess with the magic of this world or lose his grip on the piece of his soul.

Breaching the surface WingDings gasps for air, gripping his magic hands for support as he fights off the magic buzz tickling his frontal lobe and ribcage. Once he’s caught his breath, WingDings faces the piece of his soul floating calmly above the hole in his magic hand on the other side of the glass. He lifts his shirt and draws the shard in hoping this trip will end quickly while suspecting it won’t be so simple.

It never is.

When the piece enters the red of his proxy soul, WingDings eyes flash blue along with the glass device in front of him. The glass tube shifts unexpectedly in a pulse of light, echoing in his bones. What a strange sensation, but nothing else about the lake changes, as if nothing has happened. WingDings dips beneath the water momentarily to check and make sure nothing has changed, but something unseen lifts him back to the surface. He looks around to see what it is, but there is nothing there, only a radiating buzz of blue tinting his bones.

He looks at his arm, shifting his sleeve to see the glowing blue fade away and leave normal looking bone behind. It is a relief to see the magic pulse did nothing damaging, but he finds himself fighting off a wave of nervous nausea at the thought of contracting some kind of dangerous radiation.

Taking a slow breath he tries to calm down as he reaches out with his soul. To his great disappointment he feels not one, but several pieces of his soul, all calling for his attention.

But these pieces aren’t his most pressing matter.

“Hey!” a female voice echoes against the cavern walls. “Get out of there!”

WingDings nearly calmed soul spikes in alarm as he turns towards the shore and sees two figures in the distance. Make that one figure, the second one is diving into the water and slicing towards him like an out of control freight train. Sputtering, WingDings looks around for another escape route, but by the time he finds a distant stalagmite island that might work, the incredibly fast swimmer is latching an arm around him.

Screaming in fright, WingDings summons a bone that knocks the swimmer in the head.

“OWWW! That’s it! You’re asking for it!” Immediately a bundle of glowing spears spin around him, directed right at his head. The sight of it makes WingDings latch onto his captor, logically deducing that the spears belong to Undyne and that she wouldn’t spear herself.

At least he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t spear herself, it depends on the amount of crazy this particular version of her has pumping in her veins.

“You’re just a stinking kid?!” she yells into his skull. “What in Gargens Stench are you doing here!?!”

“. . .” There are a number of answers that he can give her but only one comes to mind in his nervous state. “Swimming exercises?”

Her dead pan expression is bored enough that it might make corpses cringe in shame. It certainly makes WingDings feel ashamed.

Until she releases a very unladylike snuff, and then a snort, before she bellows out a raucous guffaw.

“That . . . That excuse is so BAD!” Undyne keeps laughing, ripping WingDings away from her by the back of his shirt. “Swimming? HA! Who would even bother?!” Snorting and hacking, the blue woman swims forward, dragging WingDings behind her.

“Undyne!” Papyrus calls as she comes up to the shore. He is in the middle of constructing something, putting a flimsy mechanical hoop like device together, and screwing several hinges and bolts.

One glance at the skeleton man tells WingDings that this is an impoverished time and place. Papyrus’s clothes are torn and dirty, pieces of his orange shirt held together by thick red thread and piece of wire. His long beige pants are tied in place around his hips and ankles with strips of various clothe. Undyne’s clothing is little better. She is wearing a baggy shredded black tank top, that now clings to her body because of her wet state. Underneath the black covering her chest is bound with cloth. Her pants are much like Papyrus’s, shredded and torn. She is also nearly bald, except for the short ponytail sprouting from the top of her head.

Neither of them are wearing shoes, instead binding their feet with strips of cloth and leather.

“Did you find something,” Papyrus asks with a huff, finally looking up at the two.

“Sure did!” Undyne chortles. “LOOK!” She holds WingDings up proudly by the back of his shirt as if he’s a prized fish she caught.

Papyrus looks up long enough from his work to see what she has and doesn’t bother looking down again. “Undyne!?!” Papyrus drops his wrench and wades in the shallows towards her. “It’s . . . It’s a child?” His lanky limbs hang at his sides as he looks at WingDings in utter bewilderment.

WingDings feels humiliated dangling from Undyne’s hand like a trophy, although it does feel familiar.

“And get this,” Undyne nods eagerly. “He says he’s here for . . .Pfff, for Swimming Exercises! That’s got to be the best one yet!!” She erupts into laughter again, just as powerful as before and hitting her thigh with her free hand.

“I must admit that most spies have more inventive material,” Papyrus agrees. “You need a better excuse Bone Child. The Great Papyrus is more than willing to give you a few pointers . . . but I suppose that’s pointless considering your spying days are over.”

Undyne snickers. “Pointers are Pointless.”

“Nyeh heh,” Papyrus beams with pride at his clever word choice, but doesn’t elaborate, simply turning and getting back to the device he’s constructing.

“I’m not a spy,” WingDings tells Undyne, doing his best to look back at her as she stomps from the water.

“Yeah, yeah that’s what they all say,” Undyne says, walking to a sack and dropping WingDings the full distance to the hard ground.

Landing hard, WingDings groans and rubs his rump. He attempts to get up and crawl away but Undyne stomps a foot down on the wet fabric of his pant leg, pinning him in place. Reaching down for the large sack, Undyne pulls out some thick rope and proceeds to tie him up.

“But I’m a kid!” WingDings reasons as she wraps him up like a mummy with the rough twine.

“So?” Undyne shrugs. “Kids make the best spies, Harpers Gang uses them all the time, but of course you already know that.” The smirk she gives clearly shows that she knows best, but the only response she gets from WingDings is a raised brow and squiggly frown.

“No, I didn’t know that,” WingDings tells her point blank.

Undyne’s snide grin drops just enough to look more menacing as her brows angle in warning to the child.

“Sans, I’m ready on this end,” Papyrus says, holding up a blocky radio to the side of his skull.

“Copy, sending the hose through,” a crackled voice says from the radio.

Completely ignoring Undyne’s displeasure, WingDings watches in fascination as Papyrus positions the metal hoop over the water, holding it by two handles out in front of him. With a spark of blue and a magic static discharge the device comes to life with a thick hose coming out in front of the hoop. Eyes wide, the skeleton prisoner watches as the hose grows until it is in the water.

“Everything is stable, you can lower the portal,” Sans says and Papyrus does as instructed, walking further forward and lowering the portal device into a deeper section of the lake.

“Starting the pumps, this should take an hour or so,” Sans tells them.

“Thanks Sans, retain radio silence till ready to retract hose,” Papyrus clicks into the radio before turning to Undyne.

“Don’t get too bonely without me,” Sans chuckles.

“You’re terrible,” Papyrus says, his voice completely void of any emotion, but there is a smile tilting his jaw. The tall skeleton shuts the radio off and comes to sit beside Undyne in front of the mysterious skeleton child.

“Now Bone Child,” Papyrus addresses WingDings, earning a quirked bone brow from the recipient of the strange title. “Come clean and tell us why you came here.”

“Yeah, along with everything else there is to know about you, including who sent you,” Undyne adds, shoving a finger in WingDings chest cavity.

WingDings frowns and mentally constructs several elaborate lies about his origins including but not limited to coming from a distant clan that kicked him out to coming from an alien planet where swimming is very important. In the end he decides on the truth since, despite his brother’s warnings, telling the truth often gives him the best results.

“I’m from another world,” WingDings starts. “I don’t have a clan, I’m not a spy, and I’m here for my own personal reasons.” When Papyrus and Undyne can only stare at him in disbelief, he summons a magic hand, fingers forward in the gesture meant as a hand shake. “I’m WingDings, it’s nice to meet you.”

They look at his magic hand and back to the child blankly, but Undyne is the first to crack.

“You expect me to believe that crap?” Undyne slams the hand away sending it clattering against the rocky floor before he can dismiss the appendage.

“No, but it is the truth,” WingDings tells her.

“Bull Shit,” Undyne spits at him.

“Rude,” WingDings frowns at her, disliking her loose tongue. Typically Undyne has a little more self control, but apparently being a child isn’t going to grant him any favors in this time and place. He was hoping he wouldn’t get stuck in another time like the last place he was. That was horrible. It makes things harder when survival is at the forefront of ones skull.

“Hey, I’m not the liar here!” Undyne shouts at him.

Papyrus has remained relatively unfazed and fingers his jaw in contemplation. “Bone Child, if you really are who you say you are then prove it,” he says. “I, with my great observation skills, have already observed that you’re wet clothing is relatively normal, but it appears to be clean and well kept, a very unusual sight.”

“Huh?” Undyne glances down at WingDings with a critical eye, leaning forward past WingDings personal bubble. “Guess you got a point there Papy, good eye.”

“Thank you Undyne, except I lack an eye.” Beaming with pride, Papyrus lets out a soft ‘Nyeh heh’ before waiting for WingDings to offer his own proof.

“Well,” WingDings glances at his left pocket. “I’ve got a device in my left pocket that might prove it.” Undyne reaches forward and unbuttons the pocket on his cargo pants, reaching in and pulling out a round black disk, the magic charger for his phone. He doesn’t trust them with his phone and hopes the charger will offer enough proof.

“Peh, it’s just junk,” Undyne scoffs, turning it this way and that.

Reaching a palm out, Papyrus silently asks to see the device and Undyne gives it up without a fuss. Carefully, Papyrus inspects it, turning it over and managing to flip open the bottom revealing the contraption inside. WingDings holds his breath, hoping that Papyrus and Undyne won’t accidentally break it. He can do minor repairs, but he isn’t as smart as Alphys is.

“I am unfamiliar with this form of wiring,” Papyrus confirms as he clips the bottom piece into place. “Is it a magic converter?”

“Yes, it is!” WingDings is impressed and glad that Papyrus is treating his charger with respect.

“It seems to be just the rights size to fit in the hole of your hand, suggesting you provide the magic this device is suppose to convert,” Papyrus continues.

“That is also correct,” WingDings is now doubly impressed with Papyrus’s observation skills. He barely glanced at his hands and he remembered that detail.

“Wait . . . are you saying he’s telling the truth?!” Undyne slams the ground with one fist, causing it to crack.

“It is a possibility,” Papyrus tells her calmly. “Sans will know for sure.”

“Heh, got that right,” Undyne grins smugly before turning to look at WingDings again. “Welp looks like you’re coming with us WingDings, names Undyne.” Instead of offering her hand to him for a shake she lightly punches his left shoulder in a form of greeting.

“Telling a possible spy you’re name is dangerous isn’t it?” WingDings asks presumptuously.

“I could be lying,” she says, crossing her arms and evidently not appreciating his tone.

“You aren’t,” he says with his chin held high, after all that’s what Papyrus called her earlier.

Undyne is not the slightest intimidated, lowering her head so her nose ridge nearly touches the puny skeletons nasal cavity. “Big talk,” she tells him confidently. “But I don’t need to talk big.”

“You won’t hurt me,” WingDings says smiling arrogantly before the little voice in the back of his head reminds him that this is a different Undyne and she can be whoever she wants to be.

He doesn’t see her hand until it’s colliding with his face and sends him skidding against the black ground. His face hurts, but his pride and fear clench his soul harder than any physical wound can.

“You’ve got to be the cheekiest child I’ve met,” Undyne grins at him, her good eye sparking with magic. “I think I believe you. No child I’ve met would dare challenge me like that.”

Lifting his head, WingDings meets her eyes a second before naturally looking away. He really had that coming, but it still hurts. When she reaches forward to retrieve him, the boy scrunches his body a little tighter, refusing to look at her as she sets him upright again. She is still smiling at him, hoping to see more of that fighting fire, but he’s not giving her anything.

Confused, Undyne frowns and looks at Papyrus. Her skeleton companion lightly glares at her and shakes his head.

“What?! He started it,” Undyne points at WingDings who despite his perpetual smile appears to be frowning, his half lidded eyes guarded.

“And you finished it,” Papyrus states.

“Oh come on I’m sure I just surprised him, he’ll be talking again in no time,” Undyne says planting her hands on her knees and looking at WingDings with an expectant toothy smile. She keeps looking at him and WingDings makes a point of ignoring her, his thoughts elsewhere as he considers how best to traverse another world that may be hostile towards him. It was hard enough in Saint Petra.

He also doesn’t want to give Undyne the time of day after her supposedly playful punch.

With every passing moment he doesn’t respond, Undyne’s smile slowly loses it’s mirth until it’s a toothy frown.

“My name is Papyrus,” the skeleton says, waking WingDings from his thoughts.

The boy looks up and meets Papyrus’s gaze earning a disgruntled sneer from Undyne.

“I’m Undyne’s right hand skeleton,” he explains happily. “We are the most capable citizens of our clan when traversing the harsh wasteland to retrieve water. This underground cave is one of several.” He swings an arm outward showcasing the very thing he’s talking about although it isn’t necessary. “. . . We use these underground lakes to get clean water. It is a very dangerous job, but it isn’t anything Undyne and I can’t handle.”

As WingDings listens his eyes become less guarded and light up with interest. “Is that tube connected to the water reservoir at your home?” he asks.

“Naturally,” Papyrus says planting his hands on his hips. “This is the most efficient way to transport the water over hundreds of miles. Otherwise we’d have to transport it on a water carrier.”

“A water carrier?” WingDings asks.

“Yes, a carrier made of water,” Papyrus responds factually.

WingDings squints his eyes at the skeleton wondering how the skeleton can possibly come to that conclusion. At first he was impressed by the skeletons explanation, but now he’s thinking this version of him has just as much trouble with words as his brother.

Unless Papyrus is messing with him, which is also a high possibility.

Beside him Undyne is trying her utmost to keep a straight face but it proves impossible as she snorts and laughs. “HA! Sorry, sorry,” Undyne spits. “Couldn’t keep a straight face.”

Apparently he’s messing with him.

“I’d say you’re face is more oval than straight commander,” Papyrus says just barely cracking a grin.

This sends Undyne into another fit, falling back and laughing her soul out.

Apparently this Papyrus is more aware of his strange observations then his own brother is and actually uses it to play pranks if that smidge of a grin is anything to go by.

“Is that hoop a kind of transport? Bending space to connect the tube over a great distance,” WingDings asks, feeling much more comfortable as Papyrus explains things. It helps him forget the bonds that bind him in place and his stinging cheek.

“Correct again,” Papyrus claps his thigh. “Is such a device common in your world?”

“No, but I’ve seen it in video games,” WingDings explains.

“Video games?” Papyrus furrows his brow and quirks his teeth to imitate a half sided frown. “Strange to use such a device for a simple game.”

“I suppose so,” WingDings thinks better of trying to explain the suddenly very complicated reasoning of something he thought was simple. Also he suspects that this Papyrus might make that into a joke too if he pursues the thought so he asks something else. “What about that large magic container at the center of the lake?”

“Hmm, you really don’t know anything do you?” Undyne shakes her head, sounding more concerned than irritated. All of her mirth is gone and she looks at Papyrus with worry.

“That’s the CORE,” he answers simply and doesn’t elaborate.

Well that’s a little strange. He’s heard of the CORE a few times before, but the most recent was in a video game he played. The Monster populace where he comes from had some kind of machine used to power their homes and cities in the underground. What makes this one any different?

“Isn’t it used to power things?” WingDings asks.

“Not anymore,” Undyne huffs as Papyrus stands and walks away. Undyne’s gaze follows after him, as he retrieves some banged up cups from his backpack and goes to the lakes edge to fill them. “It doesn’t do much now,” she tells the curious boy when Papyrus is far enough not to hear her clearly. “The magic left in the tubes filters the water, but all the wires and stuff that diverted the magical energy to the old cities is long gone. When the CORE broke down two thousand years ago the world itself broke down along with it, creating the hell we all live in today.”

“What do you mean hell?” WingDings asks. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet you ain’t,” Undyne grins. Her attention is only diverted when Papyrus hands her a tin mug of water.

Papyrus also offers one to WingDings who accepts it with a magic hand and takes a sip. It tastes great and there is a tint of magic fizzling in it as well.

“Don’t move!” a voice calls from somewhere in the dark cave.

“Crap,” Undyne curses, looking around frantically to find the source, while Papyrus slowly lowers his mug to the ground.

“I said don’t move,” a shadowy elemental steps out of the dark, dressed in near rags like Papyrus and Undyne. The stranger has a gun aimed right at Undyne’s head while tendrils of violet magic snakes its way along the dark pebbles, coiling around them. The elemental reminds him a lot of his monster uncle Coal from another world.

At first WingDings suspects the Coal look alike is the only one there, but one by one out of the darkness comes the mans companions, all armed with guns and magic.

“Mister Flint,” Undyne spits. “Knew this spy belonged to the Harpers Gang.”

“Sorry to disappoint you but he isn’t mine,” Mister Flint grins with a flicker of green and purple lighting his open mouth smile.

“And we both know you’re a liar,” Undyne sneers.

“And we both know I can tell the truth when I want to,” he walks forward until he’s right next to WingDings. “Like how you’re going to hand over that warp tech to us without a fight.”

“In your dreams,” Undyne growls.

Without any warning the shadow elemental kicks out and sends WingDings rolling across the sharp ground along with his mug of water. For a second the ‘load’ and ‘continue’ words flash around him, but when he stops at the lakes rim they flicker out. His mind is spinning and he doesn’t know what’s happening even when the sound of Undyne’s furious cry and gun fire echoes around him.

As WingDings tries to sit up, something unexpectedly scoops him up and dives into the water. “Papyrus I need you to destroy the gate!” Undyne shouts. The cavern has come alight with her spears, too many to count, as they fling towards the men and women shooting at them with guns and magic bullets.

“We can’t,” Papyrus says from Undyne’s back as she carries them. “Sans doesn’t have the tools to make another.”

“But if they take it they can use it to find home,” Undyne huffs back. “That takes precedence.”

“Dam-it,” Papyrus curses and WingDings reaches out with his magic hands, grabbing the hoop by its handles and causing it to vanish right out of the gangs claws.

“Where did it go?” Papyrus yells, clinging to Undyne a little tighter when he sees that the device has vanished from his sight.

“I’ve got it,” WingDings explains, trying to spit out water. “I put it in my inventory.” He nearly doesn’t get the words out when a wave of water enters his mouth causing him to momentarily choke.

“You’re what?” Undyne screams at him.

“His invent Torie,” Papyrus repeats. “Does this mean Toriel has it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, GAHG!” Undyne takes a shot to her shoulder when the gang pulls out a machine gun. “Breathe!”

Papyrus and WingDings take a hasty breath as Undyne dives into the water, blood streaming from her shoulder. WingDings is amazed to see Papyrus heal the wound, wrapping his legs around Undyne’s torso as they slice through the water. Panicking, WingDings is unable to hold onto his air as efficiently as Papyrus and summons a hand to wave at Undyne, directly in front of her face.

Instead of going up for air she releases his bonds allowing him to swim to the surface. He takes a quick breath, but has to quickly go back down when they fire up the machine gun again. A bullet nicks his ribs, but he ignores the pain and manages to reach Papyrus and Undyne who are several feet in front of him. They are close to the center column of glass, with its blue magic blazing hot.

When Undyne resurfaces, Papyrus gasps for breath and WingDings is relieve to see that no one is firing at them. They wouldn’t risk damaging the magic filtration unit from the CORE, but the gang is sending humans and monsters after them who know how to swim. Which amounts to two.

“We can’t stay here!” WingDings shouts at them.

“No shit twerp!” Undyne shouts back at him.

“There is only one exit,” Papyrus nods to where the Harper’s Gang is waiting smugly.
“All right, I’ll take the machine gun, while you take the rest out, WingDings can distract them with his bones,” Undyne decides with Papyrus nodding in approval.

Looking at the shore and angry gang, WingDings can’t say he likes the odds or her plan. If living on the streets of Saint Petra taught him anything it’s not to take chances with high stakes.

“How deep underground are we?” WingDings asks.

“253.45 kilometers,” Papyrus recites. “Why?”

“If I kill you, I’m sorry,” WingDings latches onto the two and focuses on teleporting far above them, inventing the place in his mind and using Papyrus’s calculation, hoping it’s good enough. He shuts his eyes unaware of the blaze of blue burning from the CORE as he warps them through several dimensions to the surface.

 

       

Notes:

Right out the gate I want to say that this is my favorite story in the series, so far, that I have written. That being said, because this is my favorite others might not like it as much as I do, but that’s okay. Some stories just need to be for the author. If you want a quick paced and slightly perilous adventure, with some sporadic fluff, then you are going to enjoy this too.

Also enjoy some concept art from before I wrote the story. The picture is of Undyne, Papyrus, and WingDings in a buggy traveling across the cursed sands.

Chapter 2: The Underground

Notes:

Warning for . . . taking a bath? And child peril?

WingDings feels as if he is trying to swim upstream and pulling a large weight behind him, but he doesn’t dare let go of the burden and fights against the darkness grabbing at him.

In a flash the darkness is replaced by a golden radiance that pierces through WingDings closed eye socket. He gasps for air and feels his soul drift momentarily as they fall a short twenty centimeters to the ground. A very gritty sandy ground eagerly latches onto his wet bones. Unable to move WingDings coughs hard into the grit when some of the sand manages to enter his mouth. It tastes worst then dirt, like stale grain and putrid fish combined.

Beside him he hears Undyne curse and wretch, the contents of her stomach splattering in the sand. She shuffles away and unknowingly kicks more sand onto the boy. WingDings tries to open his eyes, but the magic in his body is slowly regaining circulation.

“WingDings!” Papyrus shouts, proving to be the quickest one to recover as he crawls over to the boy.

“Damnit, I’m not dead but I wish I was,” Undyne coughs, forcing herself to her feet. “Crap, looks like we’ve got quite the run to the buggy.”

“Best we reach it before that smoking bastard finds out what happened,” Papyrus hoists WingDings up into his arms, proving an easy task since the boy is little more than a rag doll. They race across a golden blur and WingDings feels a pulse of healing magic sooth his burning soul.

“Get in, Get in, Get in!” Undyne screams as they climb roughly into something.

Papyrus holds WingDings close to his body with one hand as he crouches down, pulling out the walkie-talkie with his other hand and a mask with another. “San’s we’ve been compromised, over!” Papyrus yells into the device buzzing with static before pulling a mask over his face. Beside him Undyne puts on a similar mask, only hers has goggles attached.

“Yeah, yeah, I kinda guessed that . . . When you snapped my tube in half!?!” Sans voice barks on the other end. “You know how long its gunna take to repair that!”

“Can you open the WT9 in one minute,” Papyrus shouts as Undyne revs the engine and shoots out across the desert.

“One minute?” Sans says, clearly outraged.

Over the loud chug of their engine WingDings can make out the furious shouts of their pursuers.

“Make that 45 seconds,” Papyrus amends.

Sans curses, but the static that follows clues them all in that Sans is certainly going to try. WingDings manages to open his eyes, coughing out sand that is plastered to his bones. First thing he see’s is Papyrus and a bleached sky that appears more like a white canvas instead of midday. There also isn’t one puffy cloud in sight. A rough bump jostles them, but Papyrus manages to keep hold of WingDings as he places the radio in a holder on the dash of the vehicle.

Calling the vehicle a car would be generous, it appears more like a gutted tank or jeep, with pieces of metal welded on and thick nets tied across the side windows. WingDings isn’t sure if it’s a war machine or a work of rusty art.

“I got a clear shot of the transport arch,” Undyne shouts when the first shot of a gun fires over their heads.

“Don’t stop,” Papyrus tells her spinning around and making a thick wall of bones behind them.

“But it isn’t activated,” Undyne huffs.

“You don’t think he’ll make it?” Papyrus laughs.

“Naw I know he will!” Undyne changes gears and puts the pedal to the metal, flooring it across the shifty sand and making it look easy.

“Give me thirty seconds,” Sans voice sparks on the radio.

Papyrus reaches for the hand held device and clicks a button on the side of it. “You got twenty,” he tells him.

“I’m not a miracle worker, I’m an engineer,” Sans growls, barely legible through the static.

Undyne grabs the microphone unit from Papyrus and yells into it. “Come on Alphys put that guy to work!”

“We’re working on . . . it’s so much . . . Just drive,” Alphys voice sputters in the background, barely heard and WingDings suspect he might be imagining it since he’s exhausted.

Roughly pounding the small unit into place, Undyne focuses on driving when a motorcycle type unit shoots out in front of them. Papyrus shoves WingDings onto the floor of the vehicle, out of sight as he aims his bones. Unable to see the damage, the boy can only hear the female scream as she flies through the air seconds before a loud explosion rattles his skull.

“To risky to take you directly home,” Sans barks. “You’ll be at WT59 arch, good luck.”

“Brace yourselves,” Undyne screams just before they enter the transportation arch WingDings can’t even see.

As soon as they pass through this device, WingDings knows it. He feels as if he’s being plunged in freezing cold water, his magic capping off and surging through his bones. He presses himself under the dash of the passenger seats floor space, clutching his ribcage as blue ghost like images flicker in front of him.

“Were we followed!” Undyne demands, keeping her eyes forward as Papyrus turns around.

“No,” Papyrus slumps into his chair. “Sans shut it off in time.”

“HAHA! I’m going to kiss that grimy skull when I see him again,” Undyne laughs, hitting the rod like steering wheel with one hand.

“And if Toriel saw you?” Papyrus asks, reaching over his shoulder to retrieve something from the back seat.

“She’d laugh with me, especially if your brother turned blue,” Undyne says.

“And Alphys?” Papyrus asks.

Undyne doesn’t have a response and from WingDings hidden perspective she appears a little remorseful.

As WingDings clutches his sternum and peers up at Undyne, they are roughly jostled again causing the boy to clip the back of his skull against the metal framework of the vehicle. “Owww,” WingDings voice is filled with static as he groans.

“You all right there twerp,” Undyne asks as Papyrus pulls him up into his lap. He’s a little old to be sitting in someone’s lap, but it isn’t as if there is anywhere else to sit.

“I’m fine,” WingDings answers, his voice still filled with static.

“You sure?” Undyne isn’t convinced.

WingDings shakes his head stubbornly, taking a breath in an attempt to calm his thrumming soul. Apparently going through that gate affects his unique soul, he’ll have to avoid them in the future. Moreover, Sans and Toriel sound like they’re a couple this time around. He decides this isn’t too weird since they have the same sense of humor back home.

Undyne and Alphys together isn’t surprising at all.

Something catches the boy’s attention, like a tickle in his invisible ear and he looks up at Papyrus who is staring at him expectantly. Since the taller skeleton is wearing a mask WingDings has no way of knowing if the skeleton is speaking to him, instead he hears something at a distance. Turning his head WingDings see’s a vast landscape of red jagged cliffs and sand, with dark black cuts of metal structures rising from the ground like knives.

“WingDings can you hear me?” a voice says from somewhere close, by but he can only see Undyne and Papyrus, who are looking at him with guarded worry. The voice is filled with static, like his own voice sounded moments ago.

“Yes?” he says out loud, his voice buzzing.

“Don’t let anyone know you can hear me,” the voice says, making WingDings instantly suspicious. He pin points the sound and is surprised to find that it is coming from the radio resting on the dash. “They can’t hear this frequency,” the voice says. “I want to help you.”

Not trusting the voice, WingDings knocks a magic hand at the device, causing it to screech in protest before buzzing back to normal.

“GEeez you turd what was that for!” Undyne yelps as they speed along, sand is hitting them all hard and her scaly skin is becoming cracked from it.

“Don’t call me a pile of dung,” WingDings snaps back. “Twerp and nerd I’ll tolerate, but not turd.”

“Tch, whatever you say twerp,” Undyne cackles. “Dang looks like a storms coming in, we’ll make it just in time. Unless you think you can warp my baby here with us in it.”

“I wish,” WingDings mashes his lips together and tries to spit the sand from his mouth, he can even feel it flinging into his eye sockets. He blinks his eyes hoping to relieve some of the pain as Undyne pulls out an extra pair of goggles from between the seats.

Since they don’t have a mask for the boy Papyrus wraps a strip of cloth around the lower portion of his face, keeping the sand from entering his mouth. He tries to put the goggles on as well but they don’t fit his large eye sockets so Papyrus wraps more cloth around his entire face instead. WingDings can’t really breath easily or see anything this way, but it beats having sand entering uncomfortable places. When the weather gets really rough they zoom into a hidden cave that is barely big enough for the vehicle to drive through.

Once inside Papyrus lifts him off his lap and hands him down to waiting arms.

“You found a child?” a voice asks as they set him down on the uneven ground. He pulls off the bandage and looks up to see a familiar deer like monster.

“Sasha?” WingDings asks cautiously as Papyrus jumps to the ground beside him.

Surprised at hearing her name from a child she’s clearly never met, the monster head swings back so her chin rest on her chest. “Have we met?” she asks.

“Lucky guess?” WingDings shrugs, quickly looking away from her and getting to see the vehicle they were riding around in. It is huge! The tires are half the size of Papyrus! How on earth did they get into that thing so easily?

“Do not be alarmed Miss Sasha, for you see he claims to come from another world,” Papyrus explains to her.

“And you believe him? Wait don’t answer that of course you believe him,” she isn’t overly condescending about it, a little smile showing on her lips as she puts a hand to her hip.

“Shouldn’t need any repairs,” Undyne tells Sasha, as she moves around the monstrosity.

“Looks like you could use some,” Sasha points to Undyne’s shoulder and then nods to the kid. “Him too.”

WingDings is about to disagree with her but looking down at his filthy shirt he sees a little blood from where the bullet nicked him and several scrapes on his bones from being kicked by mister Flint. That is still jarring when he thinks about him. He really hopes it isn’t uncle Coal’s counterpart.

“Come on, to the bath,” Undyne shoves him forward and when the boy only looks at her in confusion, she grabs him by the back of his shirt and drag him to where they need to go. He complains loudly, whacking her arm with his hands, but she doesn’t let go, merely laughing at him. It’s only when Papyrus flicks her arm that she releases the poor child.

Jittering in annoyance, WingDings steps beside Papyrus and takes the opportunity to look around. They’re inside what looks like a man made cave, since it’s been chiseled out, rather than decorated with stalagmites and stalactites. They shuffle down a steep slopping incline made of rock and metal before entreating a massive hall with workshop lights strung a lengthy distance apart. WingDings hates the shadows they cast on the ground and he makes a point to ignore them.

At the end of the metallic hall, they are stopped by two dog guards Dogamy and Dogaressa. “Who is the bone child?” Dogaressa asks, putting a paw out to stop them.

“Is he a spy?” Dogamy adds, looking cautiously at the boy.

“His name is WingDings and he’s a guest,” Undyne answers. “We’ll explain more once we’ve been disinfected.”

“As you wish, welcome back Commander Undyne and Captain Papyrus . . . and WingDings,” the dogs step aside allowing the three to pass into a small room off to the side of the small guard house.

Before WingDings can be prepared for whatever is about to happen, Undyne and Papyrus proceed to strip off their clothes and fling them into an open sack. “Take everything off,” Papyrus tells him. “You can leave your device here on the shelf, they won’t take it.” Hesitating a second or two, WingDings removes the charger and loot box from his pockets and puts them on the shelf where Undyne leaves a rifle of some kind and Papyrus leaves several strange devices he’s collected.

WingDings covers his ribs as best he can, looking down at the filthy floor as he follows after the two adults heels. “The sand topside carries diseases that are harmful to the body if not removed,” Papyrus explains to WingDings as they enter a small tiled room where a human woman is waiting.

“Welcome back,” the woman greets, stepping up onto a bench and hoisting a bucket of water with her before dumping it on Undyne.

“Ah, shit that’s freezing,” Undyne shrieks, or laughs it’s hard to tell sometimes. “You did that on purpose Rebecca.”

“Maybe I did?” the woman with short spiky brown hair shrugs, picking up another pail and coming over to dump it on WingDings. His bucket of water is actually warm and whatever is in the liquid causes WingDings to sneeze. Close by Undyne has dumped a bucket on Papyrus as well.

“Please tell me the bath is at least warm,” Undyne says as she walks to an old rusty tub. It isn’t that large and WingDings wonders how long he’ll be expected to wait out here dripping wet until the adults are finished using it.

“Don’t you trust me?” Rebecca teases, picking up the pails and leaving the room as Undyne steps into it.

“Oh ho, just the way I like it,” Undyne waves them over. “Come on in, waters great.”

WingDings takes a step back while Papyrus gives him a gentle push forward. The boy walks towards the tub, but the lip of it is much too high for him to climb in, leading Papyrus to pluck him up and put him into the water.

The action of being picked up like a baby bones causes WingDings to blush, only blushing harder when he realizes he’s sharing a bath with Undyne and Papyrus. He’s never had to do that before! Sure he’s had to change in front of them before or use the same bath water, but never at the same time!

“You okay there twerp?” Undyne asks taking out a thick bristled brush and scrubbing at Papyrus back.

Stubbornly WingDings nods his head, but doesn’t answer verbally. The water smells funny and it appears to be glowing green, although it could be a trick of the eye.

“Well get to it then,” she hands him another brush. “You skeletons are the hardest to clean, so many pieces to ya.”

“Nyeh heh heh,” Papyrus lifts a rag and proceeds to clean the rest of him while WingDings looks away. “Need any help?”

“No I’m fine,” WingDings insists, holding his breath and dunking his head in the water so he can get the sand out of his skull too. And yes the water tastes just as strange as it smells.

When they are nearly done Alphys walks in smiling at the three. She isn’t wearing a lab coat like WingDings expects, but a long patched vest, dress, boots and thick yellow gloves. At least she still has glasses on, although they do appear broken. “Are you . . . Are you almost . . . I have the scan ready,” she settles on saying, blushing bright across her golden scales.

“Heck yeah I’m ready,” Undyne comes out first and Alphys gives her a grin. WingDings looks away. Again if he had a tongue he’d stick it out at the show of romance in front of him.

“You’re clean Undyne,” Alphys tells her. “There are new clothes waiting on the bench.”

“See you soon,” Undyne kisses her on the cheek as Papyrus steps out of the tub.

“You’re clean as well,” Alphys tells him.

“Thank you Dr. Alphys,” Papyrus walks to a shelf where some towels are folded and proceeds to use it. Unlike Undyne he doesn’t leave the room, waiting for WingDings to step out and be scanned next.

In order to exit the tub safely WingDings uses his magic hands to float out before stepping in front of the lizard woman. Holding his hands over his chest, WingDings waits for her to scan him, sighing when he sees her brows furrow in confusion. “Uh, you need to . . . you aren’t . . . you aren’t clean enough WingDings,” she tells him gently.

He sighs and returns to the tub. Luckily he doesn’t mind bathes, but the water is starting to smell stale and is lukewarm. To his surprise though Papyrus steps up and proceeds to clean him, using the brush a little harder than WingDings had. WingDings doesn’t fight the larger skeleton, knowing that he has no ill will towards him. He can tell at a glance that they all have ‘good-ish’ souls.

To his bafflement though, the skeleton doesn’t mention his fractured red soul. Surely the skeleton can see it this close up and yet Papyrus doesn’t say anything about it, focused only on scrubbing him clean.

When Papyrus is finished with him, the skeleton takes him out and sets him in front of Alphys, a befuddled expression on his face. She scans him again and hums with discontent. “You’re clean . . . I think,” Alphys says. “I’m picking up . . . there are traces of . . . You have some kind of magic radiation . . . I’ll be right back.” The lizard leaves the room in a hurry and Undyne slips her head in.

“Hey what’s the hold up?” she asks.

“Dr. Alphys detects trace amounts of magic radiation from WingDings,” Papyrus explains.

“Really? That doesn’t sound good,” Undyne says point blank.

WingDings shoots her a glare.

“So you found a kid huh?” Sans comes into the room wearing a long dragging coat that is missing sleeves, with a patched shirt, baggy pants, and grungy boots. He chuckles and adds, “Didn’t think you wanted any Papy.”

“It will do no harm taking another orphan into the city Sans,” Papyrus tells him.

At this point WingDings is actually starting to shiver, a sensation he last felt in Saint Petra. Whether it’s from Sans presence or standing naked in a puddle of water he can’t say. Alphys hands Sans the device and he scans him again. He checks the settings and then looks up at WingDings with his judging eye. WingDings shrinks back, clutching his sternum and ramming into the back of the tub.

He does not like this feeling. Being judged. It’s feels worse than being naked. Granted he doesn’t have much problem being naked really, but if he were such a person he’d imagine this feeling is worse.

“His soul is unique,” Sans finally says handing Alphys the device. “Get the poor thing a towel he’s gunna catch a cold.”

Papyrus nods and comes forward to wrap the shivering WingDings in a frayed towel that feels more like a straw sack.

“Is it safe to let him in the city?” Undyne asks as Sans passes her.

“Yeah, should be fine, I’ll let Amy know she’ll have a new boarder at the orphanage,” Sans calls back.

Orphanage? They’re putting him in an orphanage? WingDings can feel his magic flare and closes his eyes as to avoid showing any alarming colors to Papyrus. He was hoping that he’d get to say with Sans and Papyrus this time around, but apparently this is going to only be a slight step up from Saint Petra. Maybe.

“WingDings?” Papyrus asks, gaining the boys attention easily enough.

“Yes?” he asks, managing to open his eyes and keep his emotions in check.

“Has your soul always looked like that?” Papyrus asks.

Eyes opening wider WingDings smile slowly drops into a line. Apparently the skeleton did see his soul. He suspected a much from the observant skeleton. “Yes, it’s always been like that,” WingDings tells him.

“Ah, I see,” Papyrus rises to his full height and makes for the door, but the boy grabs his arm.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” WingDings whispers.

“Hmm, I can’t in good conscious make that promise,” Papyrus says.

Hearing this makes the boy shrink a little, slowly releasing the skeletons arm. He shouldn’t be surprised. This is Papyrus after all. “I understand,” WingDings nods, smiling at him.

Papyrus winces at the sight. “Don’t smile like that, it isn’t a smile at all,” Papyrus says and proceeds to show him a real smile. “This is how you smile.”

WingDings wants to please Papyrus, he can’t help it and gives his best to smile, showing his crooked teeth.

“That’s even scarier, I like it!” Undyne says in approval behind them.

WingDings and Papyrus follow her into the next room where a different set of clothes is waiting for him. He looks up at Papyrus for an explanation and is told his other clothes will be returned to him once they’re clean. With little choice but to accept Papyrus at his word WingDings changes into a pair of baggy shorts, tank top, and oversized jacket. After Papyrus helps him bind his feet he grabs his things and they walk out into the underground city.

Unlike the entrance, this portion of the settlement appears to mostly be a natural cave with parts of it showing metal re-bar and structures from a distant futuristic past. The lights, that are mounted with wires, appear rather temporary, but it’s apparent from the cob webs and mud nests that they’ve been bolted to the cavern walls a long time. The lights are low to the ground making it easier to see where you’re walking, but impossible to see just how high up the ceiling goes. If WingDings looks carefully he can see blinking blue lights winking at him in the dark.

He also feels a piece of his soul, but rather than run for it, he resists the urge and stays beside Papyrus, looking at the metal buildings welded together like an artists collage project.

“Before I forget WingDings, may I have the warp hoop please,” Papyrus stops, gesturing towards the boy. With a flick of magic WingDings retrieves the hoop from his inventory and hands it to the skeleton. “Thank you, Sans will be glad to know the Harpers Gang didn’t get their hands on it.”

“Nope, only my hands,” WingDings grins. He lifts his hands and flexes his fingers twice in the universal sign for grabbing something.

Papyrus chuckles with a soft Nyeh heh.

“I’m going to head to the scientist’s lair,” Undyne lightly slaps Papyrus shoulder. “I’ll take it back to Sans while you introduce our newest orphan to Amy.”

Orphan. WingDings doesn’t react to the word visibly, but he doesn’t like hearing it again. He’d love to correct them, but that will encourage them to ask more questions. Questions he doesn’t care to answer.

“I’ll see you later twerp,” Undyne gives WingDings a noogie and races off down one of the paths, sliding between monster and human who are in route themselves.

“Follow me WingDings,” Papyrus leads the boy up several mangled stairs, past an old empty fountain with a defaced statue and into what the skeleton calls the housing district. He takes WingDings to a stone structure that has been painted several times, cracking from the moisture of the cave and years of use.

When Papyrus opens the creaking door WingDings is surprised not to hear much of anything, not even children’s laughter, making the place eerie. Inside reveals a structure mostly made of bricks. They are uneven and some stick out, instead of offering a smooth surface. There are also rugs decorating the cold walls and stone floors, splashing the otherwise dull space with reds, yellows, and green. The designs remind him a little of his Beast home, the circular motif, twisting and weaving around pointed triangles. “Where is everyone?” WingDings asks as he studies one of the decorative rugs.

“They’re out working,” Papyrus explains. “In the mornings children are taught and in the afternoon they’re put to work. Everyone has a job so we can survive down here.”

WingDings nods and follows Papyrus into the kitchen where a small human woman is cooking with two dinosaur type monster children helping her. One of them WingDings recognizes as MK, but he doesn’t immediately recognize his paler duplicate.

“Miss Amy I’m here with your newest child,” Papyrus announces.

“Hi Mister Papyrus,” MK stops stirring a large bowl of corn bread mix with the spoon his mouth.

“Hello, young Marcus,” Papyrus replies. The name catches WingDings off guard but his plastered grin doesn’t move.

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Marcus groans. “I go by Monster Kid now.”

“That’s a stupid name,” the girl giggles from where she’s stirring at the stove.
“Is not Angelica,” Marcus sticks his tongue out at the girl who only giggles more.

Amy sighs at the sight, no doubt having paid witness to it several times already. “I’m Amy Ross,” the woman greets him. “I’ll provide you with meals and care when you need it. This is Marcus Kidd and his sister Angelica Kidd.”

“We were assigned kitchen duty today,” Marcus informs him.

“My name is WingDings,” the boy bows his head to them as a form of greeting and for once it doesn’t earn him baffled stares, only intrigued smiles.

“No last name?” Amy asks curious.

“No ma’am,” WingDings shakes his head.

“Then we’ll just have to give you one,” Marcus hops down from his wooden plank doubling as a stool while Amy takes the mix and pours it onto a metal sheet. “Hmm,” the boy makes a face, pressing his lips and squinting his eyes. “How about WingDings the Skeleton!”

“Oh that’s original,” Angelica snickers, while Papyrus shakes his head and sighs.

“Hey Sans used to go by that,” Marcus contests. “It was good enough for him.”

“And it was horrible,” Papyrus rationalizes.

“And ‘The Great Papyrus’ was better?” Angelica asks.

“Angelica!” Amy scolds the child. “Put your mouth where it belongs, wrapped around that spoon.” She gives Papyrus a wincing smile as she hoists the metal sheet into a poorly reconstructed oven. “I’m sorry Captain.”

“I am great, but I no longer have to call myself that to know its true,” Papyrus answers with a grin, before turning to WingDings. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again WingDings.”

“Thank you for believing me,” WingDings tells him.

“You’re welcome,” Papyrus moves for the door. “Might have Dr. Gill drop by, we’ll radio in.”

“Thanks Papyrus,” Amy calls after him. WingDings tries to keep his hope up even as he watches his other brother walk away. Watching him leave feel almost like a piece of his soul is walking away, but WingDings doesn’t follow the man. For the first time in a long while it looks like he won’t have a Papyrus to be at his side.

                              

Notes:

Welcome to Home! And yes WingDings is once again considered an orphan, but at least this time he has a home to live in. I really enjoyed the world building in this story, although I do confess it’s not as detailed as other things I’ve written perhaps. We’ll get to see more of how life in this underground operates next chapter and meet a crucial character.

Added some concept art of Home.

Chapter 3: Many Voices

Notes:

Sorry for not updating last week, been busy. Have a long chapter where WingDings makes some new friends and some of the mystery is unraveled.

“Now then, Marcus,” Amy says, breaking the awkward silence that comes with Papyrus’ leaving. “Why don’t you go and show WingDings around and assign him a bunk.” An excellent idea really. An idea that will distract WingDings from his ‘other brother’s’ vacancy in this new life.

“Yes Miss Amy,” Marcus beams, doing a little dance as he eagerly leaves his station. “Come on, follow me! First off we have the kitchen and the main hall, dining hall, here we have the radio room, only Miss Amy, Miss Rebecca, and Mr. Jose are allowed in there. This is their office, also not allowed in there either and right next to the door is the cleaning room. You have to brush off dust and dirt in there before every meal.”

With the first floors introduction taking care of Marcus leads WingDings up the first of two rickety flights of stairs where they stop on the first landing. “Up these stairs in front we have Miss Amy’s bedroom, can’t go in there, on the right we have the girls rooms, can’t go in there, up there is the adults room, can’t go there, and on the left we have the boys rooms.” He turns and smiles at WingDings. “We can go in there.”

There are three rooms in this wing, one is a kind of washroom and the other two are bedrooms full of bunks and chests. There are no doors on the entries, instead heavy colorful canvas’s act as a barrier, offering some privacy. The beds consist of a stuffed straw mat, feather pillow, and collections of patched blankets, all of various sizes and colors. On the floor in the center isle of each room is a long rug, worn and dirty but still managing to add some culture to the crowded rooms. “So how old are you?” Marcus asks.

“Ten years old,” WingDings answers.

“Then you’ll be sleeping with the older boys,” Marcus explains, leading him into the left room. “At age fourteen we’re kicked out and have to live in the barracks.” He moves along the center aisle and points out two of the bunks. “The bottom bunks on these aren’t taken; if you’re on the top bunk you get the chest at the foot of the bed, if you’re on the bottom you get the chest on the right side of the bunk. If you steal you stay one night in prison with no dinner.”

WingDings nods his head and wonders just how often Marcus has given this same spiel before. The tagged on bit about being punished with something as severe as jail time for a simple theft is also telling. In a place where survival comes first, and feelings second, it makes sense.

“Just . . . this place isn’t like the other gangs,” Marcus tells him. “You don’t have to be mean or bad to prove yourself, just work hard and everything will be okay.” The dinosaur child shuffles from one foot to the other, his smile more strained than it was when they first met. Why is he so nervous? Is he scared of him?

“I don’t want to cause problems,” WingDings assures the other child. “I’m thankful to have a place to sleep and food to eat.”

“Oh good,” Marcus sighs in relief and chuckles nervously. “You never know what might happen. Desperation looks bad in kids.”

“It looks bad in anyone,” WingDings replies, looking around the room and sitting on one of the lower bunks of his choice. There are six bunks on each side of the cold room, space for twenty-four in all and two empty beds that he knows of. Just counting the older boys that would be twenty-three counting himself. “Are these the only two bunks available?”

“With the older boys, tier 2B, yes,” Marcus says taking a seat beside him. “We’ve almost got a full house here at the orphanage.”

“Really? Doesn’t anyone get adopted?” WingDings asks in surprise.

“Adopted?” Marcus asks, leaning forward and quickly scanning the inside of his brain for the word. “I’ve never heard that word before. What does it mean?”

“When an adult makes you their child, their son, or their daughter,” WingDings explains, unable to hold a smile when he realizes just how bad it is. At least they have a place to live, that’s more than could be done for some. . .

“That’s sounds wonderful, but no I’ve never heard of that happening,” Marcus recalls. “Orphaned babies are taken care of till they are three by Doctor Gill and his medical team then sent to live here.”

“Are children common place?” WingDings asks.

“Well . . . there are over three thousand nine hundred adults living in Home,” Marcus recalls.

“That many!?” WingDings is shocked. He wouldn’t have guess there were that many living in this underground cave.

“Yep, I thought the same thing when I came five years ago,” Marcus explains. “But there are only about a hundred fifty children, including those with families.”

“Why so few?” WingDings asks.

“Most children don’t live to adulthood,” Marcus sighs and flops back onto the bed. “It’s just the way it is. Dr. Gill is trying to change that, which is why the orphanage is so full and Amy doesn’t mind. She said she’d rather have a full orphanage than an empty one.”

“Does she run it all herself?” WingDings asks flopping down beside him.

“Miss Rebecca and Mr. Jose help, they work in other places around Home during the day though,” he explains.

“I’m guessing Miss Amy has to feed around a hundred kids,” WingDings estimates.

“Eight-seven counting you,” Marcus grins.

“We should help her in the kitchen then,” WingDings stands up and pulls off his jacket, putting it in the empty chest. “There, this bed is mine.” WingDings smiles more genuinely. “So where do you sleep?”

“I’m still with the little kids,” he answers moving with WingDings to the door. “But not for long, I’m turning ten in a couple months.”

“That’s great,” WingDings says as they race down the stairs. As they run towards the kitchen WingDings abruptly halts when a buzzing sound tickles the inside of his skull. Looking around, he pinpoints the sound to the radio room.

Marcus says something, but again WingDings can’t hear him. Instead he can only hear the radio sizzling and popping for his attention. “WingDings, no need to answer,” the voice says to him alone. “The safest way to get to the next piece of your soul is to leave the house at three in the morning. Come to this room at that time, I’ll speak with you then.” The device shuts off with WingDings glaring into the room aggressively.

“Uh, WingDings?” Marcus nudges WingDings shoulder, trying to get his attention. “Is something wrong? You’re just . . . staring.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” WingDings brushes past Marcus and into the kitchen where Amy and Angelica are starting on the next batch of cornbread. Summoning several hands WingDings stirs the large pots of chili, while Amy and the siblings set the table in the other room.

Not even a half hour later a swell of voices enters the manor, filling the halls with a noise so loud WingDings flinches and nearly drops a spoon. All of the oncoming children scramble into the ‘cleaning room’ before racing for a place at the tables, chatting with their friends about the day or greeting Miss Ross.

Taking a deep breath, WingDings grabs all six pots of chili with his magic hands and moves into the dining hall, setting the pots in their place along the three long tables. Some of the other kids scurry into the kitchen, grabbing the plates of cornbread and placing them on the tables before WingDings even has a chance to turn around and go back for them.

“Everyone, voices off,” Amy snaps her fingers and everyone becomes quiet except for those still cleaning in the hall. She reaches her head out of the door and repeats herself. “Voices off I have something to say.” Like magic the whole house is quiet.

“Thank you, first off this is our last night with Lilly, so as is tradition she will receive a gift at the end of supper,” Amy stops long enough to allow the kids to wish Lilly well and get excited before starting up again. “Dr. Gill’s will also be visiting tonight, so if anyone isn’t feeling well please let him know. And of course you have all noticed our new addition. Please welcome WingDings and show him around. He’s come to us from very far away and is sure to have a lot of questions. Everyone take a seat.”

With the nightly meeting over chatter starts up again as the eighty-seven children sit and enjoy their meal. The chili isn’t the best, but the cornbread makes it easier to ingest. A few start up conversations with him, asking what his interests are and how he likes Home so far. In turn he asks them how they like Home and how they got here. Some are more willing to share their story than others which isn’t a surprise to WingDings. They’ve had hard lives, but they appear fairly happy now, all things considered.

When the meal is done, Lilly is given a large box and several smaller ones wrapped in strips of cloth. Inside the larger box is a new outfit, a satchel and a cup. In the smaller boxes are gifts from some of the other children, typically jewelry and tools they’ve made out of scraps they’ve found. The fourteen year old recipient is very thankful and sheds a few tears as she hugs her friends and Amy.

After dinner the kids either stick to the dining room playing games or head upstairs. WingDings stays in the dining hall to play some card games and meets Mr. Jose while he’s there. He also gets to see Rebecca again confirming it’s the same woman who helped with the bath when he first arrived.

“Dr. Gill is here!” someone shouts from the main hall.

“Everyone who wants to see the doctor come to the hall,” Miss Amy calls, before walking into the dining room and motioning to WingDings.

“Looks like I have to fold,” WingDings shows everyone his hand and leaves a group of hollering kids when they see just how mediocre his hand really is. He had them fooled because honestly Poker is all about math and having a good poker face.

Now if only he could lie when it mattered.

Amy lifts a brow at him, but doesn’t comment as she takes WingDings to a short line of kids leading out from her office, which has been converted to a makeshift examination room for the doctor. There are only about five kids lined up here, including Angelica, Marcus’ moody sister. He waits at the back of the line suspecting he might take up a bit of the good doctor’s time.

When it is WingDings’ turn he walks in and takes a seat in front of a very old human. The man has olive skin, heavy wrinkles and long white hair tightly braided behind his head. Seeing long hair stands out to WingDings since most everyone else he’s seen is either bald or has very short cropped hair. “Hello WingDings, I hear you are new here,” the old man grins, revealing several false teeth, but his breath doesn’t smell bad. “My name is Doctor Gill.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” WingDings bows his head.

“Any aches or pains, Papyrus told me you were roughed up a bit,” the doctor takes a look at his arms and legs, lifting his chin and checking the bones he can see.

“I’m feeling good,” WingDings assures him. Now when today started, not so much, but he isn’t going to talk about how he messed up his magic a little bit because of a hasty teleportation or how radio static keeps talking to him.

“Looks like Papyrus and that bath took care of most of your wounds,” Dr. Gill assess. “Can you remove your shirt please, I’d like to see your soul and the nick from that bullet wound.”

“Not to alarm you sir, but my soul is . . .” he doesn’t want to say broken, his brother’s get upset when he says that. “Different.” That word feels just as bad to him. “It’s normal for me though so don’t freak out.”

“Child why would I ‘freak out’ I’ve seen many a sickness of the soul in my time,” the doctor assure him as WingDings removes his shirt. First he looks at his ribs and reaches into his pouch to put some kind of bandage onto it. “Remove this in morning and give it to Amy, as for your soul . . .” He peeks through the boy’s ribs and has a glimpse of what WingDings is talking about. “Hmm, well that is rather unique isn’t it?”

The doctor reaches into his bag again and pulls out a device that looks a lot like Alphys scanner, but instead of flicking it across WingDings body he lets the boy’s soul come to rest over the device before flipping a switch.

Like entering a conflict in a video game, WingDings can see the doctor’s stats and several strange options flicker like a hologram around his head. Unlike what he’s seen at other points in his life, WingDings sees ‘Stats’, ‘History’ ‘Interests’ and ‘Fun Fact’. Whatever he’s seeing, it’s only him as the doctor frowns and fiddles with his buzzing device. Thinking it would be a waste not to investigate what this is, WingDings focuses on the ‘History’ option which folds out a larger piece of text.

‘Born under the Putrid Gang, Shawn Gill worked from the age of six sewing and healing the wounded when his soul gift of healing magic was uncovered. When the Putrid Gang was running low on water he was sold to the Tainted Gang for water rights in their lands. Shawn continued his work stealing medical books from the graves of the past and learned from them vital knowledge of health and medicine. During a water raid, Shawn was gravely injured and abandoned at a dry underground well where he was found by water scavengers from Home. They took him in and allowed him to heal. He serves the community to this day with hopes for a better future.’

The text takes WingDings a long time to read through, but it proves a good distraction while Dr. Gill takes multiple scans of WingDings soul and body. Gill pulls out a huge tablet like device and takes notes, mumbling under his breath about none of the information making sense.

Paying the man no mind, WingDings next focuses on the ‘Stats’ word. The Doctors name, Shawn Gill, pops up along with his medical details. There is no HP, MP, or DEF listed. Not even LV. Instead it’s a typical medical data log, along with his place of birth, surviving offspring, wife and age. WingDings is surprised to find that the man is seventy-five years old. “Wow, you’re doing good for your age Dr. Gill,” WingDings encourages him as he flips to the ‘interests’ tab.

“What was that WingDings?” Dr. Gill asks only half listening.

“I said you look good for your age,” WingDings repeats.

“Thank you WingDings, you’re very kind,” the man doesn’t think anything of the comment and keeps working as WingDings focuses on his ‘interests’ which includes medicine, singing, and helping children. The ‘Fun Fact’ he finds says that Dr. Gill has one of the last yellow rubber ducks on the planet.

“Cool, where did you get the rubber duck?” WingDings asks.

Once again the doctor isn’t really paying attention, although the boy suspects that he is simply hard of hearing. It’s only when WingDings focuses on the Doctor that he sees the tickle of blue snaking across his arm. Looking down he sees tiny blue letters on his bones, flickering in and out like the text on an old computer screen. “Uh Doctor Gill, is that suppose to happen?” Never in his time of visiting a doctor has his magic shown up like this before. And he’s seen a lot of doctors.

“Hmm?” the doctor finally turns away from his device and sees what WingDings does. “Oh,” he says simply. “Well,” he chuckles, coming closer and fixing his spectacles as he studies WingDings arm. “I must say I’ve never seen magic manifest like that before. Have you?”

“No sir, I haven’t” WingDings shakes his head, lifting his arm a little closer to his own eyes. “This is very interesting.”

“I . . . well yes, I must agree that it is very interesting, but how did you not know about it child?” Doctor Gill asks, putting WingDings soul back into his chest.

“I don’t know” WingDings shrugs. “This is the first time I’ve seen it.”

“Well, I’ll have to look over the data I have and run more tests to figure it out,” Doctor Gill’s eyes become clouded as he thinks deeply on what is happening with this child. Quickly turning to his tablet he continues to jot down notes. “At the very least you appear healthy aside from that chip in your rib,” the doctor assures him gently, first and foremost wanting the child to rest easy and not cause him unnecessary worry.

“Thank you for your time Doctor,” WingDings stands from the chair and offers Dr. Gill his hand.

Doctor Gill finds the gesture unexpected, but accepts his hand nonetheless. “My pleasure Mr. WingDings,” the kind old man smiles. “I hope you have a good life here.”

WingDings walks out of the room to find Amy in a long sleep shirt and is individually going around to the lamps and dimming them. He must have been in the office longer than he thought.

“Oh good you’re done,” Amy says with a soft smile and motions for him to follow. “I have some things for you.” She walks into the ‘cleaning room’ and opens one of the cabinets handing him a long sleep dress, a blanket, a kind of large brush, and a book. “You’ll be helping me with cooking tomorrow until they find a place for you to work,” she explains as he follows her up the stairs.

“What is the brush for?” WingDings asks.

“Use it to stay clean, I’ve already put your name on it,” she explains.

He presses his ivory lips and tries not to make a face. With a lack of water it makes sense, but it hardly seems like an effective cleaning utensil in his mind.

“Goodnight WingDings,” Amy goes back down the stairs leaving him at the entrance of the boy’s rooms. WingDings steps into the smaller cleaning room, twisting the nob so the light burns a little brighter. He shuts the door part way and takes off his rugged clothes noticing that there is no sink or bathtub, but there is a toilet of some kind. Come to think of it, there was no sink in the kitchen either, all the water came from a pump. Water is sacred in a world like this. He’ll miss being clean, but this is hardly the first time this has happened so he’ll survive. With a sigh he pulls out his charger and inventory. Carefully he opens the clips on the sides of the devices and attaches each to the inside of his ribs before putting his sleep shirt on over it.

This isn’t a world that should know about such devices and while the price for stealing is heavy he can’t risk it. Picking up everything again, WingDings goes to his bed and puts everything in his chest. Around him the majority of the boys are fast asleep, exhausted from their day of work.

Seeing them sleeping reminds WingDings of just how tired he is as well, but the rooms darkness is a deterrent. WingDings decides to keep a glowing hand close by, stopping the darkness from stretching its claws into his wary mind as he drifts to sleep.

WingDings feels like he just shut his eyes when he hears a screeching sound that is such a high pitched frequency the vibrations makes his soul crawl.

Stumbling to his feet, WingDings takes a short cut downstairs just outside the radio room. “Stop it!” he hisses and the radio does as he asks.

“I did not know how else to wake you child,” the voice tells him. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I don’t trust you,” WingDings tells the voice softly. “No one else can hear you and I can’t see your soul.”

“I mean you no harm, I only wish to help you in your quest for your soul,” the voice tells him.

“How do you know about that?” WingDings balks.

“I know your soul very well and every bone of your body,” it answers.

“. . . You sound like a creep,” WingDings doesn’t like this and makes a motion to leave.

“Tonight is the best night to get the piece,” the voice tells him patiently. “I know you can feel it and I can get you there without anyone knowing.”

“How?” WingDings asks.

“Open a short cut and I will take you there,” he replies.

“I can’t do that,” WingDings hisses eyes flashing with distrust. He learned from the last world he was in that not all adults cared. Not to mention the way Undyne had treated him when he first arrive.

“How do you think you got out of the cave this morning?” the voice asks. “Do you really believe that was skill or luck? I carried you out. Your body, your magic, it was given to you by me.”

“Who are you?” WingDings asks, realizing that this should have been his first question.

“I am the CORE, W.D. Gaster,” he answers.

WingDings eye sockets widen and he sags to the floor. “So . . . you’re dead then?”

“No, I’m quite alive, I simply do not possess a body like most monsters do,” Gaster informs him softly. “Now we really must be going, do you trust me child?”

“. . . I do,” WingDings nods even as he hesitates. “But I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry I won’t drop you,” Gaster assures him and before WingDings can possibly change his mind he opens a short cut, envisioning a large hand with a hole in its center holding him secure.

The journey is uncomfortable and makes WingDings feel as if he’s passing through deep water again. When he is dumped on the bank of a dark shore he cannot move immediately, the magic in his body fizzling around his soul like a bad connection between wires. “Gaster?” WingDings asks, waiting a second or two and hearing nothing.

Slowly he rolls onto his back, only then realizing he’s still wearing his nightgown. He probably should have thought this through better. Looking towards the source of his soul WingDings sees a similar sight to where he was the previous day. There is a large dark underground lake, glowing an ethereal cyan from the column of light at its center. Is this the reservoir Papyrus and Undyne were trying to fill?

Sitting up, WingDings looks out into the water and considers how he should reach it’s center. He really doesn’t want to get his nightgown wet, but he also doesn’t want to go skinny dipping so late at night either. With a grumble WingDings lightly kicks his feet into the black sand, before pulling his knees up and staring into the water. It really is beautiful, so it’s hard to stay mad at the lake.

“Hey. . .” a voice says, snapping WingDings from his thoughts. A quick scan of the water’s surface reveals an eggplant colored tentacle rising from the water. “Hey there,” the smiling face of Onionsan appears and WingDings smiles.

“Hello,” WingDings greets them.

“Noticed you sitting there, are you all right?” Onionsan asks.

“Yeah mostly, how are you doing?” WingDings asks.

“I’m doing great,” Onionsan’s eyes grow extra big, their cheeks glowing pink with excitement. “The water is clean and I met someone new today.”

“Would that new person happen to be me?” WingDings asks.

“Yes it would!” Onionsan slaps the water with a tentacle before continuing. “Are you new?”

“Just arrived today . . . I guess that would be yesterday,” WingDings amends. “My name is WingDings.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Onionsan!” they shout in delight. “I live in Home’s Lake. It’s a great place to live ya hear.”

“Is this the reservoir?” WingDings asks.

“Oh no, they keep that separate from where I live with my friends, pretty cool huh?” Onionsan explains. “Although I hear they didn’t get enough, Undyne and Papyrus will have to leave again. It sure is a dangerous job.”

“It is,” WingDings agrees, he knows that first hand and wonders how far they’ll need to go to find more water.

“I help with repairs on the CORE and the reservoir,” Onionsan continues. “Undyne says I’m really good at it.”

“She’s pretty cool,” WingDings says rolling his eyes, still not entirely happy about how she treats him and her swiftness to curse.

“She is!” Onionsan cheers. “Hey you look down? You sure you are all right. Cheer up, you’re not the only new person around. I hear that Undyne and Papyrus found someone at the Silent Lake today.”

“That was me, Onionsan,” WingDings is still smiling, but it’s more of a grimace.

“Oh . . . well . . . I’m glad you’re here,” Onionsan tells him with such pure honesty it actually makes WingDings feel a little better. “All of my friends are asleep right now so I didn’t have anyone to talk to before you showed up. You seem like a nice kid.”

WingDings smiles and stands to his feet, brushing the sand and rocks off his clothing. “I’m glad to have met you too,” WingDings says. “Do you think you could help me with something.”

“Huh? Really? Of course,” Onionsan eagerly agrees. “What do you need?”

“Can you carry me to the filtration core?” WingDings asks, pointing at the pillar of light. “I don’t want to get wet.” He feels a little sheepish asking so blatantly for something, but Onionsan is a good soul and always an eager conversationalist.

Onionsan’s eyes become almost literal stars. “Really?! I’d love to!” Onionsan reaches one tentacle forward allowing WingDings to step on. “It really is beautiful isn’t it!” they say as they steadily swim towards the glass pillar of light.

“It is,” WingDings agrees. “How long have you lived here?”

“All of my life!” Onionsan replies. “I live here with all of my family and friends. This is the best place to live for aquatic monsters. The other gangs aren’t nearly as accommodating.”

“Why is that?” WingDings asks, looking down in time to see Onionsan’s face become an exaggerated anime style depression line.

“Water . . . is very important WingDings,” Onionsan answers. “The gangs take and take . . . the water gets lower and lower . . . until nothing is left.”

“I’m glad you live here then,” WingDings says, easily shifting the conversation in a happier direction.

“It really is, you’ve come to the right place WingDings, ya hear,” Onionsan encourages him as they near the tube. “I can’t go any closer, I don’t want the magic radiation to hurt you.”

“This is close enough,” WingDings summons a hand and sends it down into the enormous column, shutting his eyes and focusing on what his magic hand is doing. When his soul sparks with energy, he clenches his magic hand and has it reappear in front of him. Inside the tight fingers a glimmer of light shines, bringing a smile to WingDings face.

Lifting down the wide neck of his nightgown, WingDings brings out his soul and allows the piece to return. He is disappointed that there are still other pieces to be found, but at least he has this one back.

“You have a pretty soul,” Onionsan tells him, making WingDings blush and smile.

“Thank you Onionsan, I don’t know how to repay you,” WingDings tells the onion shaped monsters.

“Huh? Don’t be silly, I’m glad to help,” Onionsan turns away and swims towards the shore.

“I’m looking for pieces of my soul,” WingDings explains, thinking he owes the monster an explanation. “They’re scattered everywhere on the planet and you helped me find one.”

“Wow? I did that!” Onionsan’s eyes sparkle with joy.

WingDings nods down to them, grinning with honest happiness for perhaps the first time since he’s arrived.

“I can’t wait to tell my friends!” Onionsan gushes.

And now WingDings is realizing his foolishness for telling Onionsan the truth. He can’t tell them to keep it a secret, they wouldn’t be able to. It would be cruel to even ask. “You can tell them you made a boy very happy,” he encourages them.

“I can’t wait!” Onionsan reaches the shore and carefully lowers him to the bank.

“I’ll come back to visit some time,” WingDings tells them.

“I look forward to it, maybe I’ll introduce you to some of my friends,” Onionsan waves and WingDings waves back as he walks away from the lake. He’s glad Onionsan actually has friends in this world instead of being stuck all alone in Waterfall in a shallow canal. Looking around to be sure no one is watching, WingDings takes a short cut to the boy’s cleaning room and shuffles quietly back into bed. Isn’t long till he’s asleep and Gaster was mostly right. He wasn’t caught, not really.

Because WingDings is glad Onionsan was there.

Notes:

First off, I know there are a few grammar mistakes in here, didn’t have the chance to comb over it better. I really enjoy Amy, MK and Onionsan in this chapter. Funny enough, Amy is actually the name I give all the reader insert character’s I read fanfiction for. Also we have a name to go with the voice from the radio! Gaster is one of my favorite character’s in this story. Hopefully I’ll be able to post next week, we’ll see.

Made a sketch with Onionsan because I really do enjoy him.

Chapter 4: The Mysterious Child

“WingDings, get up,” a human boy WingDings doesn’t recognize gently shakes his shoulder, easily waking him.

“What?” WingDings whispers, blinking his sockets in bewilderment.

“You’re helping with breakfast arn’t ya?” the boy whispers back.

“Oh, right,” WingDings yawns and the boy steps aside allowing the young skeleton to grab his clothes. They both change, with WingDings careful not to show his ribs long, before they head downstairs to the kitchen. Amy is already waiting and gives them both a glass of water before they start preparing a meal of toast, scrambled eggs and sausage.

WingDings hands Amy the bandage from his rib before mindlessly scrambling the eggs. The young skeleton is barely awake as he teeters on a thick box that acts as his stepping stool.

“You’re really good at that,” Amy encourages him. “Maybe I can keep you in the kitchen all the time.”

“Where do they usually send the children to work?” WingDings asks, shaking his head in an attempt to stay awake.

“Tomasz why don’t you answer that question,” Amy says as she goes to wake the household.

“They usually send us to help in the gardens, with the livestock, making clothing, doing laundry, mending clothes, or taking care of babies and elders,” Tomasz answers. “If you can do artisan work they might have you help make rugs and other necessities that we can trade for goods at market. There are also a few older kids that help Dr. Gill with running errands.”

“There’s a market?” WingDings asks.

“Yeah,” Tomasz begins covering the dishes of eggs to keep them warm when the sound of children waking echoes through the halls. “Once a week, the gangs put aside their weapons to trade in ‘The Pit’,” he explains. “We trade things like mechanical devices and artisan items most often. We’re known for producing the best scanners and rugs in the valley.”

“I noticed the rugs in the bedroom and the hall,” WingDings says as a handful of children come into the kitchen and grab the dishes, setting the table before either boy can help. “Does everyone have a job?”

“Yep,” Tomasz pops the ‘p’ and pats WingDings on the shoulder. “At this rate you might become our cook.” WingDings doesn’t contest this, but honestly he’d rather be doing something for Dr. Gill or in the ‘scientist’s lair’, but they probably wouldn’t let him in there.

At breakfast everyone is still rather sleepy so the chatter isn’t as loud as it was during dinner. There is a moment where the children give a last farewell to Lilly before everyone heads out in a wave of bodies towards the school. WingDings sticks by Marcus and Angelica as he follows the flow of children. It is a long walk, down several wide streets crammed with homes. At the very edge of the housing district is the school building which consists of several rooms that have tapestries hung above their heads instead of solid ceilings. In the class rooms are rows of benches, which takes WingDings to his school house days in the old west.

Instead of joining the other children WingDings is taken to a smaller room where a familiar monster greets him. The room is filled with shelves, a chalk board and several low stools.

“Good morning WingDings, I’m Toriel Astor and I run this school,” the goat monster says as she takes a seat in front of him. She is wearing a thick denim skirt, with a leather apron, cream shirt and vest. The most surprising thing about her is the lack of horns. They are now just stubs, clearly snapped off.

“It’s nice to meet you ma’am,” WingDings answers politely, fighting off a wave of curiosity.

Lacing her hands on her lap, Toriel appears very pleased as she reaches beside her and pulls a flaking book from the shelf. As she does so WingDings intrigue gets the better of him and four familiar words ‘Stats’, ‘History’ ‘Interests’ and ‘Fun Fact’ flicker into his vision.

Eyes wide, WingDings glances at Toriel to be sure she isn’t paying attention and focuses on the fun fact option. It reads as follows: ‘This lovable goat enjoys finding multiple ways to make snails taste good.’ He chuckles at that causing Toriel to look up at him curiously. Her eyes go wide when she notices his arms glowing with a strange blue script, along with his eyes.

“Are you all right WingDings?” Toriel reaches forward and gently touches his knee, unable to keep her hands still.

“I’m fine, why?” WingDings asks, he looks down and notices the blue script. “This started happening recently.”

“Really?” Toriel comments, trying to sound positive, but unable to keep the question from her voice. “Did Dr. Gill meet with you?”

“He said he’d be running more tests,” WingDings assures her.

“And for your sake hopefully they won’t find out,” Gaster voice buzzes from far away.

WingDings turns his head automatically towards the outer wall. Hesitantly, Toriel does the same and looks at the wall searching for something that is not there.

“Refrain from looking at their data,” Gaster’s voice beeps and sputters, making it very difficult to make out. “Had I known of your curiosity I would have . . .” the voice becomes unrecognizable at this point.

“WingDings?” Toriel says his name and judging from the nervous smile WingDings can easily tell he’s done something strange.

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking,” WingDings quickly tells her. The answer comes so easily to him now that he doesn’t even have to think about what it actually means.

“I understand, you did have a difficult day yesterday,” Toriel says, relaxing her shoulders a little. “Tell you what. After you’re finished here you can return to the manor to help Miss Amy with chores around the child manor.”

He’d rather be with the other kids, but he isn’t in a position to deny her without making her suspicious. “Thank you Mrs. Astor,” he says with a fake smile that he sells as best he can.

“Of course WingDings,” Toriel grins. “Now I’m going to ask you a series of questions that I want you to answer the best you can. I want to get an idea of your strength and weakness’s in academia. That way I know which class to put you in and where you’d work best.” She hands him a broken slab of thin granite and a piece of chalk.

From there she launches into a series of arithmetic questions that vary from life application to pure algebra. When she learns that he can read and write she has him show her what he knows before asking him to demonstrate some of his magical abilities. It reminds WingDings of the time Agent Tenga quizzed him on what he knew when he was five years old. He doesn’t remember it well, but he does remember how smug he felt when he figured out Tenga’s algebra problems.

He feels just about the same way now.

“You know the font WingDings, just like your name suggests,” Toriel comments when they are winding down. “That is the font my husband uses to recover data from ancient computers. He says it makes it easier to read which has never made sense to me.”

“Sans?” WingDings asks, handing her his stone chalkboard. “Did he mention me?”

“A little,” Toriel accepts the slab and sets it beside her, placing the chalk on one of the shelves. “Papyrus claimed you came from another world.” She chuckles, cluing WingDings in that she doesn’t believe it. Her smile slowly droops as she looks at WingDings with disappointment.

WingDings does not like that look.

“You shouldn’t lie like that child,” Toriel warns him gently, as if she is teaching him rather than reprimanding. “Especially to a kind soul like Papyrus.”

WingDings doesn’t know what to say. He’s angry that she automatically assumes he’s lying. Sure it’s far-fetched, a kid coming from another time and dimension, but he gave Papyrus solid proof. It was clear to him that when Papyrus took that charger he knew what he held in his hand. Papyrus isn’t an idiot.

Looking at the floor WingDings hand twitches as he considers showing her the device, but the longer he waits thinking about it the weaker the desire to show her the device becomes. So he keeps his mouth shut, determined not to say anything about it for the time being.

“I understand,” WingDings answers, keeping his head low since he doesn’t trust any smile he might give her.

“Very good,” Toriel says in approval. “You may return to the manor, I’ll try to have a class assigned for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you Ma’am,” WingDings stands from the stool and leaves the room, slowly making his way up the steep streets back toward the manor. He doesn’t look up much as he walks, thinking about how tiring it is lying to everyone. Keeping secrets like this is annoying and with several pieces of his soul on this planet it’s daunting to think that he only has the voice of Gaster to help him. He can do it though. He’ll do anything to get the pieces back . . . well almost anything.

When WingDings reaches the manor Amy is in the kitchen preparing salad, meat and cheese for lunch. WingDings assists her, receiving another glass of clean water while he works. After lunch he helps Amy deliver a cart load of dirty clothing, towels and blankets to the launder in another part of the city.

First thing WingDings notices about the laundry building is just how much warmer it is. There is grey steam rising from the stone and metal buildings and the smell of soap and chemicals is strong. While there Amy takes the time to show WingDings the seamstress shops, the livestock grounds and processing buildings, along with the agriculture buildings. The agriculture is by far the strangest, using artificial lights and a system that conserves as much water as possible. It’s a hydroponics garden only using anything and everything they have on hand to make it work.

On their way back to the manor they pass the hospital, the water reservoir and what Amy calls the science development buildings. WingDings would love to see the inside, but only those who have business in those buildings are allowed inside. For the rest of the day WingDings helps Miss Amy and Mr. Jose with chores around the manor, mostly in the form of sweeping and dry scrubbing moss off the building outside.

They get started on dinner an hour before they’re supposed to eat which isn’t ideal, but this is only because the delivery of meat arrived late. As Amy sets the table, WingDings hears the radio spark to life again and does his best not to react when he hears Gaster’s voice.

“You seem to be doing well child,” Gaster’s voice cracks. “There is something I want to show you tonight. I’ll wake you when it’s safe.” The radio crackles and sputters off actually catching Amy’s attention.

The responsible woman walks into the radio room and clicks the radio. “This is Amy Ross at Child Manor, who is this, over?” she asks with a click.

There is only static in response.

“I repeat this is Amy Ross at Child Manor, is someone there, over,” Amy tries again, and again nothing answers her. Humming with displeasure, she fiddles with the dials and clicks it again. “Broll, this is Amy from the Child Manor do you copy? Over.”

There are several clicks and a buzz, before an answer is heard. “This is Broll, what ya need Amy? Over.”

“Can you send someone to have a look at the manor radio? It’s been acting up since yesterday, strange beeping sounds and high frequency clicks. Over,” she waits for his response as WingDings begins piling rolls into woven baskets.

“Yeah, Barnd’s says he’ll make the trip up the hill, but only if you share dinner with him, over,” the man’s chuckle is cut off.

“I’ll see what we can do, over and out,” Amy chuckles and puts the receiver back in its holder. “I’m going to set the table for one more,” she calls to WingDings. “We should have enough to feed him.”

WingDings makes a separate plate for this Barnd person even as the other children start rushing in to eat. As WingDings takes a seat with everyone Amy calls for quiet and snaps her fingers. Like the night before everyone gets quiet instantly. “We’re going to have a guest tonight, please be on your best behavior. Also more straw was delivered today so if you need more padding in your mattresses please let me know. Everyone take a seat.”

Everyone does as she asks and WingDings has to admit he’s impressed how swiftly Amy gives the news and gets their attention. He wonders if it’s fear that makes the other orphans listen to her or kindness, maybe it’s a little of both.

After dinner WingDings cleans up and goes to his bunk to read the book Amy gave him. The title is faded, its pages brittle, but a book is a book and WingDings knows it must be valuable. The title reads ‘Lord of the Flies’ and the boy has to admit that he’s never heard of it before.

“Oh I haven’t read that one yet,” Tomasz dangles down from the bunk above him. “I have ‘The Odyssey,’ want to trade when you’re done?”

“Is that okay?” WingDings asks.

“Yeah, that’s why Amy gives everyone a book when we first come here,” Tomasz explains. “It’s kinda an unspoken contest as to who can read all ninety books before leaving here.”

“Has anyone read all of them?” WingDings asks.

“A few of us have,” Tomasz grins. “I’ve only got five left, but I’ve also got only two years left here and Miss Amy has the last book I need.”

“You’ll be the first,” WingDings promises him.

“Yes! You’re the best,” Tomasz lowers a fist as if it’s some kind of greeting, but WingDings isn’t sure what to do exactly. So he gives him a knuckle bump. “Hey what was that? You don’t do it that way.”

“How do you do ‘it’?” WingDings asks. “I’m not familiar with this kind of stuff.”

“Ah, that’s right, here you grab my arm at the elbow,” Tomasz instructs him and WingDings does as he says. “That’s how you greet a person you really like or make a promise.”

“It’s a promise then,” WingDings smiles, nodding his head.

For the remainder of the time the lights are on, WingDings reads the book. It starts out interesting and then gets really dark, really fast. Considering his time in Saint Petra and the state of the world he’s in now, this isn’t the book he wants to read, although he has to admit it is fitting. Using a magic hand he stays up reading the book, not wishing to be woken up again by Gaster’s screeching radio alarm.

When he finishes the book around two in the morning, he waits, unable to sleep after reading the book despite how tired he is. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait long when the screeching beep is heard. He takes a short cut and hisses at Gaster to stop.

“I’m going to take you to the Science Buildings tonight,” Gaster tells him through the radio. “I’ll be able to speak to you clearer there.”

WingDings nods and opens a short cut, doing his best not to panic when Gaster takes him where he needs to go. The boy likes having at least some control, but is well aware this is something he may never have. But his short cuts and the ability to teleport, they’ve always been his way to escape and it fills him with fear not even having that while here. When he opens his eyes, he’s flat on his back in a dark room, with blinking monitors, flickering old screens and an orchestra of chattering buzzing snaps from the computers. It also smells a little like burnt dirt, with the taste of it sticking to his lips.

“Don’t move yet,” Gaster’s voice pops close by. “I’m still trouble shooting your body so please wait till your magic circulates correctly.”

WingDings shuts his eyes and nods his head, stubbornly fighting the urge to move. “Did you make this body?” he asks. This isn’t the first time a body has been constructed for his soul to reside in.

“I did,” Gaster answers, a single light flickering on above his head. “You’re bones are synthetic and contain more matter than a normal monster, but I wanted to take as little from your soul as possible . . . considering the state it’s in.”

“My soul is stronger than it looks,” WingDings defiantly tells the voice.

“But it’ still fragile,” Gaster counters. A large ghostly hand slides behind the boy, helping him to his feet. It’s then that WingDings realizes he’s seen this hand before, when he first came to this world and got the first piece. He saw it, however brief. “Over here.” The large hand gently nudges him towards a center island constructed of an old refrigerator on its side with a giant tablet device placed on top.

“Well that’s creative I guess?” WingDings comments as the cracked screen comes to life.

“I think so as well, the engineers here are talented at thinking outside the box . . . or refrigerator in this instance,” Gaster says. The screen is obviously broken, but like the cracked screen of a phone it still works despite the defect. “This is a map of the planet.” He explains as a flat black and white image of the world fills the screen. After a few seconds it gains some colors, but for the most part it remains monochromatic.

“I’ve never had to search an entire planet before,” WingDings curiosity builds and like with Dr. Gill and Mrs. Astor a menu of words flicker in his vision, corresponding with the device in front of him.

“Wow,” the boy’s eyes light up and instead of the map being blank it shows the names of locations along with other bits of information if he focuses on it. “Is this because of you too?”

“Yes WingDings, all my abilities and knowledge are yours . . . on a smaller scale,” Gaster explains. “You can interface with any of the Core devices still activated . . . even those that aren’t active. Now focus on the map again as a whole.”

WingDings does as he is asked and the map reacts to his thoughts, pulling out so the boy can see the round planet at large. There is still an ocean to WingDings surprise, but a little bar indicates high levels of contamination. He can also see storms, continents, and other landmarks that scar the surface as if it were broken sea glass. “You’re world is dead,” WingDings says.

“It is, but it is in the slow process of repairing itself,” Gaster answers. “Now these are the lakes where the pieces of your soul reside.” Eleven location show up in various places on the world map. “The challenge is getting you to them. I cannot carry your body directly to these lakes without breaking your body or damaging your soul. That and some are owned by dangerous gangs.”

“I’ve never had to collect so many pieces before,” WingDings admits. “I can’t do this alone.” Last time he didn’t need adults in his life, in fact others needed his help, so it will be a challenge depending on others again.

“I’m here to help WingDings,” Gaster assures him.

“Maybe I should tell the others,” WingDings says, still hesitant over the other version of himself.

“You could, but I suggest against it since they wouldn’t be able to help you,” Gaster explains. “They have to put Home first. They cannot prioritize one child’s personal quest to collect pieces of their soul.”

“That . . . makes sense I guess,” WingDings has to agree, still uncomfortable with admitting it. His trust in Gaster is weak, ill founded or not.

“As luck or misfortune would have it, Home’s reservoir doesn’t have enough water,” Gaster continues. “Undyne and Papyrus will be traveling here.” A certain place on the map zooms closer, revealing a jagged mountain structure, capped in red as if it’s pierced someone. The mountain is aptly named the Bloody Spear. “They’re waiting for Undyne’s gunshot wound to completely heal in a week, but given her . . . grit, they’ll be leaving in a few days. We have to find a way to get you on her ‘Baby Grand’.”

“Baby Grand?” WingDings asks.

“It’s what she calls her large buggy,” Gaster replies. He brings up an image of the enormous vehicle. “They keep a tarp in the back to cover supplies from the sand. You will hide there as they travel, I will carry you to your piece and return you to your hiding place.”

“And what if they lift the canvas?” WingDings asks.

“Then you will be caught, but they won’t risk traveling back to Home before they get the water,” Gaster assures him.

“So I’ll just get in trouble,” WingDings shrugs. “I guess there are worst things.”

“You’ll get caught, it’s inevitable, just when you get caught remains to be seen,” Gaster replies.

“They’re going to notice I’m missing either way,” WingDings brings the map up again, checking the route and calculating the time the trip will take. The computer reads his mind and calculates the time the trip would take before he does. It would take four hours using the large special Transport Arches, if these mechanical wonders aren’t buried in sand. If they are buried in sand . . . it will take five days and three hours round trip.

“The gates are clear of the sand, you won’t be gone that long,” Gaster says.

“And what if the Harpers Gang is there or one of the other gangs?” WingDings asks.

“I can track them somewhat,” Gaster tells them. “Unless they are traveling the surface, then it’s harder for me to know where they are. As far as I know Marble Lake isn’t being used at the moment. . . Sans is coming, he must be having trouble sleeping again.”

Taking the hint, WingDings takes a short cut back under his blanket and shuts his eyes. Again it feels like he just closed them when Tomasz wakes him to help with breakfast. Before heading downstairs he hands Tomasz ‘The Lord of the Flies’ and warns him that it’s going to keep him up at night.

This time they make pancakes and bacon for breakfast. At least WingDings thinks its bacon, but he suspects it’s a different kind of meat. After breakfast he joins the others on their march down to the school and for the first time WingDings realizes just how much it bothers him that there is no sun. How did his brothers live in a world like this before Frisk saved them from it? And don’t people, monsters and humans, need sunlight to stay healthy?

Once at the school, he is taken to Toriel’s office again where he waits and waits and waits some more. After five minutes of waiting WingDings takes one of the books from her shelf and starts to read it, careful with the brittle pages. It’s a history book about an ancient war in a country WingDings has never heard of. History has never been his strong suite, or reading . . . or writing. Give him something he can touch, take apart, something that has reason and logic, but if he wants to be prepared he’ll have to learn everything he can from things like . . . history.

“WingDings, sorry for making you wait,” Toriel says as she steps into the room. “I see you were able to keep yourself occupied.” She holds out her hand, palm up and WingDings returns the book to her so she can shelve the precious book in its place. “Several teachers and myself have all decided that there is nothing we can teach you.”

WingDings sits a little straighter. Just seconds ago he was thinking about how much more he needs to learn and here Toriel’s telling him they can’t teach him anything.

This is frustrating.

And it can’t be true.

“You’re reading can improve with the help of good books and your writing, while sloppy, is more than most adults know,” she continues. “The only one who has a grasp of your abilities in math and science are Doctor Alphys and her team. . . I really have to wonder child, just where you came from to gain such knowledge.”

“So, what am I suppose to do? Read four hours in the morning for my schooling?” WingDings asks, making a point to avoid lying again. She’s already made it quite clear that she doesn’t believe him anyway.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Toriel sighs, placing her hands on her knees and smiling sadly. “In the meantime, please assist Miss Amy at the Child Manor. I hear you are an excellent cook.”

“Yes Ma’am, thank you for your time,” WingDings quickly stands and inclines his head to Toriel, hiding his thoughts rather well. If that’s their answer then he doesn’t want to stay here any longer, clearly upset.

“You are quite welcome WingDings,” Toriel says, inclining her head as well, letting him go despite his emotional state. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

WingDings takes his leave but instead of heading straight back to the manor he stops by the lake. In all honesty he’s angry and disappointed in Toriel’s and the other teachers decision. He also suspects that Miss Amy doesn’t know when he’s suppose to be coming back since communication is done in person or by radio. Sitting by the shore of the lake, he pulls out ‘The Odyssey’ with a wave of his hand and starts to read. He’s twenty pages in when Onionsan appears from the water.

“Hey there WingDings,” they greet with bubbly eyes. “You did come back.”

“I did,” WingDings returns his book back to his rusty chest a mile or so away and gives the onion tentacle monster his full attention. Seeing his new friend helps his anger fade.

“I have some friends of mine I want you to meet,” Onionsan says. “This is Garf, Tangle, and Oopolian the Third.”

“You don’t have to say the third part,” the smallest of the three says in a gurgling voice. They look a little like a normal fish, but with bat wings.

“Did Onionsan really help you find a piece of your soul,” an eel like monster says. Garf perhaps.

“They did,” WingDings replies, an edge of worry tilting his soul. Perhaps coming here wasn’t a good idea for lifting his mood.

“It’s not good to lie to a nice monster like Onionsan you know,” a half human, half fish monster says. Must be Tangled, since their blond greenish hair is long dreadlocks.

“I’m not lying, just ask Papyrus if you don’t believe me,” WingDings says defensively. He’s never been called a liar so blatantly for telling the truth before and now he’s been told that twice! Normally people believe him . . . but that’s probably because he was staying with duplicates of brothers or with people who were generally more trusting. Even the kids in Saint Petra believed him.

‘There is no salvaging today is there?’ WingDings thinks as he shakes his head and sighs.

“I’ve never heard of anyone having a broken soul before,” Garf says softly.

“I’ll talk to you later Onionsan,” WingDings stands and walks away, not much feeling like proving himself an honest soul to these monsters.

“Goodbye WingDings, see you soon, ya hear,” Onionsan calls after him, just a hint of regret in their voice. No doubt the monsters eyes are drooping with sadness if he bothered to turn around to see it.

Sadly WingDings is not a state to turn as he wipes the ghost of tears from his own sockets.

Notes:

Got some more answers in this chapter, along with the emotional state of WingDings dealing with his placement in this world. He is not taking it well as expected. It was actually interesting realizing that this is pretty much the first time WingDings has needed to deal with being called a liar. WingDings is pretty mature for ten years old, but he’s still a kid and isn’t going to have the best cooping habits for these situations.

Chapter 5: Use To It

Notes:

Warning for Undertale appropriate save scumming.

Once at the manor WingDings helps bury his feelings away by assisting Amy and Rebecca with lunch. After the meal is ready he helps sweep the rooms, even the girl’s rooms, and somehow winds up on the roof with Jose, fixing the tiles and shingles. When all of this is complete he enjoys some water and reads a little before helping with dinner.

The work actually helps WingDings process his feelings and calm down. . . or, more accurately, push the feelings aside for future WingDings to deal with.

That night WingDings actually gets to sleep the whole night through. The following day he wakes with Tomasz. They make breakfast, everyone goes to school, and he finds a place on the roof to read quietly. Whenever his name is called he helps Amy with a chore of some kind before disappearing and reading his book. It’s a boring day by most standards, but WingDings does enjoy the quiet. He considers visiting Onionsan, but quickly dismisses the ideas when he thinks of their friends and what they said to him.

When the end of the day rolls around, WingDings is snapped from his game of cards when the radio sputters to life. “They’re leaving early tomorrow morning, be ready,” Gaster says before the old thing sputters off.

Clearly annoyed Amy walks into the radio room and picks up the receiver. “This is Amy, please state your business, over,” she bites into the device before hissing under his breath. “I thought Barnd said he fixed this?”

WingDings takes a deep breath and folds his cards. “I’m headed to bed,” he tells the other kids and walks away. While Amy continues to fiddle with the radio, WingDings takes a quick drink of water and heads upstairs.

At three in the morning WingDings is awoken to the sound of a screeching radio that only he can hear. . . probably. Rather than take a short cut downstairs WingDings lets Gaster take him to the back of Undyne’s Buggy or ‘Baby Grand’. He can hear Undyne and Papyrus talking with Sasha, who is assuring them that their girl is ready to go.

When WingDings is able to move his body again he pulls out a breakfast bar from his loot box and tries not to groan with every bump that tosses him around in the back of ‘Baby Grand.’ If this vehicle is ‘Baby Grand’ what does ‘Papa Grand’ look like? As they pass through one of the arches, WingDings shivers, feeling cold as the magic licks his strange bones. “You’re almost there,” Gaster’s voice tickles his hearing, but it’s so soft a sound the boy is convinced he doesn’t hear anything.

As the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop, Papyrus reaches one hand blindly under the canvas and WingDings takes this as his cue to take a short cut. Experiencing pure darkness for the second time in the past two hours is scary. When he emerges from the heavy darkness WingDings lays still, waiting as patiently as he can for the circulation to return to his limbs before opening his eyes.

Prying his sockets open WingDings is caught off guard to find he is lying on an old rusted desk instead of black sand and stones. Carefully turning his head he looks down and see’s the lake with its glowing blue column in the center, but instead of being in an underground cavern, it looks like he is in a gutted skyscraper. “It’s a building,” WingDings says aloud hoping Gaster might say something, but there is only the sound of water dripping into the lake.

He’s several stories above Mirror Lake, looking down in a reflection of crisscrossing metal beams that almost appear to go on forever. Carefully climbing off the desk, WingDings peers over what remains of the floor he’s on and summons a Blaster. He pets its snout lovingly and climbs onto its head, guiding the skeletal head down to the water below and zooming along its smooth surface. When they reach the column of light, WingDings takes a breath as they dive into the water and he holds on tight.

When they reach a low enough level, where he can feel his soul, WingDings summons a hand and brings it in front of him. He doesn’t take the piece into his soul yet, waiting till they reach the surface to pull out his soul and let the piece inside. Around this time, Papyrus and Undyne have made their way to the water’s edge and WingDings quickly brings his blaster around the other side of the tube to avoid being seen.

“Can you hear me WingDings?” Gaster’s voice says softly in his head.

“Yes, I can actually,” WingDings peeks around the bright column and can barely make out Papyrus setting up the hoop in the lake while Undyne checks the perimeter. “How?”

“Each time you pass through a gate or I transport you, I’m fixing the connection between us,” Gaster explains. “I intended for us to speak since the beginning, but I didn’t account for the limitation of your soul and overestimated my ability to create a perfect synthetic body.”

WingDings doesn’t understand exactly what Gaster means, but he gets the main idea. Summarized, Gaster messed up the first time and he’s slowly correcting it every opportunity he gets. “I forgot that it will take them a long time to fill the reservoir,” WingDings whispers. “What time is it now?”

“Five minutes before six in the morning,” Gaster answers. “They’re going to notice you’re gone, it can’t be avoided . . . unless . . .”

When Gaster trails off WingDings focuses on the hoop, his eyes glowing blue when a flicker of words appear, informing him of the size of the hoop, the length of the tube and the rate at which the water is being pulled in. “I can get back before Tomasz wakes me.”

“But you’ll be soaking wet and you might be contaminated with magical radiation from the CORE,” Gaster admonishes him.

“Is the radiation that bad?” WingDings will not risk his idea if it means hurting anyone.

“Actually it’s normal for you . . . and it shouldn’t be contagious,” Gaster admits.

“Then I’m going,” WingDings dismisses his canon and plops into the water. Using his magic hands the determined child slices swiftly under water straight towards the hoop. This is his chance and he’s going to take it.

“Stop child, this is madness,” Gaster says in his mind, but WingDings refuses to hear it, determined to prove his idea is not madness. Unconventional, but not madness. He’ll pay the consequences later if he has to. Also he’d rather avoid getting caught and being reprimanded. Being called a liar, again! What if they put him in jail for it?

The suction from the tube isn’t enough to break WingDings and the tube is actually shorter since . . . well they didn’t bother repairing it from the first time. Right before entering the pull of water, WingDings takes a breath and dives into the mouth of the tube with Gaster’s fear so palpable he can feel it clash with his fiery determination.

When WingDings passes through the actual hoop, he once again feels frigid invisible fingers hold his body tight which makes his bones lock up. As soon as he’s at Home WingDings tries to teleport, but it takes a second or two to focus on a place to go. He ends up porting himself into a wall, accidentally destroying his body. Rather then summon the ‘load’ and ‘continue’ options he is automatically spawned in the water from just moments ago with his magic hands clutching him and propelling him towards his apparent doom all over again.

Attempt number two begins.

“Stop child. . . what . . . what is this madness, wait!” Gaster’s verbiage changes a little, cluing WingDings in that he is aware of his ability to turn back time. The boy ignores Gaster, yet again determined to get it right this time. Like before, he zooms into the hose and hoop, is hit with frozen magic and tries to create a short cut.

This time he ends up inside the filtration core in Homes Lake where he instantly loses his body in the flow of magic contained within it.

He loads again rather than continue as a disembodied soul stuck in the CORE of the world like Gaster is.

“Child! That’s enough!” Gaster yells at him as the child once more zooms for the hose.

Third times the charm they say.

“I’ll get it right,” WingDings says as he takes a breath and plunges back down into the water and into the device.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” Gaster yells as loudly as he can in WingDings head.

Gaster has reasons to be worried, but WingDings is not worried at all as he opens a short cut with no destination in mind this time. A hand snatches him in the dark, grabbing him tight as he is flung into Home’s Lake.

WingDings trust is well placed this time.

Unable to move, WingDings sinks and the words for a ‘load’ flicker in front of him. WingDings refrains from activating the load ability, even as he swiftly loses the ‘air’ this body requires. As his ribs begin to burn a pale tentacle lifts him swiftly to the surface. “Hey there WingDings,” Onionsan says as soon as they break the surface. “I didn’t think skeletons could swim.”

Coughing hard, WingDings pats the tentacle lightly with one hand. “I’m really glad to see you Onionsan,” he says. “Wooo, what a rush.”

“Are you all right WingDings?” Onionsan asks as they gently lower the skeleton onto the shore. “I’m sorry about what happened the other day. I . . .”

“No, no it’s fine Onionsan,” WingDings stands up and dusts himself off, before noticing several lights in the housing district turning brighter. “I gotta go Onionsan, I’ll come back later, okay! Thanks again!” As he runs off Onionsan wishes him well. WingDings only stops running when he finds a good hiding place between two tight buildings of iron.

Once there the boy strips off his nightclothes, dries himself off with a shirt in his inventory and retrieves his clothes from his chest at the mansion. When he’s dressed WingDings short cuts his way under one of the dining room tables and cautiously walks into the kitchen where Miss Amy is just getting started on breakfast. “Good morning Miss Ross,” WingDings greets her, standing with his hands behind his back in an innocent fashion.

“Oh, I didn’t see you come in,” Amy turns around swiftly, relaxing easily when she verifies who it is. She’s used to having little people sneak up on her, whether the child has done it on purpose and on accident. “Is Tomasz up?”

“He should be,” WingDings answers, clutching his fingers behind his back with a snap of nervousness tickling his soul.

Any suspicion Amy might have is forgotten when Tomasz comes racing into the room. “Miss Amy, WingDings!” he stops at the entry way and visibly relaxes. “Oh, you’re already up.”

“Sorry I worried you, I didn’t know if you had kitchen duty today,” WingDings tells his bunk-mate. They might be friends, but the meaning of ‘friend’ often changes depending on where he is.

“It’s okay WingDings and you’re right, I couldn’t sleep last night!” Tomasz shivers dramatically. “Make sure the little kids don’t read ‘Lord of the Flies’ Miss Amy.”

“I’m well aware,” Miss Amy smiles.

“I’m ready for the next book,” Tomasz tells her proudly as she begins collecting the dough they’ll need for breakfast. “I’ve already read all of the books everyone has here. Even the one Miss Rebecca and Mr. Jose have.”

“You’ll have to find it Tomasz, I’ve hidden it,” a spark of mischief twists Amy’s eyes and lips, earning a mournful groan from the twelve year old boy.

“I can’t believe this,” Tomasz complains in exaggeration, earning a buzzing chuckle from WingDings.

As they get busy cooking, another voice enters WingDings thoughts aside from his own. “I have much I want . . . no ‘need’ to say to you child, but I don’t want to distract you,” Gaster tells him mentally, while WingDings stirs multiple pans of sizzling hash browns. “At the very least I must tell you how foolish you were this morning. Time is delicate and your soul is hurting now using your magic so . . . irresponsible.”

“I got it done,” WingDings says out loud, smartly speaking to Amy while answering Gaster.

“Good job WingDings,” Amy encourages. “Bring the pans over here.”

As he follows Amy’s instructions he can feel Gaster’s displeasure as if the monster were there right behind him glaring down his shoulders. “The ends do not justify the means,” Gaster tells him tensely before heaving a sigh of discontent. “This complicates matters immensely, I had no idea you were such a stubborn child.”

“Do you need anything else?” WingDings asks Amy and Gaster at the same time.

“You think you’re so clever child,” Gaster grumbles.

“I think we’re ready to wake everyone, go ahead and take a seat boy’s,” Amy tells them. “Let the others set the table.”

While the boys wait for the household to get up, they talk about the books they’ve read and possible hiding places for the book Amy has hidden. They both agree that Amy wouldn’t hide it someplace he isn’t allowed to go, which leaves the grounds and any of the common areas. When Tomasz leaves for school, WingDings tells him he’ll keep an eye out for the book while he works around the manor.

The day proves to be a near replica to the previous day, doing chores around the house or running errands for Amy and Jose. They pick up the laundry and collect the next two days of food, at least what doesn’t require refrigeration. He has the opportunity to visit Onionsan, who is accompanied by their friends again. They are nicer than before for Onionsan’s sake for which WingDings is glad. When he’s visited them for a little while and finishes reading ‘The Odyssey’ he returns to the manor to do more chores.

While WingDings is cleaning the back porch, something he didn’t realize they had until he started cleaning it, he finds ‘20,000 Leagues’ Under the Sea’ carefully hidden in a chest of tools. Beaming with pride WingDings is about to take it inside when he sees Miss Amy standing behind him smiling.

WingDings jumps and accidentally buzzes in his native font causing the poor woman to reach up and clutch her ears.

“I’m sorry Miss Amy,” WingDings quickly apologizes, clutching to book to his rib cage. He’s never done well with ‘jump scares.’

“Remind me never to sneak up on you,” Amy smiles, rubbing her ears and shaking her head lightly. “I see you found the book.”

“I did . . .” WingDings wonders if he’s in trouble.

“I want Tomasz to find it,” she says taking the book gently from him and putting it back with the tools. “You can give him clues, but tell him that I want him to find it for himself.”

“Yes, Miss Ross,” WingDings agrees, wondering if she suspected he would find the book when she sent him out here to clean the porch.

“Good, now let’s get started on dinner,” Amy leads the way into the kitchen with WingDings looking back at the tools chest thoughtfully.

As soon as Tomasz finds out that WingDings has found the book he pesters him for clues of its location.

“You need to think ‘outside’ the box,” WingDings tells him.

“It’s a ‘thousand’ steps away from the fountain.”

“Don’t be a ‘tool’.”

“I’m keeping this secret close to my ‘chest’.”

His hints offer Miss Amy a good laugh and much playful frustration from the twelve year old recipient. As for WingDings, he is able to trade his book with Angelica that evening and gets started reading it that evening. Not once does Gaster speak to him again, making WingDings forget the disembodied voice is even around. That is until he is seconds away from falling asleep.

“WingDings what you did today scared me and I’m perplexed that you aren’t showing any remorse or trauma over it,” Gaster tells him, waking WingDings from his buzzing and nonsensical thoughts. “Other than having Miss Ross startle you earlier.”

The boy groans and turns over, holding the pillow around his skull as he moves.

“If you are trying to block me out child it won’t work,” Gaster sniffs internally at him.

“I’m sorry I scared you, it’s nothing new to me,” WingDings buzzes softly in his native font.

“Which makes me all the more terrified and perplexed,” Gaster’s voice sizzles with unease and concern. “I’m glad I made your body as durable as I did, otherwise your soul would have snapped in two. Although I am tempted to have you visit Dr. Gill just in case.”

“I’m fine,” WingDings tries to assure his distraught invisible guardian. Apparently Gaster is more than trustworthy if he is this worried about him. “I can load several times before any damage shows up.”

“You hold a power much too dangerous for a child,” Gaster tells him seriously.

“It has some limitation,” WingDings admits to him. “I can only go back to the last time I felt determined. There are exceptions depending on where I am, but most of the time this is what happens.”

“And what if this world proved different?” Gaster asks.

“Then Frisk would load instead,” WingDings says. “But I try not to do that. I don’t want them to worry about me or cause the hero any trouble.”

“While it is tempting to ask who this Frisk is and their significance that will distract me from the main point I am trying to make, although I suspect I should be very thankful for this Frisk,” Gaster doesn’t sound pleased with his own statement, but WingDings is too tired to care. “I’d prefer we not depend on this ability, there are a number of ways it could damage this timeline.”

“I have yet to break a world I’ve visited,” WingDings yawns and says softly. “I’m the only thing broken.”

Anything Gaster wants to say is stolen from his mind when he hears the child make such a sad statement with such ready acceptance. “Goodnight WingDings,” Gaster says softly allowing the tired boy to fall asleep.

At some point in the night WingDings wakes from a nightmare, sweating and buzzing. Luckily he doesn’t wake anyone and after a glass of water from his personal inventory and a quick walk in and out of the room he is able to return to bed with little trouble.

In the morning WingDings wakes with Tomasz and their newest partner Evelyn, a half human half monster hybrid. Her job at the launder has been replaced by another adult leaving the youth out of job until they find somewhere else to put her in Home. The boys don’t mind the company and it’s much easier to make food for eighty-six children with more help in the kitchen.

As they are about to wake the rest of the household Tomasz has an epiphany and races out onto the porch. With great gusto he bursts back into the house yelling at the top of his lungs that he’s found the Amy’s elusive book. At this point there is no need for Amy to wake the other children since Tomasz has done it for her.

After breakfast WingDings is given the task of taking down all of the tapestries and rugs in the manor and beating the dust out of them. It isn’t too difficult with the use of his hand, but it does cover him in dirt and dust.

“Are you sure you are feeling all right?” Gaster asks as WingDings carefully returns one of the tapestries to the main entry hall.

WingDings looks around to be sure no one is there before answering Gaster in his font. “I’m feeling fine,” WingDings assures him again. “Passing through those dimensional gates and being dragged through your short cuts feels much worse.”

“It feels worse than dying?” Gaster asks, evidently appalled.

“I’m use to it,” WingDings smiles when he has the tapestry just right. Perfectly parallel with the ceiling.

“Goodness child that isn’t something you should be used to,” Gaster says completely dismayed. “I have half a mind to take your soul back and construct a stronger body for you so you won’t have to rely on such drastic measures.”

“. . . I couldn’t stop you if that’s what you really want,” WingDings states logically, even though it bothers him to admit it. He walks back out of the house and retrieves the next clean rug, while his magic hands continue to beat at the other decorative cloth.

“Child why must you talk like that, it is very disconcerting,” Gaster groans. “I thought you were ten years old? You sound . . . much older.”

“Well, I’m mature for my age,” WingDings admits, knelling down and carefully rolling out a rug.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Gaster asks.

“Most of what I know about cooking I learned in 1958,” WingDings answers.

“And your ability to multitask with your hands?”

“I first learn in 1958, but I perfected it in Saint Petra in the factories,” WingDings answers.

“Your Gaster Blaster?”

“Raised by Dragon Blaster Beasts when I was six.”

“Teleporting?”

“I’ve known how to do that since I was three.”

“How about your skills with math.”

“Tenga hired a tutor to try and challenge me,” WingDings recalls. “I don’t remember that much, but I do remember having a lot of fun with her. I was determined to get smarter at math than her.”

“How about your knowledge of cleaning?”

“From my brother Papyrus mostly, he likes to keep an orderly house,” WingDings finishes rolling out the rug and stops to look at the ceiling. “Although I do have recollections of being a slight germaphobe when I lived during the monster human war.”

“My gosh how many places have you been?”

“. . . Frisk tells me I’ve been to nine alternate dimension,” WingDings walks back outside and grabs the next rug. “Counting this place I’ll have been to ten.”

“You’ve been to as many worlds as you’ve been alive,” Gaster is fascinated, or horrified, it is difficult to tell.

“Guess I have. Do you have any more questions? Mr. W.D. Core,” WingDings asks playfully.

“Plenty young WingDings, but I have a better idea as to why some things don’t phase you,” Gaster supplies. “I’m less concerned for your sanity now. As a matter of fact I am now concerned as to whether or not you posses any sense of self preservation.”

“Did you notice I’m not using short cuts?” WingDings asks.

“I did notice that yes,” Gaster answers.

“It’s delayed, but I do get tired after using my ability to load,” WingDings explains. “I was taught to allow my soul to settle and rest after using that much magic, so I avoid using any strenuous magic like my Blasters, bones, or short cuts. Hands use next to nothing though so I can do that just fine.”

“In that case, I will be sure to allow you proper rest if ever you have the misfortune of traveling back in time again,” Gaster notes methodically. “Does your ability to load affect your sleep at all?”

“. . . Sometimes it triggers nightmares,” WingDings admits. “But I’ve learned how to deal with them.”

“Is there anything that helps?” Gaster asks gently.

“A drink of water, walking around . . . music,” WingDings smiles, stopping from his task as he remembers the different songs his substitute families have played for him in the past. There have been so many people who have helped take care of him and he really is grateful, but now he doesn’t want to be a burden. He wants to be able to do this himself like he learned in Saint Petra.

But he can’t.

Logically there is no way he can do it on his own at his age in a world like this one.

And if he’s honest he doesn’t want to go to a place where every monster wants to kill him or he’s working in a factory and off the streets to survive. In comparison, living in an orphanage is like living in a palace.

Gently, slowly, and smooth like a shallow stream, Gaster begins to hum a tune in WingDings mind. Hearing the notes pinging like drops of water, WingDings is saved from his melancholic thoughts as Gaster paints a song of a crystal lake inside his mind. Captivated, WingDings listens, softly humming along when he picks out the tune, continuing with his chore. It’s a song that swells and then simmers into a gentle lullaby that puts a gentle and relaxed smile to WingDings normally frozen grin.

“That’s a beautiful song WingDings,” Amy says softly when he wanders into the kitchen to help with dinner. “Where did you learn it?”

“Someone named Gaster taught it to me,” WingDings tells her, unable to lie as a blush paints his ivory cheeks.

“You’ll have to teach it to me,” she encourages him with a simple smile.

“It isn’t hard,” WingDings says, encouraged by her request. They sing the entire time they prepare the meal only stopping when the others return from work.

That evening, when WingDings wakes from a nightmare, Gaster sings the song to him, adding words this time. The song puts WingDings right to sleep without a need to get up and grab a glass of water.

Notes:

Mostly a slice of life sort of chapter, but we got a lot of adventure in the first half. WingDings really doesn’t have a healthy mind set with using his load ability, especially after the last story. Something that will be addressed someday maybe.

The answers WingDings gives to Gaster towards the end of the chapter is mostly referencing past stories. It’s fun referencing them, but including how much WingDings would actually logically remember. The only reason he has any memories at all of Tenga and Shyren is probably because of the music she gave him. Till next week, have a nice day.

Chapter 6: A Little Patience

Notes:

Warning: Talk of depression, sickness, and suicide. It is brief, but still present.

In the morning WingDings prepares breakfast with Tomasz and Evelyn. The morning marks his seventh day of living in this world and he has to admit that it isn’t bad. Sure he’s basically living on a post apocalyptic planet, but he’s seen movies portray it as much worse than living without running water and where everyone works. When he puts it that way it doesn’t sound very good, but he still thinks he’s pretty well off this time around.

As they sit at the table WingDings looks across from him and notices that Angelica isn’t doing well. She is extremely pale, more pale than when he first met her. Right beside her, Marcus is obviously nervous, whispering to her and encouraging her to eat. Lifting his roll of bread, WingDings discreetly looks up at her and brings up the ‘Stats’ option from his ‘Gaster Magic’ as he now thinks of it.

He learns that she is Marcus’s twin sister and that since birth her soul has been very weak, a common side effect apparently of twins in this world when one receives more magic then the other. She suffers from chronic ‘soul sickness’ a medical diagnostic WingDings is very familiar with. It’s the very thing that’s ailed him most of his life, especially when he was living as a beast and his magic levels were all messed up.

Pressing his lips, WingDings accesses his loot box and retrieves one of the red magic gumdrops Alphys developed for him when he became ill. After what happened in Saint Petra his brother’s insisted he had an ample supply of the magic candy. WingDings glances up to Angelica again and checks the numbers of her magic pulse. With a sigh the boy decides he can’t risk giving her the whole candy since it’s meant specifically for him. Taking his knife he slices off a piece of it and puts it in an uneaten roll. Now he just has to switch his roll with hers without anyone noticing.

“WingDings what are you doing?” Gaster asks, no doubt having noticed WingDings using his knowledge to analyze the girl sitting in front of him.

With a well timed magic bone WingDings sends an empty metal plate clattering to the floor which instantly draws everyone’s attention. He then switches the rolls using his magic hands, with no one the wiser.

“I’m sorry Miss Amy,” the girl owning the plate says timidly as she retrieves it from the floor.

“No harm done Milly,” Amy tells her. “Although if there had been food on it I’d make you eat it off the floor.”

“Yes Ma’am,” the girl takes a seat, bowing her head in shame, and earning a momentary twang of guilt in WingDings soul.

“Are you okay Angelica? Did I burn the bread?” WingDings asks the girl, redirecting her attention on the food.

“No it’s fine,” she says flippantly.

“But you haven’t even touched it,” WingDings frowns, lifting a brow at her. “You just don’t like it.”

After a week he knows that she’d never back down from a challenge. She is constantly pointing out the inconsistencies in others, especially her brother, and is quick to call something silly or stupid.

Angelica pokes the roll with her snout and lifts her chin proudly. “There, I touched it,” she says smartly.

She is really playing hard ball.

“Just eat it, it’s not going to kill you,” WingDings grunts.

“Are you sure?” she teases him.

“Just eat it,” WingDings says more forcibly.

“Why does it matter to you what I eat or don’t eat,” she frowns, glaring at him.

“Because it matters to him!” WingDings points at Marcus and stands to his feet. Everyone is now looking at him and it’s only then that the boy realizes he’s making a scene. His cheeks burn with embarrassment, but he quickly turns his eye lights back onto Angelica.

“I don’t know why this is bothering you so much, but if I eat it will you sit down,” Angelica hisses, her cheeks blushing red when she sees everyone looking at them. Meanwhile, Amy is standing from her place and walking over, looking very much like a woman on a mission.

As Amy comes to stand behind Angelica the girl takes a bite of the roll and immediately she stiffens up as a wave of healing magic rolls through her. “Is everything all right over here,” Miss Amy asks, gently putting a hand to the girls back.

Eyes wide Angelica looks at WingDings who is slowly sitting down. Slow enough not to be immediately noticed by the others, color returns to the girls scales. She shifts her head up to Amy but looks at WingDings a long time before answering. “Yes Miss Amy, I’m all right,” she says.

“WingDings, it isn’t your job to make her eat,” Amy admonishes him.

“Yes Ma’am, I was just worried,” WingDings answers politely, knowing adults appreciate submissive behavior.

“There are better ways to show you care than by yelling at someone,” Amy informs him. “Cleaner team get started, the day is running away from us.” And with that everyone scatters to their duties and WingDings hurries away before Angelica or Marcus can question him.

“What did you do child?” Gaster asks as WingDings takes the stairs two at a time and barrels into the boy’s room.

WingDings doesn’t say anything, instead he opens his chest and pulls out a piece of old shingle he was allowed to keep when he helped Jose with the roof. He then rushes back down stairs and out the back porch to find a piece of flint to write on the shingle. “For Dr. Gill,” he writes on it before turning the shingle over to write more.

WingDings pulls out the piece of red gumdrop he’d taken a piece out of. He analyzes the ingredients in the medicine, using Gaster’s Magic, and copies down the information as small as he can on the shingle. When the skeleton is finished he stores the shingle in his inventory and puts the piece of flint in his chest upstairs.

“WingDings, can you help me with the errands,” Amy calls from the dining hall. “We’ll be going to the farming zone.”

“Coming Miss Ross,” WingDings rushes into the manor and helps her gather a few crates to carry food in.

As they travel down the rocky streets Gaster speaks up again. “You want to help that girl don’t you,” it is more a statement then a question. “But this idea of yours . . . from what I can tell it is a risky idea WingDings. I’m sure Dr. Gill can help the child without your intervention. If you were to leave this medicine with the Doctor you’d be bringing foreign information in to this world. A component of knowledge that doesn’t exist.”

“You were able to read the components just fine,” WingDings murmurs under his breath in his font. Gaster did say he was the source of his ability. So if Gaster could analyze it, than it existed.

“I will revise my previous statement,” Gaster corrects himself. “It has been thousands of years since this kind of medicine has been produced. Bringing it back to a place that must focus all its resources on the conservation of water . . . is almost cruel. Just tell Amy about Angelica’s condition, Dr. Gill can do the rest.”

“If he could do something he would have,” WingDings bites back as they walk into the food processing building.

“You are not a very patient child,” Gaster scolds.

“This sickness can kill her,” WingDings hisses, buzzing and fuming under his breath. It would have killed him, if not for his family and determination.

“Dr. Gill will help her,” Gaster tells him.

“If he has the right tools,” WingDings has completely lost sight of those around him. They are filling the crates with fruit, but are starting to notice WingDings mutterings to himself. “The only reason I didn’t die from it was because I was with a doctor and he knew my soul didn’t let me die!” A flash of magic flickers in his eyes, alternating between red and blue as he remembers his father from a past adventure.

“WingDings, why are you mumbling to yourself?” Amy comes up beside him, leaning down to match his height. Her voice is firm, but her clear grey eyes only show concern.

“Angelica didn’t look well this morning,” WingDings quickly tells her, not bothering to lie. “And it’s still bothering me.”

“Yes, some mornings are worse than others,” Amy says.

“I’m sorry I yelled at her this morning,” WingDings admits. It didn’t get him the results he wanted showing that a little more patience would have served him better. He hates to admit this to himself, but Gaster is very right.

“You can apologize when you see her later,” Amy assures him. “Now take this crate.”

WingDings does as is asked and follows her out of the supply building. There are a few other workers helping them with the delivery, which helps, but that isn’t where the child’s mind is at. Sucking in a breath WingDings digs his foot hard into the slippery road and trips forward, on purpose. Landing hard on the crate WingDings manages to avoid squishing the fruit, but his ribs sting a little from where the rims of the crate hit him.

Rolling off of the crate, WingDings winces and wonders if perhaps he should have just faked the injury.

“WingDings!” Amy lowers her own crate and comes over to look at him. “You injured your ribs again.”

“I’m fine, just some bruising,” WingDings assures her.

“You are off your rhythm today aren’t you WingDings,” Amy sighs, grabbing his forearm and helping him up. “Get up, after we deliver these I’m sending you to the medical ward.”

“It’s just bruises,” WingDings tells her again. Yes, the whole point of his little trip and fall is to get into the medical buildings but he doesn’t want to be obvious about it.

“Dr. Gill wanted you to stop by again anyway,” Amy answers, picking up her feet a little faster. “He won’t mind if it’s a day or two early. I’ll radio him when we get back to the manor. Is that understood?”

“Yes Miss Ross,” WingDings say dutifully and follows after her.

As expected, Gaster offers his opinion as they make their way up the steep incline to the manor. “There is no changing your mind, is there?” he asks.

“No,” WingDings buzzes defiantly. Angelica, despite her poor attitude, reminds him of himself. If he can help someone he will. He doesn’t want to watch another younger person die.

After dropping off the fruit, Amy calls the medical facilities to let Dr. Gill’s staff know that WingDings is on his way. The walk is rather long, but WingDings doesn’t mind and strides into a bleached building made mostly of stone blocks. Compared to the laundry and food processing buildings this facility is in a better state. WingDings takes a seat on a bench next to other injured and sick people, waiting for his name to be called.

The windows don’t have any glass, which isn’t unusual for most of the buildings in Home. Either they have curtains or bars blocking the front, but this receptionist room doesn’t bother with any covers at all. He is also curious to see paintings decorating the walls. They depict a lush green planet, with slithering rivers of blue, and deep shades of brown from rich soil. Quite the contrast when the smell of disinfectant and burning magic wafts through the air.

And considering how dead the planet is too, but maybe that’s the point of the pictures.

“WingDings, Dr. Gill will see you now,” a snail monster says from beyond a deep red curtain.

Standing to his feet WingDings listens to the snail doctors instructions and goes down the hall to the very last room.

“Hello Mister WingDings, you caught me at a good time,” Dr. Gill shakes his hand and motions for the boy to take a seat on the bench.

“It’s nice to see you again,” WingDings says.

“Miss Ross tells me you had a bit of a stumble today, I want to look at the bruises before we do anything else, is that all right,” Dr. Gill tells him, taking a seat on a stool as WingDings removes his shirt. WingDings is quick to transport his phone and charger to his pockets before Dr. Gill even looks up. After a quick look, Gill applies some salves to the ribs before standing and walking to his desk. “Keep your shirt off, please.”

When Dr. Gill turns back around he comes with another scanning type device. “Close your eyes,” he instructs the boy and slowly waves the device from the skeletons head down to his toes. “You can open those sockets now,” Gill says, grunting when he has to stand up straight again. He ends up just waddling backwards to his stool so he doesn’t have to bother standing.

Curious as always WingDings analyzes the device and learns that it was developed by an old company long since extinct and was repaired and modified by Sans Astor. The device is a scanner used to detect large traces of dangerous bacteria, growth mutations, and other medical problems in monsters and humans.

“Your eyes and arms are glowing again,” Dr. Gill motions a finger loosely at the skeleton. The old human fixes his glasses on his crooked nose and drags his stool closer without standing.

WingDings winces at the sound of the metal legs dragging on the stone floor but he manages to remain seated.

“I think, I think it might be writing,” Dr. Gill murmurs. He is sitting so close now his nose is hitting WingDings scapula bone of his lower arm. “It’s magic though. Magic and technology combined. I’ve read about it in the old books, but I’ve never actually seen it.”

While Dr. Gill is busy studying his arm WingDings takes the opportunity to pull out the medicine and note from his inventory. He’s about to leave it on the Doctor’s desk when Gaster speaks up. “Not now,” he says. “He’ll know it’s from you and I think you’d rather this remain anonymous.”

At first WingDings is against listening to the voices advice, simply because it means he has to wait, but Gaster is right. Pressing his lips, WingDings puts the items back in his inventory. Now that he knows where Dr. Gill’s office is, he can easily take a short cut back here later.

“Your body is very similar to the Astor brothers. I’d almost say you were related to them,” Dr. Gill comments as he pulls back. “Although you heal faster than they do, can’t even see where the bullet nicked your ribs. With your permission I want to send what I’ve found to Dr. Alphys since I can’t make sense of most of it.”

“No, that is a bad idea,” Gaster swiftly says before WingDings can answer.

“I . . . rather you didn’t Dr. Gill,” WingDings says. “Only if something life threatening happened.”

“Very well WingDings, I will honor your request,” Dr. Gill says. “Most don’t believe in the old ways of medical privacy and confidentiality, but in my experience it saves more lives than harms.”

“Why’s that?” WingDings asks. The question is out of his mouth before he can consider how counter-intuitive it is. After all he wants Dr. Gill to keep this between them, not encourage him to change his mind.

“Where I used to practice I had to reveal everything to those I worked for, without question. Even a minor injury or illness could lead to a man’s untimely death,” Dr. Gill answers solemnly. “I hope you will come to trust those at Home, they aren’t like the other gangs.”

“They are very kind,” WingDings agrees. “But for now keep this between us.”

“I will child,” Dr. Gill assures him. “From what I can tell, you are healthy aside from the Magic Radiation, but I have a feeling that’s normal for you.”

“It is, thank you for your time Dr. Gill,” WingDings shakes the old man’s hand.

“Any time Mr. WingDings,” Dr. Gill chuckles. “Do try not to be tripping on your own feet.”

“I make no promises sir, but I’ll try,” WingDings says.

He leaves after that and makes it just in time to help Amy and Rebecca with lunch. Afterwards he trades his book with Rebecca and starts reading ‘The Hobbit.’ He’s read it before, but it is a challenging book to read and makes for good practice. For the rest of the day he helps Jose clean the grounds and after dinner apologizes to Angelica who he plays Mancala with. Of course they don’t call it that here, it’s also known as ‘To Move’.

“You put something in that bread roll this morning,” Angelica says softly as she takes her turn.

“It was medicine,” WingDings explains, feeling it would be wrong to lie. He doesn’t want to lie. “I’ve had ‘Soul Sickness’ before.”

The young girl looks up and glares at him, but when he doesn’t really respond to it she sighs and skillfully nudges the stones into the next space with her nose. “Don’t tell anyone I’m sick, got it.”

“I won’t,” WingDings says and takes his turn.

They play through the game not saying much, but WingDings doesn’t mind the silence. It’s only when he wins that she speaks again. “I’m going to die,” she whispers.

WingDings doesn’t answer right away, his mind pulled easily to Saint Petra and the children he lived with. “You won’t,” he says factually. Unlike Irine’s sickness with bronchitis, he actually has medicine to help with this illness.

“You don’t know that,” she hisses at him.

“I’ve seen death,” WingDings tells her, his smile still present on his face, but it holds no mirth. Presented more like a wince than a grin. “You have a chance, so don’t lose hope.” He picks up the game and puts it away in the chest, carefully cinching the tattered bag holding the playing pieces.

When he turns around he sees Angelica looking at her brother who is playing with some of the other boys at the table. “I’m scared WingDings,” she says. “I’m the only one who . . . does it really . . .” Unable to finish any of her thoughts she shakes her head.

WingDings doesn’t know what to say, never having to face death like she does, only witness it and live past it.

“Tell her that her life matters,” Gaster advises him.

“Your life matters Angelica,” WingDings repeats. She looks up at him, tears pooling in the corners of her large eyes.

“Tell her, ‘the world wouldn’t be the same without her’,” Gaster continues.

“The world wouldn’t be the same without you,” WingDings says.

“Only in my brother’s world,” she sniffs.

“And that isn’t good enough?” WingDings blurts, not waiting for Gaster’s advice. Angelica’s eyes snap at his callous words and WingDings hastens to makes himself understood. “I mean, he cares about you a lot. I know you must feel the same?”

She looks at her brother again and this time Marcus feels her eyes and looks back. The smile her brother gives now is a stark contrast to the stress and worry from that morning. Full of hope. Seeing his sister healthy makes his face much brighter.

“I guess he is worth it,” she finally admits. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Are you feeling better,” WingDings asks straight to the point.

A shrug is her answer. “I guess it would be better not to exist, than I wouldn’t cause Marcus any pain,” she walks over to the boys and takes a seat next to her brother who eagerly welcomes her. The other boys seem a little uncomfortable with her presence, but WingDings isn’t thinking about that now.

His mind keeps repeating the last things she said. ‘It would be better not to exist.’ Those words strike a chord of fear into WingDings soul. His pale skull turns a sickly yellow as he races from the room, up the stairs and dives into the bed. Even wrapped up in his blanket, he feels those words, every word as if it were a wound cut into him. His fear swiftly erupts into anger, mostly because he doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed and read your book?” Gaster suggests. It’s good advice and WingDings is too frustrated to try and think of anything better to do.

For a long time WingDings remains oblivious to why those words haunt him, that is until Gaster wakes WingDings at two in the morning. That is when he remembers Goner Kid. Angelica is Goner Kid! The kid who didn’t exist until his brother Sans and Alphys brought her back. Suddenly it all makes sense for her to talk like that.

And of course the whole dying thing.

“You’ve been sitting up staring at the other bunk for roughly forty-five seconds WingDings,” Gaster tells him, waking the boy from his thoughts. “I thought now would be a good time to leave Dr. Gill your medicine sample.”

Nodding his head, WingDings short cuts straight to Dr. Gill’s office, careful not to touch anything as he places the note and medicine in plain sight. As soon as he is finished he short cuts back to the manor and turns over to go back to sleep. In the morning Gaster wakes him and he in turn wakes Tomasz.

The day is rather uneventful. WingDings works around the manor, helps with the meals, reads his book, and designs a game of bul from his early childhood. The child gets creative using a tattered piece of cloth and sewing thick lines into it. He has to run his idea by Miss Amy first before making it, since she needs to provide most of the materials he needs.

“Perhaps we should visit the scrap yard one of these days,” Amy says as they are preparing dinner with Evelyn and Tomasz.

“Can I go!” Tomasz and Evelyn shout in unison, with the latter jumping up and down in excitement.

“Well, Tomasz you’ll need to ask Mr. Tarson if you can go, but Evelyn, you can join us tomorrow afternoon instead of working on the mending,” Amy decides.

“Yes!” Evelyn celebrates, while Tomasz sags with grief.

“Tomasz I didn’t say no,” Miss Amy reminds the boy. “I’m sure Mr. Tarson will say yes if you ask.”

“But he’s so . . . mean,” Tomasz complains. This earns him a narrow eye from Amy, making the boy shuffle his feet nervously.

“Just because he’s old, doesn’t mean he’s mean,” Amy corrects him.

Instead of responding the boy just continues chopping veggies for the stew.

“Hey, WingDings did Angelica say something mean to you last night?” Evelyn asks.

“Uh, no, not really, why?” WingDings asks.

“Because you ran up the stairs as if you were being chased by a Glargus Banshee,” Tomasz finishes for her. “And you burrowed into bed with your magic sputtering.”

WingDings doesn’t know what to say. Should he tell them about Angelica not wanting to exist, he doesn’t want them to be alarmed by that.

“She said something scary right? She does that a lot,” Evelyn tells him with a light shrug. “Don’t take it personally, she does it to everyone.”

“Evelyn, please don’t talk about her like that,” Amy releases a long breath, stopping only a moment before she brings out the cornbread. “She sees the world differently.”

Evelyn looks like she wants to defend herself, but she gives up before the words even form in her mind. She’s already made up her mind about Angelica and no amount of wisdom from Amy will change it. “Yes, Miss Amy,” Evelyn answers dutifully.

Hearing this does not please Amy much, but she lets the matter drop and instead turns to WingDings. “If Angelica says something cruel, please let me know and I’ll have a word with her,” she says to him and gets back to work.

The next day Amy takes Evelyn and WingDings to the scrap yard. As soon as the boy sees it he knows he’s found paradise. There is debris of all sizes and type. Metal, wood, electronics, cool looking rocks, and there is even a shelf set up with smaller pieces like screws and thimbles. The junk paradise isn’t large, about the size of his school’s gymnasium, and it smells like a mix between old paint and manure, but WingDings doesn’t care.

Before they go into the scrap yard Miss Ross hands them each a crate, telling them that anything they find today will be for the manor, not for themselves. Armed with these instructions, WingDings sets out to find things he can turn into games. Things like checkers, snakes and ladders, nine men morris, cribbage, and Backgammon to name a few. He finds old metal sheets that he asks the man working there to cut into squares with a length and width of twenty-three cm or nine by nine inches.

After that WingDings goes around finding pieces for the games and things he can use as dice. He also finds some incomplete card decks with Evelyn’s help. They don’t take all the cards though, finding the cards they need to create a full deck. As to avoid cheating, they’ll have to paint the backs of the cards later so they’re all matching. When they’re finished WingDings crate is full of materials to make his games, while Evelyn’s is full of craft supplies like buttons, wire, and beads. Amy has some new sewing needles, pots, dishes, and an old scrub brush.

“Looks like we have a good haul,” Amy says. “You’ll have to teach everyone how to play those games WingDings.”

“I will,” WingDings says confidently.

“Where did you learn about them?” Evelyn asks.

“Mostly from other kids I came in contact with, like that game of Bul I showed Miss Ross,” WingDings explains, glad that he doesn’t have to lie.

“Where did you come from?” Evelyn asks. “I came from the Snarls Gang, but managed to run away at the market where I hitched a ride with these guys.”

“Yes, that’s how we get most of our orphans it seems,” Amy grins, shaking her head fondly.

“Home has a good reputation for orphans,” Evelyn states smugly, as if her making it in Home was one of the reasons that made this place so great.

WingDings is a little surprised they’re being open about this. With the exception of Marcus no one has really talked in-depth about where they came from before or even asked him where he came from. It’s as if there is this unspoken rule that you respect a persons past. “I’ve been to a lot of different places,” WingDings finally answers, keeping it vague on purpose. “Some good some . . . not so good.”

“There are other good gangs? I don’t believe you,” Evelyn shakes her head.

“The Seeker Gang isn’t bad, we have good trade with them,” Amy reminds Evelyn.

“Maybe, but for every good gang there are at least thirteen bad ones,” she replies.

“How many gangs are there?” WingDings asks.

“In the Scarab Region, where we live, there are about twenty gangs and communities,” Amy answers. “We come in contact with more though thanks to the Transport Arches. There can be up to forty gangs congregated during market days as well.”

“How do you not know any of this?” Evelyn asks.

“There are plenty of children who never hear about market days” Amy tells the girl. “Remember Chezzem and Klide, they didn’t know either.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Evelyn mumbles.

“Don’t make assumptions before you have all the facts,” WingDings recites. “An annoying old man once told me that.” Somewhere out there in the universe G-san’s is sneezing.

“But the only reason a person makes assumptions is because they don’t know the facts,” Evelyn counters smartly.

“Which means you probably shouldn’t be making assumption at all,” WingDings smugly throws back, feeling a great sense of accomplishment in his little game.

Amy chuckles and shakes her head at the two. “Try to keep the bantering to a minimum. We have a meal to make,” Miss Amy says as she places her crate under the stairs. The children follow her example before joining Rebecca in the kitchen.

For the rest of the day Evelyn helps WingDings paint the lines and pieces he needs for the games. He also takes the time to explain the rules to her so he won’t be the only one who knows. It would be nice if he could write down the rules, but without paper or some kind of tablet it is an impractical idea. That night, after dinner, WingDings spends his night reading, unable to show off his games with the paint still drying

When everyone is asleep, WingDings asks Gaster a question. “Do you think Dr. Gill got the note?” he asks.

“He did,” Gaster assures the boy. “He found it first thing in the morning and has his team of doctors trying to duplicate it. He’s also been trying to figure out who left the note, but none of his colleagues are coming forward.”

WingDings hums in amusement, smiling contently as he stares at the wire mesh holding Tomasz’s mat. “How are Undyne and Papyrus doing?”

“They are doing well,” Gaster replies. “They’re latest water run went much smoother and they are looking forward to market day tomorrow.”

“Do any of them suspect me?” WingDings asks.

“. . . Sans is concerned over the surge of magic that passed through his little Warp Hoop when you went through it, but he assumes it’s a malfunction from the scuffle with the Harper Gang,” Gaster explains.

“. . . Did they . . . forget about me?” WingDings asks.

“Hardly child, they’re still trying to find a place to put you and figure out why you were swimming in Silent Lake,” Gaster assures him. “Sans and Alphys agreed to keep the mysteries about your retrieval a secret from the populace of Home. They didn’t make Papyrus promise to keep everything a secret, but they didn’t have too. Neither Undyne or Papyrus have told anyone you come from another world.”

“Why not?” WingDings asks, even as his mind wanders and his lids grow heavy.

“They do not wish to cause needless distress in Home,” Gaster tells him and WingDings imagines Gaster pulling his hands behind his back. “You see, Home is a safe haven and a successful community, but it isn’t perfect. This world is full of strife and pain that the people live in constant reminder of. The House, that is the elders, know that if news of a child from another world spread it would cause you to be bombarded with questions and unrealistic hopes of leaving this awful world.”

“That makes sense I guess.”

“Sans is mostly concern over why you’re here,” Gaster chuckles a little, as if he finds the man’s befuddlement entertaining. “He just can’t wrap his head around why anyone would come here of all places. Since you’ve remained out of trouble though his worries have been settling and he is kept busy with running Home.”

“Are they your sons?” WingDings yawns, his mind barely hanging on long enough to hear his constant companions soft answer.

“I made them,” Gaster whispers. “A long, long time ago.”

Notes:

Fairly long chapter this time around. Another segment focusing on the daily life of Home, with a little excitement with Angelica. I tried to keep the topic light, but anything dealing with Goner Kid gets heavy pretty quickly. At this point WingDings has also actually played the game Undertale, and knows of Goner Kid through that, but that little side story is incomplete. I’ll get around to posting it someday.
Other than that the kids are fun to write for. I try to base the conversations off of what I hear children say, but I confess real children generally speak with more repetition and um’s than I write here. They also tend to rush, like the thought will leave them before they can get it out of their mouth. Till next time.

Chapter 7: It Matters

In the morning WingDings is awoken by another boy, revealing that this new person will be helping this week in the kitchen instead of Tomaz. The dragon boys’ name is Rize and he is thirteen years old. They are joined by Evelyn again and the day proceeds as normal, although Rize fills most of the normally quiet times with chatter about what he’s been making at the forge.

Mostly this discussion comes in the form of bragging.

In the afternoon Evelyn and WingDings run down to Home’s Market Place, which is active and loud today. Instead of the usual dirt smell WingDings can taste some hot treats being cooked on an open grill and see’s colorful art on display with people calling to trade. As much as he would love to look around they are there only to collect new clothing and donations for the manor.

Apparently, once a week when Market Day is over, everyone congregates at the stalls, trading information and goods to anyone who is willing to listen or pay. Most of the goods acquired at the Market go to the vault where it is used to better the entire community, but personal items created and traded come here to the market to be given by the citizens of Home. The Child Manor doesn’t take donations every Market Day. Only when Amy is personally radioed to collect items from a particular stall or instructed by Toriel. Only then does Amy make the trip out.

Or sends someone to do it for her like today.

After collecting their allotted items from Mrs. Astor, the children make the long trek back up to the Child Manor, laden with five boxes of clothes.

“Do they ever let children go to the Market?” WingDings asks as he does his best to balance several crates of clothes, not only in his own arms, but his magic hands. If not for his magic hands there is no way they could have carried all of this.

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Evelyn grunts, trying to find a more comfortable potion to carry her crate. “It’s common for children to go missing on Market Days.”

“Unless that’s the point,” WingDings winks at her.

“Yes, unless that’s the point,” she chuckles.

When they return to the manor, they sort the laundry into piles based on size and age before bagging it up to be sent to the Launder. As they finish throwing the last bag under the stairs, the radio buzzes on in the tiny room close by. “Miss Ross, this is Dr. Mable at the Medical Firm are you available? Over,” a female voice pops and crackles.

Amy swiftly flies down the stairs with practiced ease and strides with purpose into the Radio Room as Dr. Mable repeats her message. Their guardian doesn’t pick up the receiver and answer until Dr. Mable says the word ‘over’. “This is Amy Ross, what is your message. Over.”

“I wanted you to know that Dr. Gill will be visiting tonight. He’ll be arriving as soon as he can after supper time, please be sure Miss Angelica knows he’s expecting to see her, over,” Dr. Mable says.

“Message received, I will be sure to let Angelica know as well. Thank you for telling me, have a good afternoon Dr. Mable. Over,” Amy replies.

“And you as well Miss Ross, over and out,” Dr. Mable clicks off and Amy leaves the room.

“Time to make dinner,” she announces after the message is delivered.

“How does she always know what time it is?” WingDings asks, knowing that the only clock in the building is in the dining hall.

“She’s part clock,” Evelyn explains with such seriousness he nearly believes her.

“It’s because I’ve done this a long time,” Amy answers. “Get moving, we’re making meatloaf.”

Dinner meatloaf goes over well and WingDings finally has the opportunity to explain the rules to some of the games he’s made. Most of the children are already familiar with checkers, but chess and the others are all new. While they are playing, Dr. Gill arrives and Amy makes the announcement in her loud steady voice. WingDings doesn’t bother moving this time, having seen him just three days prior. He is curious about the doctor meeting with Angelica, but he doesn’t want to cause suspicion.

He’s fairly confident Angelica can figure out where and how Dr. Gill developed the medicine, but he isn’t sure she’ll tell him what she knows. WingDings never told her to keep it a secret, which means he has to leave whatever happens to chance.

Dr. Gill and Angelica are in the office a long time and WingDings is forced to go upstairs to the room before they are finished.

In the morning WingDings wakes to his Gaster alarm clock and gets Rize up with him. As he cooks with the others, Gaster speaks to him. “Angelica and Dr. Gill figured it out late last night,” he says calmly. “She told him about the medicine you gave her a few days ago and it was simple to figure out where the note came from after that. And yet, they both agreed to not say anything or tell anyone.”

WingDings stops a moment, but refrains from saying anything and continues his work. “Strange isn’t it,” Gaster musses. “From what I learned they want you to come forward on your own. They trust you and want you to trust them.”

It would be nice to answer Gaster and ask more questions, but Rize is busy talking about a sled design he’s helping with at work. The sled is something that can be used in the sand and dragged behind vehicles.

“When you have the chance to slip away there is something I want to show you,” Gaster says.

“And what’s that?” WingDings asks Rize, as if he wants the boy to elaborate on his sled design, but really he wants more information from Gaster.

“It’s like a blade on the bottom, it . . .” Rize continues, but WingDings tunes him out.

“I’ve been concocting ideas of retrieving your pieces without depending on Undyne and Papyrus,” Gaster explains. “They only need to refill the reservoir once every month, so I need to find other ways to transport you to the Lakes. Unless you want to stay here for a couple of years?

Honestly WingDings doesn’t mind being stuck in a world for long periods of time. Not like he isn’t used to it, but he has no way of telling Gaster this.

“You aren’t even listening to me,” Rize complains, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“It’s two fancy blades stuck to the bottom of a large piece of sheet metal, it’s simple,” Evelyn says, coming to WingDings defense.

“Well he asked,” Rize gestures to WingDings. “It’s rude to ask a question then not bother listening to the answer.”

“That was rude of me, I’m sorry Rize,” WingDings says automatically, not because he’s sorry, but because he wants the needless bicker to come to its inevitable conclusion. “I have a lot on my mind.”

Immediately, the flames fueling Rize’s purpose dwindle and he sways back into a relaxed posture. “Well . . . I guess you are stirring a lot of pots of porridge there. Apology accepted.” Flashing his sharp teeth with a proud grin Rize gets back to setting the table while Evelyn rolls her eyes.

“Just because he’s the oldest in the manor doesn’t mean he knows everything,” Evelyn mutters. “. . . I miss Lilly.”

“She seemed like a nice girl,” WingDings says conversationally, while wondering in the back of his mind what Gaster has in mind for him later that day.

“She was,” Evelyn says, stepping onto a crate and adding some veggies to the porridge. “Kept us girls from fighting and read books to us at night.”

“Maybe she’ll come back and visit,” WingDings encourages her.

“Maybe,” Evelyn says and the two fall silent.

That morning at breakfast Angelica makes a point of sitting across from him looking much better than she ever has. It brings a smile to WingDings face, but during the meal the girl continues to stare at him, causing his smile to become more forced. “Must you keep staring at me Angelica,” WingDings finally says when he’s had enough.

“I wanted to thank you,” Angelica answers. “I am going to live . . . just like you said.”

“You’re welcome,” WingDings says. “Now will you stop staring at me?”

“You don’t have anything else to say?” she asks, her eyes sharp begging him to say more or daring him to.

“Have a good day, I’ve got work to do,” WingDings stands and goes to the kitchen. As he leaves he hears Marcus ask his sister about their short conversation, but she doesn’t say anything.

WingDings puts himself on cleaning duty with the other children for the first time since arriving. Really it isn’t much cleaning, they scrape off the plates as best they can and put what they collect into bins. The extra food they collect goes to the livestock and the prison. After that the plates are brushed off and wiped down with dry clothes. WingDings tries not to think about all the germs on these things.

While it’s possible for him to save a child, he can’t give them more water.

When he finds himself with some extra time, WingDings lets Gaster take him to a small cavern. At first the space is completely dark and WingDings has to shut his eyes to keep the fear from prickling his mind. “Sorry child, let me light the space,” Gaster says and a soft hum of old computers and overworked fans spark to life.

Opening his eyes WingDings sees a large wall of old computer towers, one on top of the other. The other walls are collapsed concrete and rubble, rocks and other pieces of black debris dribbling into the small space, making it feel even smaller. There is fresh air coming in and with Gaster’s magic he sees small ventilation shafts that are still intact. When he can feel his limbs he stands and stumbles into a small motorcycle hidden in the dark rocks.

“Have you ever driven one?” Gaster asks.

“No, only ridden,” WingDings looks at the machine and tries to pull it upright, but he has to use several magic hands to manage it. The bike doesn’t have a kickstand so he shuffles it over to the computers and leans the bike against it carefully. “This needs a lot of repairs.”

“I can help you rebuild it,” Gaster says. “You can use this to travel the desert.”

“But . . .” WingDings shakes his head. “What about the diseased sands?”

“We’ll have to cover you completely,” Gaster explains.

“. . . Am I going to have to steal again?” WingDings asks.

“Again?” Gaster asks instead.

“I’d rather not steal,” WingDings says simply.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gaster says.

“Is . . . are you okay with this?” WingDings asks. “Helping me?”

“I told you I would,” Gaster assures him.

WingDings feels a little overwhelmed and clutches the side of the bike. All of this is a little sudden, but this is a good thing, it isn’t bad. “Thank you Gaster,” he finally says, opening his eyes and analyzing the machine. “Let’s get started then.” The motorcycle isn’t exactly the same as Uncle Gaster Sans bike, but aside from being electric, it’s the same basic design.

He doesn’t know how long he works on the bike, but his hands are thick with grease and he can taste metal on his teeth. How did Uncle Sans ever get used to this?

“Miss Ross is calling for you, it’s time to make lunch,” Gaster reports.

WingDings picks up some dirty clothes and wipes himself off as best he can before taking a short cut into his bunk. “Coming Miss Ross,” he calls and goes into the cleaning room to do a better job.

“Where have you been?” Amy asks, shaking her head at him as he races into the kitchen. Rize and Evelyn are already getting things ready.

“Reading, I finished ‘The Hobbit’,” WingDings lies as he takes his place in front of the stove.

“I have ‘Jane Eyre’,” Rize offers. “Want to trade.”

“But you’ve already read ‘The Hobbit’,” Evelyn reminds the teen.

“I like it a lot better than this book,” Rize replies.

“Sure,” WingDings summons the book in a magic hand and places it on the counter.

“I’ll go get!” Rize races from the room.

“Rize!” Amy calls after him, but with a sigh and shake of her head she allows the boy to retrieve the book. “He’s been trying to get rid of it for a while.”

“As long as it’s a challenge, I don’t care,” WingDings says.

“It’s really boring,” Evelyn whispers to her fellow cooking companion.

“It is not boring,” Amy says, hearing the girl just fine.

Evelyn looks WingDings in the eye and mouths, ‘It’s boring.’

“Do not dissuade him Evelyn,” Amy almost chuckles, either that or he imagines the sound.

The remainder of the day can be summarized by cooking, chores, fixing a motorcycle, and avoiding Angelica. For the next several days he keeps busy with the motorcycle, collecting unused clothes to protect himself in the desert all while keeping busy around the manor. He also tries to visit Onionsan when he can, joining the aquatic monsters for a swim and enjoying the water. On the day marking his two weeks of living in Home his motorcycle is nearly finished, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement at learning to drive it.

As he helps Amy carry the laundry back to the manor WingDings finds he’s missing Evelyn’s company. She’s been given work at the artisans pavilion, making jewelry to be sold at the market. It is a bothersome reminder that the elders, or ‘the House’, has yet to find a place for him or give him anything to study. For someone who loves to learn it is frustrating. At least he gets some challenge out of repairing a bike, but it serves a purpose. It’s not for pure enjoyment of learning or sating his never ending curiosity.

As he ponders what his place in this settlement will be. Gaster speaks up in his mind. Recently his constant companion tries to only speak with him when they are alone or at night so WingDings is rather caught off guard. “WingDings, I’m afraid I’ve happened upon a moral dilemma,” Gaster starts, his voice low and warbling with indecision. “You see, unfortunately, it is not uncommon where I am forced to watch the people of this planet die. I cannot do anything to help them aside from maybe lighting an old tunnel or dropping an item directly in their path, but I cannot speak to them. I cannot touch them. But you child . . . you can.”

As Amy leaves him in the dining hall to sort the laundry WingDings obtains the ability to speak to Gaster. “If I can help, I will Gaster,” he says in his WingDings font just as an extra precaution. “What do you need me to do?”

“There is a child who has been wandering the old maintenance corridors for the past five days,” Gaster explains.

“Since Market day?” WingDings asks.

“Yes,” Gaster confirms. “She hitched a ride with the traders of Home, but instead of revealing herself she ran into one of the ventilation shafts. Only a child or small monster can fit into those tight spaces. I’ve been trying to lead her out, but she only goes deeper in. I’ve managed to drop food around for her, but she is very ill from the Sands Burn, that is what most call the disease. I’ve also tried to give messages to Sans and Alphys but they’ve been dismissing it as the ‘CORE being finicky.’ I am NOT finicky!”

Evidently there is more going on with Gaster’s relationship with the scientists if that last sentence is anything to go by, but WingDings doesn’t mention it. “Where is she now?” WingDings asks, standing to his feet and showing he is more than ready to move at once.

“Not now child, you mustn’t be caught,” Gaster’s large hand appears and gently encourages him to sit back down on the bench. “I believe teleporting you there shouldn’t be a problem. It isn’t too far from here after all. But we need to get her out without her seeing you.”

“Would taking a short cut with her be too dangerous,” WingDings asks as he sits and continues to sort the clothes. “You . . . probably noticed, but people tend to get ill when I move them through dimensions. I don’t want to make her any sicker.”

“She’ll get sick either way,” Gaster replies. “If you can take her to the front of the Dogi’s gate, the place you came in from two weeks ago, she will be safe. They can sense a child’s presence at a distance, unlike some of the other guards.”

“I’ll try that first then,” WingDings says.

“You make it sound as if you have more than one shot at this,” Gaster says with tone of suspicion.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her sooner?” WingDings asks instead. When you want to avoid a question you ask a question back.

“It was a moral dilemma,” Gaster admits with a long breath of unease. “I don’t want to compromise your position here. You are in a very comfortable place now and no one aside from Onionsan and their fish friends knows about your quest. I prefer it stay that way.”

“You don’t want the House to know . . . why?” WingDings asks.

“Because I don’t know what they would do,” Gaster replies.

“Well I can’t say I’m very happy with them right now,” WingDings grumbles.

“And why is that child?”

“I’ve been here two weeks and they haven’t given me a job,” the boy sighs. “I mean, helping the Manor is fine, but I was kind of hoping to be with Papyrus or Undyne more. Maybe work with Alphys and Sans in the ‘Science Lair’. Even working with Dr. Gill with medicine would be neat. I . . . I’d like to be doing something . . . bigger.”

“You are doing something very important WingDings,” Gaster assures the child. “Helping the Child Manor is making life better for these orphans. Normally Amy has to do it all herself or rotate the kids out of work to help her. Every time she does that she robs them of a future work place for them, so she tries not to.”

“Do you mean that or are you just trying to make me feel better?” WingDings asks.

“Both child,” Gaster says with an unseen grin. “I want you to feel better about your work here and know that it matters.”

“. . . I’d still like to do more, but thanks Gaster,” WingDings finishes up the stacks and picks them up with his hands to deliver to the rooms. “That does make me feel a little better.” As he goes up the stairs Amy is at the top waiting for him.

“Were you talking to someone WingDings?” she asks, looking over the railing and into the entry hall.

“Just myself,” he answers easily. He makes a mental note to speak quieter when in the dining room alone.

That night Gaster wakes WingDings after everyone is asleep. He carries the child to a long hallway, lit only by a few odd wires strung along the center. They spark and sizzle every now and again, showing just how poorly maintained the area is. “Where are we?” WingDings asks softly as he stares ahead, waiting to have mobility in his limbs.

“This hall used to connect the bunkers to the offices and computers, but that was thousands of years ago,” Gaster explains. “I’ve sealed as much of this area off as I can from Home. The area is unstable and leaking heavy levels of dangerous magical radiation.”

“Looks like another world,” WingDings comments, noting the rusted silver panels and grid like vents. The air smells strangely sweet despite the heavy amounts of dust, creating a screen of foggy blue where the wires glow.

“It was,” Gaster agrees. “Now activate the interface and I’ll guide your path. I should warn you that some areas will be very dark.”

“Understood,” WingDings stands and activates Gaster’s magic. There is a digital line of magic that starts at his feet and moves down the hallway to his left. Even with the wall in the way he can see where it turns at the fork and continues on several meters where it stops at a muddled form huddled in a wall.

As to avoid making any sound, WingDings lifts himself with his magic hands and follows the line. “Her vitals give me the impression that she is sleeping,” Gaster informs him when WingDings nears her location.

Despite knowing this, WingDings is still cautious as he turns the corner. He nearly runs into a jammed set of blast doors that are pried open by a fallen metal support beam. Wishing to avoid any noise WingDings teleports the short distance to the other side, revealing the shambled melting remains of old bunks. The interface informs him that the radiation is heavy in this room and has contaminated the metal, causing it to slowly melt.

This is not a safe place for the child to be.

“She is more ill than I thought,” Gaster whispers, a difficult thing to do from a voice who typically only has one volume in his head.

The human’s heart rate is slow, her pulse weak, and her skin is oozing a sickly yellow puss. WingDings winces at the sight, but fights the urge to retreat and defiantly strides forward. Coming behind her, WingDings wraps his body around her and makes a short cut to the Dogi guard’s gate.

The spark of his magic alerts the guards immediately, but he is quick to disappear when the girl dry heaves and the dogs bark in alarm. WingDings teleports into the bathing area, not wishing to leave until he knows for certain they’ll take care of her. He watches as Dogressa races down the hall and barks into the radio, requesting a doctor immediately from the medical division and a member of the House, informing them that a deathly ill child has been found on their doorstep.

With his concerns relieved, WingDings looks down at himself and analyzes his soul and body. To his dismay some of the Sands Burn has touched his hands where he clung to the girl. “Follow my instructions,” Gaster tells him, helping him stay calm. “There is a bucket full of the soap used for cleaning in the locker in the corner, use your magic hands to open it. Do not touch anything with your actual hands. There is a pump on the bath, fill an empty bucket half way and put a table spoon of the powdered soap into it.”

As Gaster gives him these instructions WingDings hands fly to accomplish it. He focuses on the task, ignoring the commotion outside the room, as the guards and doctors race through the gate to the little girl he left on the path. Washing his hands swiftly, he checks his hands and the rest of his body twice, before verifying the nasty germs have been eradicated. Without any encouragement on Gaster’s end WingDings rushes to put everything away exactly as he found it.

Right as he’s shutting the locker the light to the room flickers on and WingDings shifts through the dimensions and back into bed. He lays their stiffly, his soul hammering hard in his rib cage, while his eyes spark from the magic adrenalin rushing through his synthetic bones. After he’s calmed down he checks his body one last time before trying to sleep.

The next morning the gossip is buzzing about the child found by the guard dogs at the Northeast gate. WingDings is relieved to hear she is alive, despite her weak state. After she’s been nursed back to health she’ll be brought to the Child Manor to join their large family. They’ll have eighty-seven tenants again.

That afternoon Miss Amy gets radioed from Doctor Mable and she takes WingDings with her for a trip to the medical firm. Once there they visit the little girl although Amy does all the talking. Assuring the young girl she’ll be well taken care of and has a place to live once she’s recovered. The girl doesn’t speak and WingDings takes the opportunity to scan her.

He chooses the ‘History’ option and learns that she was a slave to a trader from the Diamonds Gang, a place known for its pointy weapons and pointy pretty rocks. She is only seven years old, so her history is very short. When he clicks on ‘interests’ he learns she loves to draw and listen to stories, but is more interested in staying alive at present. She refuses to speak, because her master taught her that people only like silent children. He also learns that her name is Nola.

Smiling WingDings steps forward and asks Amy if he can speak to her.

“This is WingDings,” Amy introduces to the girl. “He was found a few weeks ago living on his own.”

“I’m really happy here,” he tells the girl and isn’t surprised when her eyes widen. Nola looks at Amy assuming that WingDings will be reprimanded for speaking, but Amy only smiles. “You were very brave to come here all by yourself from the Market,” he continues. “I met someone named Evelyn who came from the market too. She’s just a little older than you. She really likes making things out of scraps, especially jewelry by twirling wire around pretty stones. Do you like to make things?”

“I . . . I like to . . . I make pictures,” the girl answers.

“You’ll get to do more of that here,” WingDings tells her. He doesn’t say more, waiting for her to say something. He can’t call her by name without raising suspicion so he waits for her to provide it.

“My . . . My name is Nola,” she says. “I’m seven and . . . I am . . . I was . . . a slave in Diamond’s Gulch.”

“I was living in Mirror’s Lake, before the Harper Gang showed up,” WingDings tells her. “But you don’t have to talk about it. Miss Ross and the others . . . they’ll accept you as you are.”

Hearing this simple assurance slowly lifts a weight from the little girl, her eyes are no longer wide in alarm and shifting. She relaxes on the cot, her shoulders lowering as she shifts her head more comfortably on the pillow. “You promise,” she weakly takes out an arm, shaking more than a fish dangling from a hook.

Without hesitation WingDings takes her arm, holding it gently enough not to hurt her, but strong enough so she doesn’t have to hold it up with her own strength. Behind him Amy stiffens, but doesn’t intervene as WingDings holds Nola’s arms by the elbow. “I promise,” he says.

The girl smiles, beaming with joy as tears glisten her eyes. He lowers her arm and tucks the blanket around her head, noting that she still has a slight fever.

“We’ll come visit again Nola,” Miss Amy tells her, moving towards the door with WingDings.

“Get better soon, then you can come to the manor,” WingDings says, giving her more hope than what she had when she arrived.

“I will,” Nola promises and nestles into the bed.

As soon as they’re in the hall, Amy has a firm hand on WingDings shoulder and starts shoving him down the hall and to the right where an empty examination room is. “WingDings you foolish child,” she seethes with kind irritation. “Dr. Gill, Dr. Marble, Dr. Hackes, Dr. Someone!”

Within seconds WingDings finds himself striped of his clothes, leaving him scrambling to hide his phone and charger, before being scanned by Dr. Gill. “Honestly Mr. WingDings you must know that the Sand Burn illness is contracted by touch,” he sighs, one of the other doctors, Dr. Hackes fills a tin bucket with some water and powered soap, stirring it up before carefully guiding WingDings over so he can drop his arm in. She is wearing rough gloves to protect herself and uses a long handled brush to scrub away at his bones.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” WingDings confesses sheepishly.

“While your short conversation did accomplish the goal of retrieving her name, age, and location, it did not need to come at the expense of your health Mr. WingDings,” Dr. Gill lightly chastises him as he puts the scanner away. “Aside from your arm, you are uncontaminated.”

“I’m sorry,” WingDings sighs. He’s not really sorry, but he is feeling a little sorry for himself considering his bare bones and where his arm is right now.

“I’m sure you are now,” Amy calls from the hall knowingly.

Dr. Gill chuckles and leaves the room to visit another patient.

When Dr. Hackes is finished, she scans his arm and allows him to leave with the virus cleared away.

“What am I going to do with you WingDings,” Amy grunts as they trek up the slope to the manor.

“Put me to work I imagine Miss Ross,” he answers, grin wide and proud.

“You know . . . that’s just what I’m going to do,” Amy agrees and for the rest of the day he’s dusting and sweeping the entire manor.

Notes:

WingDings knowledge of this world is growing a little bigger each and every day. Not much to say about this chapter. A lot of character development and world building here, along with setting up the next arc of the story.

Chapter 8: Stain Glass Lake

Notes:

If you are ten years old, don’t drive motorcycles alone.

In the evening, Gaster wakes WingDings and has the boy transport his new motorcycle to the abandoned facility where they found the sick girl. WingDings decides to call this area the ‘Radiation Catacombs’, since the leaking magic levels are so high.

“I figured this is a good place for you to learn how to ride the motorcycle before taking it out on the sand,” Gaster explains to him.

“Won’t someone hear the motor running,” WingDings asks.

“While that is a possibility, it is unlikely,” Gaster assures him.

Starting the ignition, WingDings is startled when the vehicle zooms forward right away instead of sputtering and slowly catching speed like uncle G-Sans Harley used to. His buzzing scream drowns out the humming purr of the bike as he shoots forward as cleanly as a knife, parting the blue dust and leaving a dark shadow where he once was. He manages to slow down before reaching the end of the first hall, but flies off the bike over the handles. Before he hits the wall he makes a short cut, opening the other end in the opposite direction of his momentum above Home’s Lake.

After splashing into the lake, WingDings short cuts quickly back into the old hall, dripping wet. “Well that could have gone better,” WingDings kicks the iron wall and instantly regrets it, shaking his hands and teetering on one foot till he sits down. He checks the condition of the bike and is glad to see that he didn’t damage it at all. Only his pride is damaged. “Why can’t I just use my blaster to travel?”

“Because it will use too much of your magic and draw attention to yourself,” Gaster answers. “This motorcycle runs on my magic, which I have plenty of. It is the fastest thing there is, faster than your blaster. They’d never be able to catch you.”

WingDings groans, but gets to his feet. Determined to practice and get it right.

He doesn’t get it right that night.

Or the next night.

Or the night after that.

By the time Nola is released from the medical ward four days after her arrival, WingDings has yet to feel confident on his bike. For the first day Nola is at the manor, she is encouraged to rest and spends most of her time sitting wherever WingDings happens to be working. He doesn’t mind, telling her about the people who live in the manor and reading ‘Jane Eyre’ out loud to her. Spending time with her actually helps him forget his troubles, before attempting to wrestle his new bike into submission.

“Perhaps you should name it?” Gaster suggests as WingDings’ sharp turn with the bike winds up with him wet and sprawled on the floor yet again.

“Name what?” WingDings asks, slowly standing and picking the bike up. Doesn’t help that the thing is so large, even with the adjustments they made.

“Your bike,” Gaster says. “After all, you have been spending a lot of time with it.”

“How about ‘Pain in my ass’,” WingDings says, bringing a chuckle past his lips when he thinks of how literal the name is.

“I thought you frowned on bad language,” Gaster says as if he’s looking down the length of his nose at the boy. If he had a nose.

“Maybe there is a use for such words,” WingDings replies.

“Does this mean you’re giving up?” Gaster asks.

“NO!” WingDings snaps, climbing the bike and starting again. His eyes blaze red and he’s at it another hour before Gaster forces the boy to go to bed and rest for the evening.

In the morning, while WingDings is preparing breakfast with Rize, Nola, and a girl monster named Pearl, the radio sputters to life calling for Amy Ross. WingDings is busy listening to Pearl as she explains to Nola what to expect from school, that is until he hears his name spoken on the other end of the radio.

Before he can hear more, Amy makes a point of lowering the volume on the radio and speaks quieter. WingDings buzzes in annoyance, but no one notices expect Gaster. “They’ve finally decided on what to do with you,” his older counterpart informs him. “I didn’t think they were going to do it so soon though. They weren’t in any hurry since Amy likes having you around.”

A bubbling excitement builds in WingDings bones, standing a little taller on his crate as he pours the next pancake in the skillet.

“They still want you to help Miss Amy though,” Gaster informs him, well aware of the boys rising excitement. “One of the engineers has decided to teach you how to use the computers in the ‘science lair’. This is perfect since I’ll be able to teach you as well without pulling you away at night and disrupting your rest.”

“The engineers name is Mr. Garmish,” Gaster continues. “He thinks you’re a prime candidate for working on the dated computers and programming them with your high levels of math. This would include the software they use to keep track of supplies, access to the CORE and its systems, along with basic economics for Home.”

“WingDings, you’ve been given an assignment,” Miss Ross says, interrupting Gaster’s explanation. “One of the scientists has agreed to teach you some of the programs they use at their facilities in the morning hours.”

“Hey that’s great WingDings,” Rize lightly punches WingDings arm, as Nola and Pearl offer their support as well.

“I don’t think anyone from the Manor has ever worked at the scientist’s lair,” Pearl says, clearly impressed as seen in her slack jaw and wide eyes.

“His name is Mr. Garmish,” Amy continues. “He’ll be here to pick you up after breakfast. You’ll work with him for three hours before coming back here to help at the manor.”

Nodding his head, WingDings smiles as if he’s been told gyftmas is coming early. This is what he’s been waiting for and he can’t wait to see the computers they’re working on.

That is until Mister Garmish actually takes young WingDings to see the ancient devices sputtering and bickering at each other with high pitch vibrations and clattering pings. The sight is a little disappointing, but Gaster and Mister Garmish are both ecstatic to have the boy there.

The building is notably cold inside, tunneled into the cavern walls rather than built like everything else is in the open portion of the cave. The science lair is right next to the reservoir, since the scientist’s main responsibility is monitoring the water levels and checking for pollution. The computers themselves are well maintained, but they are using a simple and extremely dated operating system that makes WingDings cringe.

As he clanks away at a keyboard, which is missing several keys, Mister Garmish puts on some old pop music and shows WingDings how to impute commands and retrieve data from the dinosaur. Mister Garmish is a Migosp type monster who, luckily for WingDings, has fallen in with a very good group of people and is very content with his programming job. He is an older monster, jiving to his own beat and making use of the WingDings font for its intended purpose.

Which is, of course, sending messages to his fellow scientists using the picture aspect of the font, ignoring what letter they actually represented.

The simple messaging brings a lax smile to the boys face, but he has to wonder why they’re using this particular computer out of all the others. He knows from his visit with Gaster that they have nicer computers then this. Even if the screen was cracked, the giant tablet like device was pretty sophisticated. Looking around the large room with scientists typing away at their large multi-monitor consoles, WingDings spots a familiar blast door.

Scanning the door, he sees the familiar room Gaster took him too all those weeks ago. There are three life forms inside.

“What’s in there?” WingDings asks as Garmish flips through his crank jukebox to his favorite song.

“That’s the control room,” Mr. Garmish explains. “Unless you’re invited, only Dr. Alphys, Sans and Dr. Sobek are allowed in there.”

“A control room for what?” WingDings continues to ask, as Gaster directs him to unlock different features using old codes from thousands of years ago. They are codes to access information on other computers he may come across in other gangs or tricks to turn on slumbering systems if needed.

“Things like the Transport Arches and old CORE systems,” Mr. Garmish gladly informs him, encouraged by the child’s curiosity. “They can also monitor other gang’s activates, heh, when the CORE ain’t complaining.”

“I’m hardly complaining,” Gaster grumbles in WingDings mind. “I’m merely trying to communicate with them and correct minor mistakes.”

WingDings chuckles at Gaster’s comment. It is a soft buzzing sound, barely vibrating his jaw. “You talk like it has a personality,” WingDings tells the scientist.

“Honestly, I think it does,” Mr. Garmish says. “Sometimes when I’m stuck and frustrated with a program I think it takes pity on me and gives me the formula I was missing. I’m not the only one who’s noticed, but Sans and Dr. Alphys assure us it’s just a bunch of code strung together.”

“I think it has a personality too,” WingDings replies.

“Ah, I like you already,” Mr. Garmish puts a hand on his shoulder before walking away briefly to help one of the other five scientists in the room.

As soon as he leaves, Gaster lifts a series of blocks and accesses a data file with reports on the different gangs. He shows WingDings how to access the data and compares it to the locations of the pieces of his soul. One of his pieces is in the heart of the Harper Gang and another is being threatened by said gang in a desire to expand their territory.

“We should obtain the piece in Stain Glass Lake before the Harper Gang completely over runs it,” Gaster comments as he notes the corresponding Transport Arches being used in that area.

“But I haven’t ridden the bike on sand yet,” WingDings whispers. “I guess I could . . .”

He is cut off when the Control Room blast doors open, revealing the stern eyes of Sans quickly scanning the scientists.

With a thought WingDings and Gaster return the computer to its previous screen, which happens to be a WingDings font message he typed on the fly.

Everyone in the room doesn’t pay Sans any mind, continuing with their work and bobbing their heads to Garmish’s tunes. WingDings continues to type out a string of nonsensical WingDings characters using his magic hands, while his real hands rest on his chin in a relaxed position.

“Still listening to Katy Perry?” Sans calls to Garmish. “Why not Lady Gaga instead if you’re feeling nostalgic?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Garmish says, bobbing his head to the surreal beat of old synthetic chords.

“Hey WingDings, guess I shouldn’t be surprised your playing with your own font,” Sans says as he comes up behind the boy.

“Mister Garmish showed me,” he answers easily.

“I’m sure you know more than that,” Sans tells him. “Papyrus told me what you said and Toriel was pretty impressed with your algebra.”

“I guess there is no point in keeping that from you Mr. Astor,” WingDings says softly.

“Call me Sans, can you scoot back a moment,” Sans asks, waving the boy out of the chair and taking a seat. His eyes spark with magic and his hands fly over the keyboard with expert ease. He looks through WingDings history which shows basic program designs and the things Mister Garmish showed him. Nothing of what Gaster showed him appears.

Sans permanent smile sags just a little as one of the other scientist’s calls for him. “Uh Sans, my consoles bugging out again,” a female scientist says sheepishly.

The large boned man doesn’t look at WingDings, plodding over to the other scientists console. In seconds, upon seeing the screen, San’s eyes go wide. “How did that happen?” Sans murmurs. Once again his hands move so fast they’re a distorted blur. “What were you working on?”

“Just coping down the water levers,” she explains. “Then all of the sudden it started blurting out Gang activity and TA003’s activity output.”

“Huh,” Sans eye glows as he works with the machine.

Or attempts to.

WingDings doesn’t say anything, watching intently. “Sans is a clever one,” Gaster says. “But that should throw him off our trail.”

When Sans is finished the scientist thanks him and the skeleton walks over to WingDings. “Guess my concerns were just an old pile of bones needless worries,” Sans tells the boy. “We weren’t properly introduced.” He sticks his hand out and WingDings, without hesitation, reaches forward in answer.

Around him the room goes silent as they watch the exchange, the music and computers the only thing buzzing in the room.

Unaware of what is happening, WingDings smiles naively at Sans until he looks around and sees everyone waiting in expectation. Unsure of what he’s missing, WingDings responds as he’s been taught taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says shaking his hand before removing it.

As soon as he does this, the scientists move forward and Sans takes hold of his hand, lifting the sleeve of the boys’ jacket to reveals the hole in his palm.

“Well I didn’t expect that,” Mister Garmish laughs, followed by the other five scientists laughing just as hard.

Confused WingDings looks around at them, worried they might be laughing at him.

“Way to go kid!” the female scientist congratulates him.

“You played the ultimate prank,” another says.

More confused than ever WingDings even hears Gaster laughing in his head and looks to Sans for an explanation.

The tall skeleton releases WingDings hand and chuckles. “Yeah, I got to hand it to him,” Sans lifts his hand revealing his classic whoopee cushion in a hand device. “You got me good.”

Finally WingDings puts it together. The hole in his hand happened to pass perfectly around the device, allowing him to escape Sans famous prank. WingDings blushes blue, but smiles up confidently at Sans.

“You handled it pretty well,” WingDings encourages the man.

“And he’s a punster too,” a scientist groans and chuckles at the same time, coming out like a snort.

“Pranks and puns go hand in hand,” WingDings grins, basking in the attention.

“Heh, thanks WingDings,” Sans pulls his hands into his old ratty coat and settles his shoulders. “That was better than a secondhand book.”

“You don’t think it was a little underhanded?” WingDings asks.

“Okay, we’re stopping you there,” the scientist comes between them playfully scooting WingDings towards the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow WingDings. Miss Amy is probably waiting for you.”

“See you tomorrow,” WingDings calls back to them and hurries back to the manor. He feels a little giddy after his encounter with Sans. One moment he’s almost scared that he’s going to be caught, snooping through files he shouldn’t, and the next he’s having a laugh with him. As WingDings enters the Manor he wonders if it would have been possible to be living with Papyrus or Sans in this world. Would things be different?

But then he remember Angelica, Marcus, Tomasz and Nola . . . and of course Miss Amy. Gaster is right, he is doing something important here and as long as he works hard he’s granted a lot of freedom. He probably wouldn’t be able to sneak off as often if he was with the others. It bothers him not knowing for sure, but he can’t change the past.

Well he could, but it doesn’t seem worth it with everything he’s accomplished already.

“How was the scientist’s lair?” Amy asks after he cleans up and begins helping her.

“They are all very nice,” WingDings tells her. “Mr. Garmish really enjoys old pop music and I learned how to send messages in a font called WingDings.”

“Just like your name,” she says with a small smile.

“Yes,” WingDings beams back. His statements are contrived in way, since it is really no big deal to him, but the more open he is with Miss Ross the less she’ll suspect him of sneaking out at night. “I’m going to like it there.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Amy encourages him. “Work hard there and they’ll let you stay.”

“Yes Miss Ross,” WingDings answers dutifully.

“. . . WingDings, why do you call me by my last name?” Amy asks. “As soon as you learned of it you call me by Ross instead of Amy.”

“It’s a habit,” WingDings replies easily enough. He’s typically called adults by their last name in other worlds he visits as a way of respect and to not draw attention to himself. It’s also a practice that was insisted upon in the good old 1950’s.

“I don’t mind,” she tells him, assuming there are more dark reason for his word choice. “But don’t feel like you have to call me by my last name.”

WingDings nods, but doesn’t say any more. Little point to it anyways as Rize races into the kitchen rambling about a new vehicle design before he even enters the front door.

That evening, right after dinner, WingDings cleans up and instead of playing games he goes upstairs to his bunk. Following the advice of Gaster, WingDings gets to sleep early so he is ready to make his first trip across the desert to Stain Glass Lake. After getting roughly six hours sleep, Gaster wakes the boy at two in the morning.

Taking a short cut to his hideout, WingDings dresses himself head to toe, even wrapping his head up as if he were a mummy. He can see a little through the cloth, but it is extremely difficult. Until they can find goggles that fit him, it will have to do. After that the boy short cuts himself, and his bike, out into the desert.

This is the first time he’s really been outside at night and it’s actually much nicer than during the day. The stars and galaxies can be clearly seen in the dark space above. They shine so brightly that, even with a quarter of the moon showing, the sand and canyons are bathed in a calm cool blue. The moon almost makes it appear like it is glowing, as if they were pristine clouds. WingDings takes a deep breath and instantly regrets it when the familiar stale and putrid smell of the sand teases his nasal cavity.

“Practice using your bike a little on the sand, then I’ll lead you to the Transportation Arch,” Gaster tells him, his voice cracking and sputtering in his head.

“Is everything okay?” WingDings asks, feeling a little nervous at the thought of losing his connection with Gaster.

“Don’t worry I’m not going anywhere, the sand merely interferes with my verbal transmissions,” Gaster explains.

“Okay,” WingDings starts the ignition and bursts off along the sand, sliding a little on the unforgiving surface. There is very little traction to be had on the dry sand, making it much harder to steer. If he pumps too much power in his speed he actually looses speed, digging the tires deeper into the sand. When he has a handle on it, Gaster directs him to the gate and WingDings races towards it.

The sting of electric ice, while expected, still steals WingDings breath away as he passes through the gateway. The magic of the arch sparks along his limbs and across his soul. He shakes it off easily enough and with determination pounding his back, he follows the magic line Gaster has painted for him. Heading straight towards the looming shadow of a broken domed structure, WingDings wonders what sights he’ll see this time. It’s hard to tell at night, but the shadow of the structure almost looks like an old bunker made of some kind of stone or granite maybe?

“Stop here and hide the bike in the sand,” Gaster instructs him. “The Harper Gang has been busy.” Gaster activates WingDings scans, showing the boy the numerous scouts stationed along the perimeter.

“What are they doing here?” WingDings asks.

“They’re here to claim the lake and start a settlement. . . odd since they have plenty of water at their home base,” Gaster comments, mostly to himself, but perfectly fine with WingDings listening in on his thoughts. “That will be a problem for the Gangs to sort out, we’re here for your piece.”

“That’s right,” WingDings says softly, laying the bike on its side and taking a holey tarp from his inventory, covering the bike and placing stones on the corners to keep the wind from blowing it away. When he’s ready, he lies down and opens himself into the darkness so Gaster can carry him inside the structure.

Once inside WingDings opens his eyes looking up to a colorful cavern ceiling, waving in and out like a rippling wave along the uneven surface. When he turns his head he sees his second wondrous sight of the night. Instead of the column being made of clear glass, it is constructed of trillions of colored glass piece, glued together with iron and metal. It casts a rainbow of colors on the lake and walls of the dark cavern, waving in and out and shifting, as if by magic. This place more than earns the name Stained Glass Lake.

“Why is it like that?” WingDings asks, taking out his phone and snapping a couple of pictures.

“Over a hundred years ago, there was a gang that lived here that found a way to cover the filtration core with glass,” Gaster explains, as WingDings enjoys the sight. “They prided their ability to melt sand and make colored glass out of it, but they misused the water and the lake went dry, forcing them to move out.”

“But there’s water now?” WingDings points out.

“This is a natural basin where water collects from the storms above,” Gaster tells the boy, his voice calm and pleased at having the ability to tell someone about it. “That’s why I constructed the filter here thousands of years ago. It took over a decade for the lake to fill again and by that time the gang no longer existed, having spread itself into the other clans. This place has been neutral for the past sixty years.”

“Until recently,” WingDings motions with his chin towards the lower levels tiered below him, where men and women rest in cots.

“Yes until recently,” Gaster agrees.

Before WingDings turns back in search of his prize, he spies a line of monsters and humans slowly walking from one of the blasted out caverns into an old stone structure. Scanning the line, Gaster reveals these people to be slaves, each with a strange device attached like armor to their chests and chains clasping their ankles. “Who are they?” WingDings asks as he asks the same of Gaster’s magic.

“Slaves,” Gaster says solemnly as the words ‘Prisoners from the Spider Gang’ flickers in WingDings vision.

“Can we help them?” WingDings asks immediately.

“WingDings we can’t risk interfering,” Gaster tells him evenly.

“I want to help them,” WingDings says again, a familiar red burn building in his soul.

“. . . There is no changing your mind is there?” Gaster sighs.

“Nope,” WingDings pops the ‘P’, taking a lesson from Tomasz. One of the benefits of actually having lips unlike most skeletons is you can pop your ‘P’s.

“First you should retrieve the piece, I’ll think of a viable rescue plan,” Gaster tells him.

WingDings waits for the guards and prisoners to move out of sight, before summoning his blaster and jumping onto its head, flying down to the stain glass pillar at his fastest speed. Unlike the other lakes he’s been to, this one has a black sandy shore all the way around, making him feel a little exposed to anyone who might be awake in the gang’s shambled camp.

As soon as WingDings grabs the piece, a little wetter then he was before, he returns to the alcove in the caverns ceiling. “You got a plan?” WingDings asks eagerly as he looks down at the building housing the prisoners.

“Yes,” Gaster answers. “It will be dangerous.”

“For them or me?” WingDings asks.

“Both, but mostly you since the Harper Gang wants these slaves alive,” Gaster explains. “They won’t care over the loss of a child.”

“Then I won’t get caught,” WingDings promises.

“I suppose that is impossible with your load ability isn’t it,” Gaster admits. “First I’ll take you into the prison cell, from there you can remove the chains. Removing the magic suppression units will be trickier. You’ll need to steal the key to unlock them off the guard. I can help you shut them off, but we must remove them to keep the gang from activating them again if something goes wrong.”

“Understood,” WingDings lets the shadows swallow him and Gaster takes him to the prison cell. When he opens his eyes he’s lying close to the prisoners who are huddled together in an attempt to stay warm. One of them notices WingDings, but the boy summons a hand asking the human female to be quiet. She clearly doesn’t understand the sign, but she is silent nonetheless.

Whether because he’s getting used to it or Gaster has made improvements on his body WingDings recovers from his paralysis rather quickly. As WingDings sits up, he locates the guard and Gaster shows him where the key is. He easily snatches it with a magic hand and begins moving around the prisoners to unlock the strange armor devices from their chests, turning them off and listening carefully to Gaster’s instructions. There are nine prisoners and by the time he reaches a male spider monster they are all awake, but none of them dare move or say a word. They know a prison escape when they see it, even if the sight of a child attempting it is unexpected.

With a little help, they carefully remove the long rows of chains without making a sound or moving much. “Next you need to cause a distraction with your blaster on the other side of the cavern,” Gaster explains. “You won’t be able to short cut all of them, so you’ll have to bring them to where they are storing their buggies. After that you’ll . . .”

Gaster is interrupted when the spider monster stands and with a snap of magic ties the guard up in magic purple string. Before the guard can call out, a human prisoner summons a magic red knife and pierces the guards soul. Quickly looking away, WingDings moves to the iron prison door and unlocks it while his Blaster causes havoc on the other side of the cavern. He swings the gate open and runs out of the building, following a line that Gaster has provided in his minds eye.

Feeling a little sick at the thought of the prisoners killing the guard, WingDings forces himself to run through the narrow streets, not bothering to see the prisoners following close behind him. WingDings is careful to follow Gaster’s instructions stopping when he needs too and using the same hand signals he used with the children in the slums of Saint Petra. He does it without thinking and those behind him understand well enough when he tells them to stop or run for their dear life.

Eventually they reach the garage where the prisoners stealthily take out the guards before going to the buggies and checking to see which one has the most fuel.

“Mr. Muffet they’ve kept them all near empty,” one of the humans hisses, just loud enough to be heard.

“We can’t make it far without fuel,” Muffet’s six arms fly out, sending out his strings. Finding another guard, the spider monster makes swift work of him. WingDings looks away.

“More fuel is in another building,” Gaster tells the boy. “I can take you there.”

“I’ll be back with your fuel sir,” WingDings tells the spider and the one he suspects is in charge. If they’re from the ‘Spider Gang’ and his name is Muffet, it makes sense. Taking a breath WingDings once again allows Gaster to carry him to another part of the abandoned city where canisters of fuel are being stored. He latches onto two and teleports back next to Muffet.

“If you were going to save us you should have gotten the fuel first,” Mr. Muffet tells him tensely. He grabs up the heavy fuel canisters and carries it to a buggy that can fit them all.

“You think I’d be able to fill a buggy?” WingDings snaps back aggressively, not at all appreciating the monsters lack of gratitude, but he doesn’t wait for a response. There is still much to do.

He returns the bandages to his face and short cuts back outside to retrieve his bike. Returning to the garage in time to see them starting up the buggy and a shout of angry Harper Gang members echoing through the cavern.

“Follow me,” WingDings barks and zooms out into the desert with the buggy following after him. “Can you get them to the Spider Gang?” WingDings asks Gaster.

“I can, I’ve changed the coordinates on the Arch. . . The prisoners are opening a connecting to your motorcycles radio, I’ll patch them through,” Gaster tells him.

“This is Asher Muffet, where are you taking us? Over.” The familiar voice of the male spider snips at him.

WingDings uses a hand to click a button so his voice can be heard over the radio. “I’m taking you to your gang, don’t worry I’ll close the connection when we’re through so they can’t follow,” WingDings says and belatedly adds. “Over.”

“Are you serious?” Asher Muffet shouts. “You expect me to believe you can program an arch to take us to TA282? Over.”

“You don’t have to follow me, but that’s where I’m going!” WingDings yells back, too frustrated to remember to say ‘over’ at the end of the sentence.

Behind him Muffet doesn’t slow down, showing that whether he likes it or not, he’s going to trust the boy that managed to get him out of that cell. As soon as they pass through the gate magic ice clutches WingDings bones, but he keeps going. “Turn around WingDings, I’m taking you home,” Gaster tells him.

Slowing down WingDings turns the bike and goes back towards the gate, passing the escapees buggy. They shout at him to stop, but he keeps going through the gate, appearing at the familiar canyon of home. He cuts the power on the bike when he’s close enough to Home, slowing the bike to a stop, but not making a short cut to his hideaway just yet. His soul is hammering in his ribs, and his strange bones are tingling with cold magic coursing through his adrenalin rush.

“Was that the right gate?” WingDings asks catching his breath. “Are they home?”

“Yes, WingDings you brought them home,” Gaster assures him. “You did a marvelous job.”

“Is controlling the Arches really that difficult?” WingDings asks, looking back at the enormous arch peeking over the grey sand dunes. Gaster makes it look so easy.

“They are,” Gaster answers. “For everyone except me. Unless they have the exact coordinates typed in, and all the safety codes, they cannot access the arches. Sans and Dr. Alphys are the only one aside from me who can access all of the Transport Arches on the planet.”

“And me,” WingDings smiles.

“And you,” Gaster chuckles.

Once he’s calmed down, WingDings returns the bike to his hide out and checks to be sure he’s clean. He’s avoided the Sand’s Burn this time, but his clothes are contaminated, making them impossible to use again. Gaster is able to carry them away and WingDings returns to his bunk, sleeping roughly forty-five minute before Rize wakes him.

                                   

Notes:

And this start off the next arc in the story. A very long chapter, but I couldn’t really find any other good places to break it. I really enjoy the Stain Glass Lake description and how WingDings has such agency. It’s always a lot of fun having a character like him, even when he sometimes derails the original plot I had in mind. More work, but a lot of fun.

Also some concept art of a lake that didn't make it into the actually story I wrote, but thought I would share.

Chapter 9: The Spy and The Hot-dog

Thanks to WingDings sleeping earlier the previous night, he doesn’t suffer too much from the lack of sleep and goes through the day without causing suspicion with Sans or dropping any plates in the kitchen. He stays up playing games that night and he’s feeling pretty good about the day until Angelica places herself in front of him.

And today was going so well.

“Hi Angelica,” WingDings smiles at her as if nothing is wrong. He’s actually been avoiding her for the last week and half, but with everything going on he’s forgotten about it.

“Hello WingDings,” she says standing to her full height which is just as tall as him sadly. Why can’t he be like a normal ten year old and be . . . well taller. “How are you doing?”

“Good, how are you?” WingDings asks.

“Great, thanks to you,” she reminds him. “I was wonder when you were going to tell Dr. Gill about it.”

“Don’t plan on it,” WingDings shrugs and moves to walk around her.

Undeterred she follows beside him. “Why not?” she asks.

“Because I don’t want to,” WingDings picks up his pace, walking up the stairs and quickly turning into the boy’s room.

To WingDings and the other boys surprise she follows right after him. “You should, you should talk to someone,” she encourages him. “It helped me, it could help you.”

“Miss AMY!” one of the boys shouts down the hall. “Angelica’s in the boy’s room!”

“You’re going to get in trouble Angelica,” WingDings grumbles, walking out of the room, knowing she will follow.

She does.

“I don’t care, this is important!” Angelica says with purpose in her stride. “You saved my life so I want to help you.”

“Angelica what are you doing?” Marcus comes out of the other room and steps between WingDings and his sister. “You know the rules.”

“He’s been avoiding me, so I had too,” Angelica explains.

“Angelica, when I told you to talk it out with WingDings I didn’t mean follow him into the boys room,” Miss Amy appears and tries to scoot the reptile child away, but she doesn’t budge.

“Please WingDings, I want everyone to know what you did for me,” Angelica blurts out.

“I just told you the same thing everyone else has been telling you, you matter and you have something to live for,” WingDings says, repeating what Gaster told him during those difficult days.

“But WingDings . . .” Angelica looks torn and he does feel a little guilty for making her feel that way.

“I’m sorry Angelica, but keep it between us, please,” WingDings says and quickly walks back towards the room, but finds his path blocked by all the boys packed around to listen to their conversation. The gossip is going to be humming for days.

With a sigh, WingDings summons his hands and flies over the boys, getting ready for bed. He hears Angelica tramp down the hall with Amy chasing after her.

“So you got a crush on her or something?” Tomasz asks as he comes to join WingDings.

“No, I’m not in love with her,” WingDings sighs. Really he shouldn’t be surprised that children’s gossip would come to this conclusion. Children law dictates that someone has to have a crush on someone. At least this is the case in most peaceful worlds that have the luxury to care.

“Think she might have a crush on you,” Tomasz says.

“She’ll get over it,” WingDings plops into his bed.

“OOOooo, harsh,” Tomasz hisses.

“Just saying how it is,” WingDings shrugs.

“Remind me never to date you,” Tomasz laughs under his breath, before climbing up the side and into the bunk.

“Don’t worry, I’d stop you,” WingDings kicks the wires under Tomasz’s mat, making the other boy’s laugh bounce.

“Lights out, WingDings I’ll talk to you in the morning,” Amy tells him as he uses his magic hands to click all the knobs controlling the lights.

“Yes, Miss Ross,” WingDings answers and turns over to sleep.

In the morning WingDings wakes his new kitchen helper from the other boy’s room. An eight year old froggit named Tom. Pearl and Rebecca are already downstairs, but instead of helping cook, Amy takes WingDings to her office while the others get started on breakfast.

“What secret are you making her keep?” Amy asks him point blank. “Normally I accept secrets as a part of our lives, but Angelica has made a lot of progress recently, talking with the other girls and trying to be kind. I don’t want her to close herself off again. Where her brother is the only one that knows her.”

WingDings doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to lie and what’s worse he might be called a liar anyway if he tells the truth. “I gave her medicine,” WingDings says. “Two weeks ago.”

Amy clutches her hands in her lap, but she weighs her words carefully before answering. “You could have hurt her,” she says first.

“I wouldn’t have given it to her if it hurt her,” WingDings eyes flash blue and he quickly looks down again. “Dr. Gill already knows. He studied the medicine and made his own so she could get better. Please don’t ask any more.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Amy says with calm control that makes WingDings frustration mount. “I’m responsible for every child here. I need to be sure they are all taken care of . . . including you. Where did you get the medicine?”

“I’ve suffered from Soul Sickness as well, that medicine was mine,” WingDings answers.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t had the sickness in over a year,” he answers, slowly looking up to meet her eyes. Adults like it when children meet their gaze as if it offers them assurance that they aren’t lying. He isn’t lying, which helps.

“Who gave you that medicine,” she asks.

“A doctor where I used to live,” WingDings explains. “They were very kind.”

Listening intently, Amy nods her head and sits back. “Thank you for telling me WingDings,” she takes a long breath and stands to her feet. “You are a good child. I don’t know why you wanted to keep that a secret, but I will stop pestering you.”

“Thank you Miss Ross,” WingDings bows his head to her and stands to his feet.

“Will you continue to keep it a secret?” Amy asks as she stands.

“No I won’t,” WingDings answers in defeat.

“I’m glad,” Amy lightly pats his shoulder as she passes and the two return to the kitchen to make breakfast.

When Angelica sits at the far end of the table WingDings walks up behind her before finding his place. “You can tell people about the medicine and Dr. Gill,” he tells her.

She turns around swiftly, her eyes guarded with mistrust, but after searching his eyes she slowly smiles. “Thank you WingDings,” she says and turns to tell the girls around her all about how she was cured.

Rather than stick around WingDings goes and sits with Nola and Tomasz at the very end of the other table.

“You handled that well,” Gaster tells him as WingDings picks at his food. Trying to encourage the skeleton child is admirable.

The boy still feels a little anxious about revealing the medicine event. Aside from Onionsan, Garf, Tangle, Oopolian, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys and Sans, no one knows much about him and his little projects.

He can fit all their names on his two hands, but he doesn’t want to tell anyone else.

He doesn’t want to be called a liar again.

He really doesn’t.

“What is it?” Nola asks. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” WingDings says. “Just nervous I guess.”

“Why? Confessed to your girl friend?” Tomasz asks.

WingDings smiles and flicks a finger from his magic hand at the human’s nose.

The human is not expecting it, but takes the gesture well enough, laughing at his own surprise. Nola and the other children chuckle and WingDings feels better for it.

His relationship with Angelica improves after that. He doesn’t avoid her and she doesn’t pester him for answers he won’t give. For the next several days WingDings gets plenty of rest and collects new scraps of clothes he can use for another outing when he retrieves the next piece.

On Market Day, three days later, WingDings and Amy are carrying some supplies donated from the merchants and Toriel when Gaster informs him that tonight is a good night to retrieve the next piece. Not only is WingDings well rested, they have enough clothing to cover him and everyone should be sleeping soundly after the excitement of the day.

But something else comes up that night.

“WingDings we have a problem,” Gaster says as he wakes him.

“What’s wrong?” WingDings asks as he short cuts to their hide out automatically.

“We’ll have to get your piece another time,” Gaster explains, halting WingDings as he goes to collect his bandages. “Go ahead and change. You see there is a spy that is getting close to Home.”

“From a rival gang?” WingDings asks as he begins the long process of wrapping himself up with the bandages. He really feels like a mummy rather than a skeleton when he puts all of this on.

“They’re from the Snarls Gang,” Gaster says. “Do you know how to fight?”

“I won’t kill him,” WingDings immediately says.

“I don’t expect you to,” Gaster calmly tells him, a hum of solemn appreciation carried in his words. “I just want to know if you can defend yourself.”

“I know how to use my magic hands, bones, and blasters in defense,” WingDings says. “I’m also a brown belt in Karate and trained in Beast combat.”

“. . . You’ve had an interesting life for one so young,” Gaster finally says, before continuing with their planning. He shows WingDings what the spy looks like in his mind’s eye. What he sees is a small red devil type monster, with black cross like eyes and two long horns. “His name is Nacarat and he has quite the reputation. I want you to grab him and transport him directly to Undyne. She’s the only one aside from a few others that could subdue him. Right now he’s exploring the Radiation Catacombs.”

“Won’t being down their make him sick,” WingDings asks.

“Not him,” Gaster sighs.

“How did he get there?”

“Hitched a ride with the Traders and Merchants from the Market,” Gaster says. “We need to get to him before he finds out exactly where he is and reports back to the Snarls Gang.”

With a tense nod of his head, WingDings warps to his personal underground practice track and follows a line of magic Gaster has provided. He lifts himself with his magic hands under his clothes, completely silent as he flies through the halls. “You need to grab onto him and short cut part way so I can take you to Undyne. You’ll need to short cut again as soon as I drop you both.”

“Understood,” WingDings whispers as he nears the ancient office room. Peeking around the corner he sees Nacarat attempting to turn on one of the ancient computers. The old thing doesn’t appear to be working, whining loudly before popping and shutting down. The monster is patient though and simply tries booting it up again.

Staying out of the monsters peripheral vision WingDings glides behind him, depending on Gaster’s magic to show him the monster since he can’t see well with the cloth over his eyes in the dark room. Just as he’s about to snatch the monster, Nacarat turns around and lifts an arm to backhand the child. WingDings flies through the air, but regains control when Nacarat summon his magic ‘X’ style bullets.

WingDings summons his bones, attempting to pin the monster even as Nacarat expertly dodges and fires his attacks. He catches WingDings soul, entering yellow mode, and causing it freeze in midair just long enough for Nacarat to hit him with his magic and race from the room. Grunting WingDings picks himself up and short cuts directly around another corner with Nacarat ramming directly into him.

Wrapping his arms around the monster WingDings falls into the shadows and plummets directly onto Undyne who is asleep in her bed. As soon as he hears Undyne curse, WingDings shifts out of the room and back into his hideout, quickly taking out a healing item to stabilize his hurting soul from the direct magic hit.

“That was a direct hit,” Gaster murmurs, checking over the boy even as WingDings eats some monster candy. It isn’t enough to completely heal him, but it takes the edge off the pain. “We’ll get the piece another time,” Gaster tells him. “You need rest.”

WingDings doesn’t argue and after removing the layers of clothing goes to bed. The next morning is like any other except when he is in the Scientist’s Lair and overhears them talking about the intruder. . . at least until he enters the room. They stop talking about it as soon as they notice him and he begins recording data about the livestock feed and manure collected. He does all this while wondering about the aftermath of the previous evening.

“Nacarat was caught,” Gaster informs the boy, somehow reading his mind. “You did well. Although she did nearly kill him, but Alphys managed to keep her from striking the killing blow.”

Wincing, WingDings flinches as he types, trying not to imagine that.

“I hope the spy doesn’t reveal anything about your identity, but I rather doubt he will,” Gaster continues. “He’s a sore loser and keeps his secrets closer than his own soul. Only time will tell . . . and that’s only if he recovers from the beating he got.”

As WingDings works, Alphys comes into the room, dark lines under her eyes.

“Are you feeling all right Dr. Alphys,” a female scientist, Mrs. Fredrickson asks from her console.

“Maybe you should take the day off,” Mr. Garmish suggests.

“I . . . I really can’t . . . I have to figure out . . . how Nacarat got here,” Alphys blurts out.

When no one answers, she stands there in confusion until she realizes they’re all looking at their newest member, WingDings. The one who isn’t suppose to know anything about the previous night.

“Oh, Oh my gosh,” Alphys fidgets and fiddles with her glasses.

“I won’t tell anyone,” WingDings promises. “I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

“I . . . I imagine you are . . .” Alphys finally says. “I’ll . . . I’ll be in the control room for the . . . I’ll be out later.” She disappears into the control room where WingDings imagines she will remain for the rest of the day.

A while later, right before WingDings is about to leave, Dr. Sobek emerges from the control room and comes to stand next to the boy. “WingDings is it?” she is a ghost monster, with round blue eyes and long triangular ghost dangling arm things along her bottom half. He doesn’t know what to call that unique part of a ghost. It’s not like legs. Tails maybe? Tentacles? Skirt?

“That’s me,” WingDings says, pretending to be chipper.

“I know you’re young for this responsibility, but if you tell anyone about Nacarat before we announce it to the citizens of Home, you’ll be put in confinement and lose your privileges at the Child Manor.”

Wow, that is serious. Feels a little unfair that he has to pay for Alphys mistake, but well he already knew about Nacarat so it seems to defeat the purpose. “I understand,” WingDings answers easily. “Threat or not, I wouldn’t tell.”

“Hmm,” the ghost smiles happily down at him. “You’ll make a fine member of the scientist’s lair in no time child.”

“Thank you,” WingDings says. “See you tomorrow.” He scurries back to the manor and goes on with life as normal.

By the end of the following day news has been released on Nacarat’s imprisonment. Everyone is talking about it, the kids are buzzing at the thought of the most infamous spy being caught in Home. Now the debate had begun as to what should be done with him. Most of the children think he should be forced to work shoveling manure and others think he should be killed.

The desire for him to be killed surprises WingDings, but when he learns that Nacarat is the reason some of the children ended up kidnapped from their homes, and sold into slavery, he can understand their hate a little.

But only a little.

From a person who dies more than the average person, death and killing is still a serious matter.

“They’re going to trade him,” Gaster tells WingDings that night before he drifts off to sleep.

“Really?” WingDings buzzes softly.

“The Snarls Gang has some family members of residence living in Home, including our little Nola,” Gaster explains. “They want to reunite them and have concluded that Nacarat doesn’t know where he is.”

“How do they know that?” WingDings asks.

“No one can keep a lie from Sans, his judging eye shows him everything in a person’s soul,” Gaster says. “Now get some sleep, you need not worry about death tonight.”

A soft smile touches WingDings lips. He feels better knowing that.

Two days later Gaster and WingDings decide he’s ready to collect the next piece of his soul. The excitement surrounding Nacarat’s arrival, and the extra security Undyne has initiated, has calmed down. Early the next morning, the boy hops onto his bike and zooms off for the nearest arch and is shocked when he ends up blinded by the blazing sun after passing through. “Could have warned me,” WingDings complains as he grips the handles and stabilizes the bike.

“I showed you it was on the other side of the planet,” Gaster chuckles. “I assumed you’d figure it out.”

WingDings grunts, but has to admit he really shouldn’t be surprised it’s day time on the other side of the world. He follows Gaster’s instructions and goes to the crumbling remains of a structure that looks familiar. “It’s the Eiffel Tower,” WingDings says in awe. “Or I think it is.” It’s the remains of the iron structure which, is at present, is a mangled spider’s web of metal bars tilting towards the east. It’s as if a giant slapped the tower, but it remained stubbornly glued to its spot.

Another surprise is the ground. It isn’t quite the same consistency of sand. There’s still sand, like there is everywhere, but there is also more stone and some of the structures remain. As he nears the remnants of the Eiffel Tower he sees a wide iron tunnel, funneling down through the sand underneath. “Long ago, the area was prone to flooding so it was an ideal location for another CORE filtration system to support the area with water,” Gaster tells him. “Go ahead and hide your bike in the iron hold of the tower.”

WingDings short cuts his bike into a stable area of the re-bar before returning to the ground and descending into the metal tunnel. “Why not transport me inside?” WingDings asks.

“There is no need,” Gaster explains. “The Iron Lake is a Neutral zone, used for trade.”

“Do those from Home come here?” WingDings asks.

“When they are able, but not very many know the language,” Gaster tells him.

When WingDings reaches the open area, it isn’t like a cave at all, but an underground city. There are permanent structures and hundreds of people walking around with merchants shouting their wares. A guard comes up to him wearing a spear and gun on his back. He motions to another building close by, a guards house perhaps.

“He wants you to clean yourself before entering the city,” Gaster explains.

WingDings nods in understanding to the large bunny guard and goes into a bathing area. The tiles are yellow and cracked, but he doesn’t think about it as he removes his clothes, washes them, hangs them up to dry next to other clothes and washes himself. He doesn’t bother removing his phone and charger from his ribs since they’re water proof. It feels good to bathe again, although he does have to wonder how many people have used this bath before him.

When he is finished he is given clothes to wear by another guard. In a different language than is spoken in Home, they ask him to bring the clothes back in return for his other clothes. WingDings promises he will, shocking Gaster that he can speak the language.

“I did not realize you were multilingual,” Gaster replies.

WingDings shrugs, looking around at the colorful booths in wonder. “I can understand most every language in the places I visit . . . something about the pieces of my soul absorbing the information of the worlds they’ve been residing in.”

“That is fascinating,” Gaster muses.

As WingDings passes the colorful booths, he listens to their conversations about where the merchants got their devices or how the artisans made their plates and jewelry. He also sees a glass maker who claims to be a descendant of those from Stained Glass Lake.

“I’m getting a little distracted,” WingDings admits, stopping when he sees two familiar merchants selling an assortment of things, including goggles.

Perfect!

WingDings races to the merchants and waves up to them. “What will you trade for goggles?” WingDings asks.

The two female monsters, a cat monster and an alligator monster, greet him happily and pull down some the goggles. It’s good to see Bratty and Catty in this world. Also assuring since he knows they’ll be friendly and easy to talk to. Catty is wearing overalls like before, but they are work overalls rather than stylish, while Bratty still has a shawl, but it is tattered and patched up in multiple places. The alligator also has her blond hair cut super short like most everyone does in this world. “Like, we’ll trade anything for food and stuff,” Catty answers.

“Yeah, anything, you know, that’s worth a lot,” Bratty says.

“I’ve got . . .” WingDings reaches into his inventory and pulls out one of the hot-dogs his brother made for his travels. “How about this?”

“Oh my God, what is that?” Catty asks.

“Catty I think it’s like, food of something?” Bratty says.

“It’s a hot-dog, still fresh,” WingDings says and pulls out another. One for each of them. “Go ahead and try them.”

“Really?” Catty says.

“Are you like?” Bratty asks.

“Sure n’ stuff?” Catty finishes.

“I’m sure,” WingDings pulls his hands behind his back and waits for the girls to eat them. They aren’t the same as a Glamburger, but he’s hoping that since the world doesn’t even have burgers they’ll be happy with a hot-dog.

“Like,” Bratty’s face lights up.

“Oh my God,” Catty jumps up and down.

“This is the best ever!” Bratty shouts.

“Oh my God!” Catty repeats.

“So good!” Bratty says agreeing with Catty.

“I’m glad you like it,” WingDings says.

When they’ve gobbled up the hot-dogs, they proceed to help him find a pair of goggles that fit his large eye sockets. They find him a pair and he leaves them with a couple more hot-dogs. Since he has no need for food in this world, he isn’t worried about parting with it. Happy with his purchase, WingDings follows Gaster’s directions past the main booths towards an iron railing. Over the edge WingDings sees the lake, lapping up against the cracked cement beneath the rail.

“This lake was constructed to hold more water than the others,” Gaster tells him. “You should be able to teleport just on the other side and not be seen by the guards.”

After studying the lake a moment longer WingDings finds a place to disappear in the ‘public restrooms’ building and takes a short cut to the other side of the filtration pillar. WingDings drops a short distance before catching himself on his blaster. Gaster is able to bring his piece closer up to the surface so WingDings doesn’t have to get wet.

When the piece of his soul is safe and where it belongs, he takes a short cut back to the bathroom and makes his way for the guard house. He trades his clothing, wraps himself up tight with his new goggles and retrieves his motorcycle. They are forced to use another gate though because of the high traffic from the other one and he is home in bed before five in the morning.

As WingDings prepares breakfast with Tom and Pearl, Gaster speaks up. “They’re transporting Nacarat to the Snarls Gang later today,” he tells the boy. “I only hope they aren’t walking into a trap . . . WingDings is it possible for you turn back time even if you aren’t in danger?”

Instead of answering WingDings turns to Pearl beside him. “Can I trade books with you, I have ‘Jane Eyre’.”

“Sure, I have a book called ‘The Jungle Book’,” she says.

“Yes, I’d like that,” WingDings answers hoping Gaster gets the idea. “We can trade before you go to school.”

“Okay,” she nods and gets back to separating the dough for their bagels.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Gaster continues. “You never know with some of these gangs. Never know just how desperate they are. Home is . . . so much better than everywhere else. I want to protect it.”

The young skeleton from a distant world wants to protect it too. They’ve offered him a safe place to live and work that makes him feel useful. As the day continues Gaster fills WingDings in on the proceedings with the Snarls Gang. Hearing about it and sensing Gaster’s anxiety makes WingDings in turn feel anxious. The boy is forced to ask the disembodied soul to stop telling him about it so he can get his work done.

Around dinner time Gaster gives him the good news and he sighs in relief.

“Why are you sighing?” Pearl asks as she drops chunks of potatoes into the stew they’re making.

“Tomorrow’s Market Day, I guess?” WingDings says.

“But that’s a good thing,” Pearl says. “I might get new socks.”

“I might get a new brush,” Tom adds, scuttling over with his bowl of peas.

“Maybe I . . . It would be . . . I want new shoes,” Nola says softly. “These . . . don’t fit.”

“Well I hope you get new shoes Nola,” WingDings says honestly. “But you guys don’t have to carry everything up here. Why did they put Child Manor at the top of the incline of the housing district anyway?”

“Nola, I have good news for you,” Amy comes into the room. “The trade was a success today. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Nola’s face lights up and she flies over to hug Miss Ross’s legs. “I’ll . . . I’ll see my little sister again.”

“Yes you will,” Amy pats the young girls head.

“Will . . . will she come here?” Nola asks.

“Yes she will,” Miss Ross says.

The small thing is overcome with emotion and begins to cry. No one holds it against her and lets her tears flow. When she is done holding Miss Ross’s leg the girl goes around and hugs everyone in the room, leaving WingDings for last. Always up for a hug he gladly returns it and is briefly reminded of the kids he left behind. It’s makes his soul feel heavy.

“All right everyone, back to work,” Amy says and they do as she asks.

That night everyone stays up a little later, playing games and celebrating the new arrivals. Besides Nola’s sister, they gain one four year old lizard monster and a twelve year old girl. Nola’s little sister, Becky, is a sweet thing, nothing but smiles as her sister tells her about her life there. She never lets her hand go.

By the time everyone gets to bed it’s ten at night, but Miss Amy and the other adults don’t seem too upset by it.

Yet, unlike every other morning, WingDings isn’t woken by Tom or Gaster, but by Miss Amy at four thirty in the morning. “WingDings get dressed and meet me down stairs,” she says.

This is a first, but he doesn’t question it. Quickly getting dressed, WingDings silently glides down the stairs, but slows to a stop half way down when he sees Sans and Undyne standing at the entry way. “They probably figured it out,” Gaster tells him. “Don’t worry just tell them the truth.”

Notes:

Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter was getting long and I didn’t want to break up the next segment. I know the part with Bratty and Catty was short, but I was so pleased to see them appear at all in this story.

Chapter 10: Catching Up

Unlike any other morning, WingDings wakes to find Sans and Undyne standing at the entry way of the Manor. “They probably figured it out,” Gaster tells WingDings. “Don’t worry, just tell them the truth.”

Encouraged by his companions assurance, WingDings takes a breath and continues down the steps. Undyne tries to smile at him and even Sans does as he greets them at the door.

“I’ll let you use the office,” Miss Amy tells them, leaving them alone.

“Good morning,” WingDings tells them, placing his hands in his lap and smiling innocently at them.

“Hey twerp,” Undyne gives him a hard noogie as she passes before taking a seat. “Look kid we don’t got a lot of time since we’re leaving with the merchants, but this just couldn’t wait.”

“What did you want to ask me?” WingDings asks.

“WingDings were you the one who dumped Nacarat on Undyne?” Sans just asks straight to the point.

“Yes I did,” WingDings answers honestly.

“HA, I’d know that flash of blue light anywhere!” Undyne stands to her feet, slapping her thigh as if she’d just won a bet. She sits back down with a humph of accomplishment, crossing her arms smugly.

“You thought it was me first,” Sans reminds Undyne.

“Pfff, first, second guess, point is I was right about the teleporting thing,” she boasts. “There was no way Nacarat learned how to do that over night. And he’d know better then to teleport in my bed. HA!”

“There was also Nacarat’s insistence that it was a skeleton,” Sans shrugs, moving past Undyne’s loudness. “He thought we had a skeleton secret weapon or something.”

“I’m no weapon,” WingDings chuckles before Sans eye flashes shutting him up real fast.

“Why did you do it kid and why were you even in the ruins?” Sans asks.

“When I saw him down there messing with the computers I had to do something,” WingDings answers the first question easily. “I couldn’t really fight him so I did the only thing that made the most sense. Dropping him on the strongest and most awesome person I know.”

“I am awesome and that was hard core,” Undyne agrees when Sans butts in.

“And wrong.”

“Yes, it was also wrong,” Undyne says pointing a finger at him.

“Sorry?” WingDings says, not sure if this is the time to say it.

“That’s a pathetic apology,” Undyne laughs, clearly not taking this as seriously as the man beside her.

“And you still didn’t answer my other question,” Sans says.

WingDings feels sweat begin to bead on his forehead. Gaster told him that is was fine to tell the truth, does that mean telling them about how Gaster lives in his brain and how he told him to do it? That would probably get him off scot-free, but then Gaster might get in trouble. He likes Gaster. The old man has become one of his best friends.

“You can tell them,” Gaster says mentally and WingDings gives a barely visible nod.
“I knew he was down there,” WingDings says.

“Just like you knew that sick girl was down there?” Sans adds.

WingDings clenches his hand on the seat.

“Or knew that Dr. Gill needed a certain medicine to cure Soul Sickness,” Sans continues.

Taking a deep breath, WingDings stubbornly meets Sans gaze while Undyne looks between them in bewilderment. Apparently she didn’t know about the other two things.

“Yes,” WingDings answers strongly, nodding his head resolutely.

“Kid you are really testing it,” Sans eye lights go out and WingDings feels the sharp feet of fear run up his vertebrae. “You didn’t have to fight Nacarat,” Sans tells him, making WingDings flinch. “You didn’t have to go find that sick orphan on your own, you could have told us. You could have told Dr. Gill about the medicine without silently leaving it on his desk. I honestly don’t care if you mess with teleportation, but I do care that you are doing all this behind our backs. How am I supposed to explain these things to the citizens of Home without saying some kid just decided to go and play hero. And then all eyes would be on you, is that what you want?”

“Tell him child, just tell him about me,” Gaster’s voice finally makes it through WingDings angry buzzing thoughts.

Closing his eyes, WingDings takes a calming breath, before opening them again not knowing the crisp blue they are sparking with. “. . . Gaster lives inside me,” WingDings whispers.

The response is immediate.

Sans freezes up, before his judgment eye seers into the child. When he sees what he’s refused to acknowledge since the beginning, he blindly reaches back for the chair and takes a heavy seat, his eye lights completely extinguished.

“Woe, hey, what’s going on,” Undyne says noting Sans bizarre behavior. “What did he say?”

Sans curses, sweat dribbling on his skull.

“SANS!” a familiar voice shouts outside the manor making WingDings and Sans both jump in fright. They were so deep in thought with worry that they forgot about everything around them. “We’re going to be late!”

“Mister Papyrus please be quiet,” Amy can be heard hissing at the skeleton. “Everyone is still asleep.”

“We are not done,” Sans tells the boy as he and Undyne stand. “As soon as I get back we’re going to have a nice long chat about this.”

Undyne gives the skeleton boy an awkward noogie as she passes, but he doesn’t really feel it. His mind is crowded with thoughts even while Gaster tries his best to get the boys attention and encourage him. As they leave Undyne can be heard pestering Sans outside over what just happened. WingDings really doubts his ‘other brother’ will give her an answer.

Numbly WingDings pulls up his legs, holding them close to his chest and releasing a shaky breath. Sans has never talked to him like that. Yelled maybe, but accuse him and using his judgment’s eye. Making him sound stupid! WingDings shuts his eyes, some tears falling down his cheeks. Behind him Miss Amy comes into the room. She leans down and hugs him which is enough to make the boy cry more freely. He doesn’t want to stop helping people like he has been, but Sans reprimand holds a tight grip on his soul.

He might act tough in the face of criticism and fear, but when it is all said and done he still feels hurt by such words from his brother.

Miss Ross coaxes him out of the chair and onto a bench in the dining room, giving him a glass of water.

“You must be a special child,” she whispers to him. “To be reprimanded so harshly.”

“You heard?” WingDings asks softly.

“I heard the tone of his voice,” Amy says.

“Why did he have to say it?” WingDings mumbles under his breath. Amy can’t tell what he says and rubs his spine and back, leaving Gaster to answer his question.

“Because Sans and House have the weight of Home on their shoulders and their survival,” Gaster says calmly. His very voice quiets the storm in WingDings soul, stilling his fears and confusion. “Moreover, Sans has the weight of knowing what is living within his walls.”

WingDings waits for more and when Gaster doesn’t say anything he asks in a breath. “What?”

“A key to controlling the planet,” Gaster says.

Biting his lower lip WingDings runs that thought through his mind once over and then again, but it doesn’t make sense to him.

“You can unlock all the doors trapping the gangs underground,” Gaster explains. “Because I gave you my power you control the CORE with all its power and knowledge. I did this to protect you, to help you get to places you could not go on your own, otherwise you were just a broken soul drifting with me in the planet.”

“I’m sorry WingDings,” Gaster says a strange fuzzy warmth curling around WingDings soul. “You need to be careful, but don’t stop doing the right thing. You are such a special child.”

Wiping his face, WingDings smiles calmly and leans against Amy. “Thank you Amy,” he says. “I really needed that.” He’s really thanking both Amy and Gaster. Amy has provided the physical comfort he wants and Gaster provided the words he needs to hear.

“You’re welcome WingDings,” she tightens her arm briefly, before letting him go. “You want to try getting some rest? It’s an hour till the time I normally wake you.”

“I’m not tired, but relaxing sounds good,” WingDings agrees.

She stays by his side all the way up the stairs and ends up allowing him to sleep in, asking another child to help with breakfast. After breakfast he goes to the scientist’s lair, stuck thinking about what Sans will tell him when he gets back. Is everything going to change? Now that it’s come to this, he hopes it doesn’t.

“You okay there?” a male goat skeleton asks tapping his shoulder. He’s wearing oversized overalls, a bandanna, and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Unlike his mother, he has horns and like his father he’s made of bones. “You’ve been staring at that screen for over ten minutes.”

“I . . . I’m sorry mister?” WingDings has never seen this man before.

“Names, Soriel, yes my name is a combination of Toriel and Sans put together,” he chuckles and takes a seat next to the kid, clicking away at the computer and finishing WingDings project for him.

“So you’re their son?” WingDings asks.

“Yeah, I work at the school teaching the other kids with mom and my sister,” Soriel tells him. “Sometimes I help out here when Dad is busy.”

“So . . . is your sister’s name Tans?” WingDings asks. If that is her name he would feel a little sorry for her.

“Leiros,” Soriel laughs.

“That’s your name backwards,” WingDings states the obvious.

“That’s right,” Soriel grins his approval at the boy for figuring it out so quickly. “When I was young I thought my name was awful, but when she was born I never complained about my name ever again.”

“I feel bad for her,” WingDings says, his lips skewed to the left of his face. WingDings looks at the clock hanging slightly cockeyed on the wall and stands. “I should get going.”

“You need to stay here,” Soriel tells him. “Dad told me before he left that he’d meet you here.”

“. . . Oh,” WingDings sits down again, slumping in the chair and falling forward until his chin rest on the metal console held together with string, melted metal and wire.

“That bad huh?” Soriel shakes his head and Mr. Garmish patters up beside him.

“What’s wrong WingDings,” Mr. Gamish asks. “You’ve been awful quiet today.”

“My Dad’s gunna be talking to him about . . . well he didn’t tell me what,” Soriel says.

“Secret stuff huh?” Mr. Garmish nods his head, draping one arm on the back of WingDings chair.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Soriel tells him. “Dad can be harsh, but he does it because he cares and doesn’t want anyone hurt. If you hurt someone well. . .” He stops and makes his left eye sputter with magic. “You’re gunna have a bad time.”

Seeing that reminder, makes WingDings looks away, pulling up his knees and staring at the flashing numbers on the screen.

“Uh, hey WingDings I was just kidding,” Soriel says, leaning forward and trying to get WingDings attention again, realizing belatedly that he’s made a mistake. “You aren’t gunna have a bad time.”

The son waits for WingDings to respond, but when he doesn’t Mr. Garmish glares at the young man and whacks his skull lightly. “You numbskull,” the man reprimands him.

WingDings smirks, trying to hold back a snicker and snorting in his throat. Numbskull. That’s funny. Because he has a skull. He can’t help but automatically laugh at the word choice, his nervousness seeking some means of escape.

“Hey,” Sans walks into the room and everyone greets him, except WingDings. First place Sans walks is up to WingDings seat. “Ready for that chat.”

“No,” WingDings bluntly says.

“Yeah well if you wanted to avoid this conversation you could have done things a little differently the last four weeks,” Sans tells him, motioning for him to stand.

“Dad?” Soriel’s mouth opens as if he wants to ask more, but he closes it.

“Yeah?” Sans leads WingDings towards the Control Room, stopping just before entering and looking over his shoulder at his son.

“He’s a good kid,” the young man says.

“I know,” Sans answers with a sigh. “That’s the problem.” The metal blast doors open and for the second time WingDings enters the computer room.

Alphys and Sobek aren’t inside the room, only Sans and WingDings with the beeping computers. “Come here,” Sans motions for WingDings to come closer which WingDings does, keeping his head held high despite his trepidation. When he is close enough Sans lifts the boy onto the large tablet like computer on the refrigerator. “Go ahead and lie down.”

At first WingDings doesn’t do anything, but when Gaster tells him not to worry he follows the other skeletons instructions.

“What are you doing?” WingDings asks.

“Gunna check and see what your body really is,” Sans answers, bending down and rummaging through one of the dented lockers in the corner. He pulls out several electrical cubes, with wires sticking out and looking like they were taken straight out of the junkyard. Setting the devices at WingDings head and feet, he switches them on and connects a cord from the cubes into the giant tablet he’s lying on.

Analyzing the cubes WingDings learns that they are powerful scanners, a simpler version of a MRI machine, using the tablet he’s lying on as the main means of detecting the elements of his body. When Sans turns it on, WingDings body vibrates briefly, stopping when Sans turns the device off. “All right you can come down,” Sans says.

WingDings hops down and looks at the scan the tablet has taken of him. It reveals the synthetic bones of his body and the invisible magic threads connecting it all to his soul. Analyzing it a little closer WingDings can see the difference between his magic and Gaster’s magic cradling his soul in an intricate net.

Utterly fascinated, WingDings shifts the scan around on the tablet, moving in and out and zooming in on his skull, showing an actual brain. All without touching the screen. While he finds it all very interesting Sans is not as thrilled. It isn’t helping that WingDings has just hijacked his giant tablet, doing it with such ease and comfort it makes the man realize that all his suspicions are correct.

“This is interesting,” WingDings tells Sans, a lot of his trepidation forgotten.

“Yeah, interesting,” Sans shuffles backwards and leans against one of the computer towers. “Looks like Gaster made you a body.”

“Yes, he did,” WingDings agrees, his eyes scanning the list of materials used to make his bones. He’s a little heavier than real bone, explaining why he sinks so much faster.

“I’m going to delete this information,” Gaster tells WingDings. “Are you done looking?”

WingDings looks it over and after admiring it a moment, he nods his head. “You did a good job,” he says, not bothering to care that he’s speaking to Gaster with Sans in the room.

“Thank you WingDings, there is still room for improvement,” Gaster chuckles. With a flash of white and blue, the device restarts revealing the normal archaic menu screen Sans designed for the device.

“Hey,” Sans snaps upright and tries to recover the data. When he can’t he lifts his hand, turning it into a fist before letting it fall flat onto the screen. “Why did you do that?”

“Gaster doesn’t want to take any chances,” WingDings explains. Sans thinks about this, but nods his head agreeing with the logic. For several minutes Sans stares at the screen, pushing his hands into his ragged pockets as he thinks. Unsure of what is supposed to happen next, WingDings uses the tablets to show the Scarab Region and all the Arch activity. It’s a little more active today because of the market in a place called . . . Leviathan’s Pot, aka ‘The Pit’. Weird name, but it kinda does look like a rounded out bowl on the map.

“Can I go now?” WingDings asks.

“No,” Sans quickly answers before WingDings even gets the question completely out.

“It’s just that I’ve recently been helping Miss Ross carry things donated to the Child Manor,” WingDings explains.

“She can have the other workers help her,” Sans says, turning to face boy. “Look, you are a walking . . .” He doesn’t know what to call him and trails off.

“CORE key?” WingDings supplies, since this is what Gaster called him earlier.

“Problem,” Sans corrects the boy. “You’re a walking problem. I want to lock you up in a vault, you’re that valuable, but obviously I can’t do that. What was Gaster thinking making you that body? I didn’t even know he was alive? . . . Can I speak with him?”

Looking up at the ceiling, WingDings places his hand behind his back as he waits for Gaster’s response.

“I’m disappointed he didn’t notice I’ve been alive the last thousand years so no. I don’t especially feel like talking to him right now,” Gaster tells the boy.

“He says no,” WingDings shrugs.

Sans face turns colors with anger, his eyes flashing, but when WingDings flinches he turns away and glares at the cracked screen instead. “You’re dismissed kid.”

“I’m free to go?” WingDings asks.

“I’ve got a lot to figure out so yes you’re free to go,” Sans grunts, placing his hands in front of himself and bowing over the screen, shoulders sagging as if an anchor is dragging him down. In this moment he no longer looks intimidating, just old, the dark lines under his sockets are more pronounced and WingDings is beginning to notice the small cracks riddled in his skull. “Please go and don’t draw attention to yourself.”

The doors slide open and WingDings leaves as he is asked, feeling rather confused over the encounter.

“Everything go okay WingDings?” Mr. Garmish asks as soon as the doors shut behind him.

“Yeah, it wasn’t that bad,” WingDings smiles. “He was just worried.”

“Told you it would be good,” Soriel says, standing from the chair.

“It was,” WingDings makes for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Everyone wishes him well and WingDings takes a short cut up to the manor. Miss Amy left him a plate of food to eat. As soon as he’s finished he leaves with her to carry a few things from Toriel and the rest of the day is spent sorting through the clothes.

“That wasn’t so bad,” WingDings says in his font to Gaster.

“It wasn’t,” Gaster agrees. “I think we successfully flabbergasted him. Which is good. He deserves it. It took your existence to open his eyes to the possibility of my being alive. For a thousand years I’ve reached out to him and he merely believed me to be a fussy old computer. I thought he’d have more faith in my abilities or at least a little more imagination.”

WingDings lets the old man rant, aware that Gaster needs this. As Gaster goes on a rabbit trail of his problems with Sans, WingDings sorts the clothing and divides it up, before carrying everything to Amy where she is busy mending.

Putting her mending down she has him help her deliver the clothes to the children’s chests. She knows exactly where everyone sleeps and what they need. Typically if a child complains to her about what they receive she’ll punish them by making them sleep outside, unless they have a solid argument and can convince her otherwise. Once finished they get started on dinner and enjoy another quiet night at the manor.

Several days later, Sunday night, WingDings is making dinner with his bunk-mate Tomasz. He’s just finished reading ‘20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ and is ready to find the next book, which happens to be Jane Eyre, a book Pearl now has. “You should have told me you needed it,” WingDings tells him as Tomasz playfully whacks him with a spoon.

“You’re my right hand man, my first mate, how could you not know,” Tomasz says in an exaggerated fashion, waving his fists into the air. He coughs into the crook of his arm, before settling down and stirring.

“Or you could just ask me,” Pearl says. “I’m right here.”

“Let me have this,” Tomasz tells her, coughing again.

“You okay Tomasz?” WingDings asks. He’s been coughing intermittently all night. Using Gaster’s magic he checks the boy and see’s he has a cold. “Okay out of the kitchen.”

“What? Now you’re ordering your own captain out of the kitchen,” Tomasz says with false hurt.

“You really liked ‘20,000 Leagues, Under the Sea’ didn’t you,” Pearls shakes her head.

“Tomasz I think you have a cold,” WingDings clarifies.

“No way, I don’t get sick,” Tomasz waves a hand at him. “Haven’t been sick in over a year.” Acting as the explanation point at the end of his sentence is a well times sneeze, that goes all over WingDings.

Blinking his eyes, WingDings snuffs out his nasal cavity and wipes his face with his arm. “If I get sick, I’ll drag you down to Davy Jones locker with me,” he tells him.

“WingDings, how could you?” Tomasz asks, giggling and snorting.

“Are you boys cooking or playing?” Amy asks as she comes into the room.

“Cooking/Playing,” the boys and Pearl say at the same time.

“Either way, you’re cooking now,” Amy snatches Tomasz’s spoon and lightly taps the boy’s on their heads.

They grumble but get right to work.

“WingDings, tonight is a good night to go out,” Gaster’s voice tells him. “Be sure to go to bed early.”

WingDings focuses on his work and after dinner goes straight to bed like Gaster advises.

When he’s gathered everything he needs, WingDings sets out for the next location holding his soul. Much like the Eiffel Tower Market, this piece is on the other side of the planet where the sun is shining bright, bleaching the cracked surface and sandy dunes completely white. He has to travel a bit further from the Arch then he did for the other two lakes.

“This is going to be tricky,” Gaster tells him as he glides along the sand. The boys new goggles work great, allowing him to see and avoid the sting of sand.

“It’s a city right? Hong Kong?” WingDings studied the map a little before they left.

“Yes, but there is an ongoing turf war among the clans in the area,” Gaster tells him as the towering metal of old buildings draws closer. “Before heading to the Lake, I’d like to see if we can perhaps repair the Arch in this area.”

“Sure,” WingDings agrees. If they come across trouble it would be better to have the Arch working just in case. He scans the area and locates the deactivated Arch, driving up to the large impressive structure. “Looks like it’s in one piece at least.” Scanning the structure, several red texts show up flickering in his vision, displaying parts that are either missing or damaged.

“I can get you the parts you need,” Gaster says. “No one should miss them.”

For the next half hour WingDings uses his magic hands to reach around the arch and repair it, following Gaster’s verbal instructions when he can’t figure it out with the flickering script from the CORE or Gaster’s magic. When they are finished, they test it out before heading back towards the city.

The streets are full of sand and debris, making it impossible to ride without teleporting if he wants to retain his speed. In the distance WingDings can hear gun fire, but the only sound in the area around him is his own bike. Moving quickly without stopping, the boy drives his bike directly into the remnants of ‘The Center’ building, once boasting to be the fifth tallest structure in the city. Now it is the only structure almost fully standing in the entire city.

Except the top half which has been blasted off.

WingDings takes his bike down a gaping hole at the buildings center, letting himself free fall a moment before using his Blaster to slow his decent since he hates the sensation of falling. Scanning the area reveals several life forms, but they are all hidden, huddled close to one another as they watch the child and motorcycle float magically down. The very bottom proves to be impossible to land on since it is completely flooded.

Since Gaster is afraid of the bike being stolen WingDings is forced to carry it with him, which is taxing on his magic. As he weaves through the support beams of the building above, and all the past buildings that no longer serve their intended purpose, WingDings has the strangest sensation of entering a maze. The cement and earth have nearly all eroded away, leaving only the metal bars and supports of the ancient city. It reminds WingDings of the roots of a tree, as if they were dangling freely, instead of packed in the earth.

When he sees a bright glowing light WingDings knows he’s close and with determination he flies forward. Reaching the crystal pillar WingDings stops and a giant hand appears beneath him allowing him to dismiss his Blaster. “Rest,” Gaster tells him and WingDings allows his bike to sit on the large fingers, avoiding the hole in the giant Gaster hand.

Looking around WingDings sees numerous eyes looking at him.

And they aren’t friendly eyes.

Quickly lowering his head, WingDings waits for Gaster to bring his piece up and carefully unwinds the cloth around his neck, lowering the neckline of his shirt to access his soul. He feels exposed, but accepts the piece as soon as it floats to the surface. Returning his soul behind his ribs WingDings grabs his bike and takes a short cut back outside.

“They saw me,” WingDings buzzes, starting up the engine and moving through the city towards the repaired gate.

“They don’t know what they saw,” Gaster assures him softly, barely heard over the purr of his motorcycle. “They can’t hurt you.”

“Will they be okay?” WingDings asks, looking over his shoulder to the tower cut in half so cleanly from afar you wouldn’t guess there used to be more.

“They have water, they’ll be fine if they don’t misuse it and stay hidden from the gangs,” Gaster explains.

“. . . That’s so sad,” WingDings turns forward again avoiding a heap of trash and warps closer to the arch.

“Its life,” Gaster tells him sadly.

“I want to h. . .” WingDings starts slowing down.

“Not this time child,” Gaster pushes the engine forward taking WingDings through the arch. WingDings is plunged back into the starlit darkness of the Scarab Region desert, the Arches magic tracing it’s cold fingers over his bones.

WingDings is a little upset with Gaster, but he knows he can’t save the entire planet. That isn’t possible right? He looks back through the Arch, framing the starry sky in its black hoop, going on seemingly for eternity. WingDings shuts off the machine and brings his bike to the hide out. He is exhausted, but Gaster reminds him to check his body for contamination. To his dismay the area around his neck has been compromised.

He takes a short cut to the bathing room at the guard house and draws himself a bath. It takes a while to fill the tub and the water is freezing, more than usual, but he doesn’t want to make noise and doesn’t have any magic aside from his blaster that can heat things. It is tempting, but firing up his blaster would definitely wake the dogs. When he is finished cleaning himself it is four in the morning and he is freezing cold. Not Saint Petra freezing, but still cold.

WingDings is a little surprise when he wakes up with a mild cold. He kicks Tomasz’s bunk and wakes the other child. “Whhhhaaaatt,” the boy complains.

“Breakfast and I blame you,” WingDings buzzes at him. He moves a little slower that day, but he muscles through it. The others notice, but it’s a cold, so it isn’t an unusual sickness, but it is highly contagious. He spends most of the day reading by Home Lake, chatting with Onionsan and the others when they show up.

Early the next morning he wakes from a nightmare and with a slight fever. With Amy’s permission he goes to the medical ward and gets looked at by Dr. Mable. Since she is aware of his broken soul so it isn’t a difficult visit and she gives him some medication to help with the fever. While sick WingDings doesn’t use his magic hands or teleport, knowing he’ll recover faster if he doesn’t use magic, so it’s a long walk back to the manor.

“You should rest child,” Gaster tells the boy as WingDings drags his feet, sweeping the back porch with nearly shut eyes. “Tomasz is in bed, you should be there too.”

“This is nothing,” WingDings says in his font. “You should of seen me in Saint Petra, helping take care of six other kids while with bronchitis.”

“This isn’t Saint Petra,” Gaster says. “What would your family say?”

“To get rest,” WingDings mumbles, even as he says it he leans on the handle of the broom and falls asleep. When his hands release the pole, he falls forward and manages to wake up before hitting the ground. Thinking this is as good a place as any to fall asleep, he curls up on the porch and does just that.

Notes:

This is the harshest Sans I think young WingDings ever meets, but the old skeleton has every reason to worry. Unlike some other Sans, this one actually works very hard to keep his family and community safe. This won’t be the last encounter WingDings has with Sans. Also we got to see Undyne again. That made me happy!

Also random fact, all the names of the orphans were made up randomly and I told myself I'd change their names to more suitable ones later. My past self was so optimistic, because I didn't bother changing any of them.

Chapter 11: Can I Help?

Notes:

Warning: mild sickness.

When WingDings wakes up he’s in bed and notices several other boys lying in their own bunks. He analyzes the boys and sees that they all have slight fevers.

“Tomasz it’s your fault,” WingDings grumbles, kicking the bed above him with very little strength or motivation.

“I heard you the first time,” Tomasz complains.

“Go to sleep,” Chaz, another child nearby, tells them. “It’s both your faults.”

“. . . He’s probably right,” Tomasz says.

WingDings laughs weakly. “Teach Miss Ross to always put me on kitchen duty,” he laughs gruffly.

The next day WingDings stays in bed and he isn’t the only one, joined by several of his fellow orphans. Amy recruits a small army of healthy kids to deep clean the entire house and is even given water to clean all the high traffic surfaces in the manor. Apparently they do treat sickness seriously when it rears its ugly head. Dr. Gill visits that night and gives them all some simple pain relief medication, but aside from that he recommends soup and rest.

Sure would have been nice if Gaster could make a body that didn’t get sick. But apparently the common cold is just not curable.

WingDings sleeps all day, waking the next day feeling tired, but better. Miss Ross insists he stays in bed, reminding the boy that he’s probably still contagious. WingDings doesn’t argue and stays in bed reading The Jungle Book.

“Jane Eyre is so boring,” Tomasz complains, sneezing for the hundredth time.

“No it isn’t,” WingDings says.

“. . . You’re just saying that,” Tomasz says.

“Just ask Pearl, she liked it,” WingDings says.

“What part did you like?” Tomasz asks.

“. . . I like a lot of the scenes, like when she has to save Rochester from the fire or when Bertha . . . actually Bertha does a lot of dramatic things,” WingDings says.

“Isn’t she crazy?” Tomasz points out.

“Well wouldn’t you be crazy if you were locked up like that?” WingDings says.

“Wait, are you guys talking about Jane Eyre?” Rize speaks up from another bed. He coughs and accidentally blows some fire from his mouth, but it doesn’t do any harm since he’s on the top bunk. “That doesn’t sound like Jane Eyre.”

“Did you even read it?” WingDings asks.

“. . . I read a few chapters,” Rize admits.

“Well there you go,” WingDings starts reading his book again and by dinner Tomasz agrees that there is some great drama and mystery in the book.

Those who are sick in the house eat at a different time then the other kids in an attempt to keep the germs from spreading. By the next day, WingDings is ready to get moving again, but Miss Ross gives him simple jobs, like folding the laundry, which is becoming his least favorite chore. He is able to get a new book though called the Iliad.

“WingDings if you are feeling well enough we should get another piece,” Gaster tells him as he reads some of the Iliad before dinner.

“I’m feeling up to it,” WingDings answers.

“Good, because the Harper gang is on the move again,” Gaster says. “They have been extremely active recently . . .”

“Does Sans know?” WingDings asks.

“The House is aware of their activity, but it is doubtful they’ll do anything about it, despite the number of prisoners they’re taking,” Gaster grumbles and WingDings can almost feel his disgruntlement.

“If they have prisoners, we’ll rescue them,” WingDings promises him.

“But you can’t do that, Sans doesn’t want you drawing attention to yourself,” Gaster reminds him with a heavy amount of sardonic exaggeration.

“Won’t stop us,” WingDings grins.

“No it won’t,” Gaster agrees.

WingDings goes to bed early that night and is dressed and ready by two in the morning, giving them a little over three hours to get there, cause some trouble and get back.

“The cave is called Crocodile Lake and has a very low ceiling, making it one of the less popular places to draw water from,” Gaster explains as he zooms across the calm cool desert. “I’ll have to take you to one of the other Arches further away so as to not draw the attention of the Harper’s. Hide your bike in the cacti and I’ll take you inside.”

With a rush of excitement tingling in his bones, WingDings eagerly races forward. He is feeling great and wonders if this is what it is like to go on an adventure. A real one. With Gaster there to help him, he feels like he can do just about anything.

And he is no longer sick so that helps too.

After hiding the bike, WingDings drops into Gaster’s hand and is brought into Crocodile Lake. Actually into it. Apparently there is no safe place to put him so Gaster plucks him into the lake, carefully keeping him afloat with his large hand. Deep shadows slice the water, where the glowing light of the Core’s filtration cylinder hits jagged stalagmites. These stalagmites appear almost like teeth, protruding out of the clean water.

“Why not Shark Lake?” WingDings asks.

“Shhhhh, child,” Gaster reprimands while laughing. “Can you move?”

WingDings turns off his back and swims softly in the lake, weaving around the large stalagmites teeth towards the source of the light. “Where are the Harpers making camp?” WingDings asks.

“Closer to the mouth of the cave,” Gaster replies. “Would you like me to bring the piece up?”

“Yes please,” WingDings says, working to undo the cloth wrapped around him, a difficult task while he is wet. After retrieving the piece, WingDings follows Gaster’s line of magic until he hears the chatter of someone close by. Dipping his head under the water, WingDings propels himself around a rocky tooth and peeks around it to see two gang members in a row boat.

“I’m telling you Scar, I heard something out here,” a human lifts his lantern, willing the light to look around the teeth of the flooded cavern and show him what he seeks.

“There’s only one entrance,” Scar grunts, she is a large scaly monster who is clearly annoyed with her companion as she rows the oars of the tiny boat. “And all the prisoners are accounted for. Let’s go back to sleep Kit.”

The man doesn’t say anything, peering at the teeth as if they will move as soon as he looks away. “All right, we can go back.”

“Finally,” Scar huffs and steers the boat towards their camp. It’s only as they go, talking amongst themselves, that WingDings realizes how loudly the echo of their voices carry. No wonder they heard him. He needs to be more careful.

“There are about twenty prisoners here, but not all of them are innocent,” Gaster warns him. “Even though some of these prisoners are criminals, do you still want to free them?”

“Is there any way to save just the innocent?” WingDings asks.

“There is, but it will be harder,” Gaster says.

“We’ll try the harder way first,” WingDings answers.

“There won’t be a second time WingDings,” Gaster promises and leads the boy towards the camp.

When they reach the point where the water ends, WingDings find it difficult to tell just how large the gangs camp is since the rooms being used are carved and blasted into the rocks of the cave. It is a maze of winding passages and dead-end rooms, scattered in a nonsensical pattern.

“I’ll mark the dangerous prisoners in red and innocents in blue,” Gaster tells him. “Aside from Scar and Kit, most of the guards are asleep except those guarding the buggy’s and checking the perimeter. Before we save them, let’s fill one of the buggy’s with fuel.”

“Learning from the last time,” WingDings whispers.

“Yes, we can learn from our mistakes,” Gaster smiles.

“I don’t know if I can fill the vehicles,” WingDings admits. “The fuel containers are rather large and I can only carry so much with my hands, about just as much as I can carry with my normal hands.”

“Then we’ll leave the containers by one of the buggy’s,” Gaster says. “I’ll take you there and allow you to become familiar with the area.”

WingDings nods and allows Gaster to first carry him to where they are storing the fuel and then to the garage. He actually places WingDings underneath one of the larger buggy’s as to avoid him being seen and be able to hide the containers.

“They are holding the prisoners in two locations,” Gaster explains. “They probably learned from the last time. There are ten in one area and ten in the other. They are shackled the same way, but the keys are stored in the command center. I’ll port you in so you can grab the keys and immediately take you to the first set of prisoners. Are you ready?”

A quick nod and WingDings is brought to a bright metallic room, fitted snugly behind an old vending machine used now to hold weapons. Using Gaster’s magic he locates the keys, grabs them and is swiftly brought to the first set of prisoners. All of the souls are sound asleep and WingDings does his best to keep it that way as he unchains them. Only when he removes the chest pieces do they awaken.

Like the time before, they know a prison escape when they see one and remain quiet, even the criminal thug shackled with them doesn’t make a peep. The boy releases all of them except the thug causing the man to realize what is happening.

“If you don’t release me I’ll yell and alert the guard,” the man promises.

WingDings hesitates and looks at the others whose eyes dart nervously at the man. He isn’t their friend that is obvious, but is it worth the risk? Pressing his lips behind the layers of cloth, the boy nears the man, but instead of unlatching the device he grabs onto him and teleports him directly into the control room.

They hit the ground and the man screams in agony before losing the contents of his stomach on the cracked concrete floor. WingDings doesn’t stick around long enough to see what the cursing gang does with the man and returns to the same prisoners. “Either stay here or meet me in the garage,” WingDings tells them and Gaster drops him in the next bunker of prisoners. There is a guard in the room who is busy listening to the radio right as it gives the order to check the prisoners.

As the guard turns around WingDings hides behind the large ice elemental thug and unchains him, following Gaster’s instructions. Next WingDings turns the magic lock off on his chest, but he doesn’t remove the device. As expected the thug sends his razor sharp icicle knives right at the unsuspecting guard. WingDings feels sick when the guard drops to the floor lifeless, but he can’t take it back. He has no reason to rewind time. Not yet anyway. Fearful of the thug, WingDings unlocks the barred gate and moves to release the other prisoners, not even looking at the man.

The thug glances from the prisoners to the open gate, before racing for the door and sprinting out of sight. WingDings figured the elemental wouldn’t stop to help, but that’s all right, he’ll prove to be a useful distraction. When everyone is free, including a small child, WingDings leads them out of the building, seeing the havoc the ice elemental has unleashed on the gang. He’s proven to be a valuable distraction.

He takes the slaves to the garage and is not surprised to find a large number of the Harpers Gang with magic and guns at the ready. They are all focused on the elemental who is proving to be a force to be reckoned with. Silently leading his group, he joins the others who are hidden in one of the small storage rooms near the garage.

“Hal!” one of the humans whispers, hobbling forward and hugging a lizard monster.

The monster whispers her name and holds her close.

“Do you think that Rupert can take them all out?” one of the other humans asks, magic tingling in their hands.

“He’s out for blood,” the monster named Hal says. “Best we stay out of his way.”

They watch warily as Rupert takes out all of the gang members single-handedly. When the cry of more Harper gang members is heard through the caverns, Rupert creates a wall of ice, blocking off the entrance past their hiding place.

“I know you’re there,” Rupert says in a shrill hiss, that cracks with every word spoken. “Why not come with me.” The elemental smiles. “I’ll protect you all, guarantee it.”

The slaves step out of their hiding place, but WingDings is careful to stay behind them.

“Do you know how to use blue magic?” Gaster asks.

“I can’t do that,” WingDings says.

“You can, you just don’t know how,” Gaster says. “Allow me to show you. Follow my instructions carefully.”

As Gaster speaks with WingDings silently, Hal steps in front of the other prisoners. “That is awfully generous of you Rupert,” he says. “Which gang would we owe our gratitude to?”

“The Snarls Gang,” Rupert grins, showing his crystal teeth and emitting a white mist from his mouth. “If that’s not good enough for you,” he lifts his hand and several icicles aim at one of the slaves. “You can take my other offer.”

Taking a stiff breath, WingDings summons a hand and reactivates Rupert’s chest plate. Immediately his magic ice fizzles away and he tenses with pain, but he doesn’t fall, fighting the restraint. Realizing what has happened, the elemental moves forward to use brute force to convince them, but WingDings lifts a hand and turns his soul blue.

The monster stops in his tracks, frozen in place, except his heavy breathing and the white mist pouring out his mouth. WingDings steps forward doing his best to hold the monster as the others run past him to the buggy with the fuel canisters next to it.

“Foolish little monster,” Rupert hisses. “They’ll die out there without me.”

“No . . . they won’t. . .” WingDings grunts, but despite his efforts to hold on the monster falters and the elemental lunges at him. Ducking low, WingDings latches onto the elemental’s leg and teleports again, back into the control room before traveling to his bike.

Breathing hard, WingDings tries to fix the bandages around his body even as he pushes up his bike. His magic is buzzing, making his limbs feel fuzzy as he starts his bike and zooms for the garage. “Patch me through,” WingDings says when he sees the buggy bolt from the garage.

There is a buzz from his radio and WingDings clicks the button. “Where do you need to go, I can program the gate to the location you need, over,” WingDings says into the radio.

“Most of us are from the Cappers Gang, Over,” Hal’s voice answers.

“Can you get the others to their homes? Over.” WingDings asks.

There is a pause before he answers. “They don’t have homes.”

“He’s telling the truth, they’ve been slaves all their lives, we might need to take the child with us unless one of them takes responsibility for him,” Gaster tells him.

“I’ll take you to the Cappers Gang, but I want the child, Over,” WingDings says as they head for the gate. Behind them the blast of engines is heard, but they are through the gate well before the Harper Gang is even within their sights. WingDings stops on the other side and waits for the other buggy to slow before riding alongside it.

“Why the child?” Hal asks.

“Personal reasons,” WingDings says, offering a magic hand to the young boy. “Unless you can promise me on your souls and the risk I took to save you that you’ll be able to provide for him.”

“I can,” one of the older men says, run down looking, but eyes burning strong.

WingDings magic hand hesitates and he addresses the child. “If you want to stay with . . .” he uses Gaster’s magic to check the man’s name. “Mr. Iger you may Rayon.”

“I’ll stay with him,” the child says immediately.

“Very well, I trust you’ll find your way from here,” he says, noting the burning glow of dawn outlining the horizon.

“We will, would you tell us the name of our rescuer,” Hal asks.

“For my safety I can’t,” WingDings answers, feeling really cool as he drives back towards the gate, disappearing in the blink of an eye. If only his cousins could see him now. He’s better than any hero from Calibri’s stories.

Going as fast as he can, WingDings drops the bike off, tears off his clothes, does a quick scan of himself and ports back to bed. When Tomasz wakes him ten minutes later WingDings can still feel his mind firing off several incomplete thoughts a second. As he throws off the blanket Tomasz eyes go wide before he tilts his head in curiosity.

“What?” WingDings whispers, lifting one arm in front of his chest.

“Didn’t know you slept in the nude?” Tomasz whispers back.

Looking down so fast it gives him whiplash, WingDings sees that in his rush he forgot to put his sleep dress back on. With a tint of blue powdering his cheeks, WingDings stands and gets dressed.

“Sorry, you look pretty cool,” Tomasz assures him, sensing WingDings discomfort and trying to make him feel better.

“Thanks,” WingDings says and the two head downstairs.

“Boys you don’t have to cook today,” Miss Ross informs them.

“But we’re better,” WingDings says, checking with Gaster’s magic just to be sure. That’s when he notices he missed a spot when he scanned himself. There are small traces of the Sands Burn on his elbow.

He hears Gaster curse and WingDings does his best to keep his smile from turning into a squiggly line.

“You can start tomorrow,” Miss Ross tells them. “Go ahead and start cleaning the stairs if you want to do something useful.”

“Yes Miss Ross/Miss Amy,” the boys answer and go collect the sweeping brushes from the cleaning room.

“I’ll be right back,” WingDings tells Tomasz. “Cover for me kay?” He races out the door with Tomasz staring at him in bewilderment. As soon as WingDings is out of sight, he takes a short cut to the same washing room and fills a bucket. “Is it on my clothes?” WingDings asks aloud as he looks down, his hands scurrying about the room.

“It doesn’t seem to have affected anywhere else, but we’ll need to check your bed when we get back,” Gaster says.

“That could be bad,” WingDings pulls off his tank top and scrubs his elbow. If his mat is contaminated they have to burn it and get a new one. That in turn would make the doctors search every bed and check to see where the sickness came from.

“If it is contaminated, I’ll find you another mat,” Gaster promises, guessing the boys thoughts.

“What would I do without you?” WingDings smiles.

“Probably be dead a few times over by now,” Gaster answers, a grin somehow expressed through his words. “You did a good job this morning.”

“You gave good instructions,” WingDings says.

“And you are good at improvising,” Gaster says.

“Well . . .” WingDings trails off thinking of all the people that died today. “It wasn’t that good . . . maybe if I . . .”

“Don’t think like that WingDings . . . quick the dog guards are suspicious,” Gaster tells him.

Swiftly putting everything away, WingDings takes his shortcut back to the manor, pulling his shirt back on even as he races into the hall where Tomasz is sweeping away.

“Where were you?” he hisses.

“I don’t want to lie so don’t ask,” WingDings tells his friend.

“Are you . . .” Tomasz sits up from his hunched position and narrows his eyes at WingDings.

“I’m not doing anything bad,” WingDings promises.

“Oh so is this a part of your ‘helping someone’ thing?” Tomasz leans back down and scrubs at a stain in the plank of wood.

“Actually, yes kinda ,” WingDings has to admit. “How did you . . .”

“Ever since you helped Angelica the rumors have been crazy about what you do here at the manor,” Tomasz says.

“I’m helping Amy,” WingDings answers.

“Just saying what I’m hearing,” Tomasz says.

“They’ve got you figured out,” Gaster chuckles, but WingDings doesn’t comment to either of them and works on the stairs. They check his bed later and when they find a trace of the virus, they replace it with another mat, adding another chore to WingDings day made all the harder since he has to do it in secret. When he succeeds, it’s a great relief, he’ll just have to sleep on a lumpy mattress till Miss Ross obtains more hay.

For the next several days things are quiet and, on the day marking his sixth week of living in this world, Gaster takes WingDings out for the next piece. This time he takes him to a place in the region of India. There is still a lot of sand, but it's brown sand and smells like rotting vegetables. He drives in the sunlight towards a particular sand dune Gaster has marked for him.

“No one lives in this area,” Gaster explains. “The sand is constantly shifting and swelling, making it impossible to guess which arches won’t be buried in sand. The Lake I built here cannot be accessed above ground anymore, but the Golden Dust Gang has managed to tunnel to the lake. They call it their Golden Lake.”

“Does it look like gold?” WingDings asks, thinking of how all of the other lakes have gotten their names.

“A reasonable deduction, but that is incorrect. They call it that because of its worth,” Gaster informs him pleasantly. “Stop right here.”

WingDings does so and looks around for some kind of landmark, but there isn’t any. “Should there be some kind of ruins?” WingDings asks.

“There is, but it is buried under all the sand,” Gaster says.

Lying on his back, WingDings allows Gaster to take him deep underground to a stout stalagmite island in Golden Lake. The lake doesn’t look all that different from the first lake he saw, glowing a crisp blue and reflecting the high rocky ceiling. Looking around WingDings sees a few structures on one side of the lake with an enormous metal canal going directly into it.

“That isn’t the main community is it?” WingDings speculates.

“No it is not,” Gaster replies. “The Golden Dust Gangs main city is deeper in, closer to where the river was and the old city of Kota. That canal runs for hundreds of miles to reach the large city where they have a second lake. It’s smaller than this one and doesn’t have a piece of your soul, so there is no reason to visit. But it is one of the better off gangs and has at least a couple thousand more citizens than Home.”

“It sounds impressive,” WingDings says, part of him considering visiting such a large city, snapping a quick picture.

“You should get moving, they actually have fish living in this lake,” Gaster informs him as WingDings jumps into the water, finding it refreshing. “Since it is the middle of the day you need to be careful running into fishermen.”

“Don’t you mean swimming into fishermen?” WingDings dives into the water, slipping through it with ease. He easily avoids the few scattered boats and does his best not to spook the fish. He might be confused for a fish a few times as he comes to the surface to take a breath, but other than that he is never spotted.

After retrieving the piece, WingDings has Gaster return him to the bike, since its location is difficult for him to pinpoint. Gaster is off a little, dumping him a short distance to the ground, but he is able to find his bike as it shines in the sunlight.

On his way back to the gate though, trouble rears its ugly head. “Gaster, we have a problem,” WingDings looks at one of the vehicles speeding towards him, encouraging WingDings to go a little faster.

“Looks like the Dead Eye Gang is going to attempt robbing you,” Gaster says with a grating growl sticking to the back of his throat.

“Well they can try,” WingDings says even as a magic bullet flies over his head. Probably doesn’t matter to them if he’s dead or alive, but with aim like that WingDings has little fear for his safety. When he can see the arch he warps closer, making the gang realize just how outmatched they are as WingDings’ vanishes from their sight.

“That’s the first time I’ve been chased,” WingDings says as he slows his bike towards the canyon and brings it to the hideout.

“I honestly expected it to happen more often,” Gaster replies.

“I’m glad it doesn’t,” WingDings says.

“As am I, now make sure you take the time to scan yourself properly,” he says. “We can’t be making that mistake again. Otherwise your friends and fellow orphans will have reason to gossip further.”

WingDings dumps his clothes around him and checks his body for contamination. When they are both satisfied WingDings returns to bed, this time remembering to put on his nightwear. Thanks to his speedy trip, he gets a good three hours more sleep then he usually does and wakes feeling refreshed and ready.

“My sister likes you,” the young Becky tells WingDings that morning, much to her sister Nola’s distress.

“Becky,” she hisses, blushing a bright red.

“You shouldn’t be saying things like that Becky,” WingDings says politely to the little girl. “But you should also tell her to find someone better than me.”

“Find, find someone better?” Becky asks, her brows dropping low. Beside her Nola, looks down at the bench, pressing her lips firmly together. “But you nice.”

“Well . . .” WingDings lips pull to the side of his face as thinks about what he should say. “You probably won’t think that in a month or two.”

Before anyone can say anything about it he stands and leaves the table.

“Dude you gotta stop breaking young people’s hearts,” Tomasz tells him as they prepare lunch together later that day.

“You make it sound like its more kids than Nola that have a crush on me,” WingDings says, a smirk on his lips.

“That’s because they do,” Evelyn speaks up. She’s back on kitchen duty and WingDings is glad to have her company again.

“Really?” WingDings doesn’t believe her. Back home he isn’t all that popular, most of his classmates find his snobbish know-it-all-behavior rather annoying. After all, in other worlds he tends to be worried more about going unnoticed than proving everyone wrong. Being a smart aleck in one of his favorite pastimes back home.

“It’s because you cook,” Evelyn says. “That’s what I think.”

“I think it’s because he’s smart,” Tomasz says.

Hearing his peers say such nice things about him makes the young skeleton blush blue. He isn’t used to it. Sure adults tell him he’s smart all the time, but there is something different about hearing kids older than him say it.

“Are you blushing?” Evelyn leans forward, peering into WingDings face.

“Yep, he’s blushing,” Tomasz agrees, snorting with laughter.

“We should get back to work,” WingDings stomps his foot and stands a little straighter, instigating hearty laughs out of the other too.

The following day, while WingDings is working in the scientist lair, Gaster brings up Papyrus and Undyne’s upcoming trip to refill the reservoir. Apparently this time around they’ve chosen a place that the Harpers Gang has recently been scouting because they are familiar with it. Gaster keeps pushing through the computer that it is unsafe and enticing them with other options, but Undyne wants to use this opportunity to investigate what the gang has been up to.

“Want me to go with them?” WingDings types on the computer he’s working on. It proves to be a great way to communicate without saying a word out loud.

“It’s too dangerous and you wouldn’t be able to remain hidden,” Gaster points out. “Especially if something went wrong.”

“Are you on speaking terms with Sans?” WingDings asks next.

“. . . It’s been slow going,” Gaster admits.

“Where do Undyne and Papyrus plan on going, maybe we can scout it out first?” WingDings offers.

“It’s a place we’ve already been, Crocodile Lake,” Gaster says.

“. . . Oh,” WingDings frowns. If the two water hunters go they’ll learn that it is no longer a neutral territory and they might also find out about what he did.

“Oh indeed,” Gaster sighs. “At any rate, I’ve picked out our next location and believe it would be beneficial if we went while Undyne and Papyrus were away.”

“Why?” WingDings asks.

“Because we’ll be visiting an Ally of Home, if Sans is busy watching over Papyrus he won’t be communicating with his good friend Grillby,” Gaster supplies.

“You make it sound like we can’t get in unnoticed,” WingDings says.

“Hearth Gang is a highly populated city and surrounds Whistling Lake’s entire circumference,” Gaster explains. “It will be difficult to get in unnoticed.”

“ . . . Does the Lake Whistle?” WingDings asks.

“Heh, depends on who you ask,” Gaster humors the boy.

Notes:

Woo, going at a much faster pace now. Got two pieces of his soul and of course stopped long enough to free some slaves. Not as much slice of life happening in this chapter, but the kids little conversations are such fun to write, they show up without much prompting.

Chapter 12: A Bad Dream

Notes:

Warning: momentary death and murder.

In the end WingDings has to wait another five days before Undyne and Papyrus leave for Crocodile Lake. WingDings can tell Gaster is worried about them, but the boy assures him that if one ice elemental could take out half the gang stationed there, then Papyrus and Undyne should have little trouble. When Sans is distracted by looking after Papyrus and Undyne and getting the water, WingDings heads out on his motorcycle towards the Hearth community.

“Stop!” Gaster shouts, causing WingDings to immediately slam on the brakes and slide in the sand. “One of the Arches close by just activated. Leave the bike here and get yourself to the top of that dune so I can see.”

WingDings leaves the bike and takes a shortcut carefully on top of the dark side of the dune nearby. Peeking over the top, they see a large caravan of armed vehicles headed straight for the enormous dry lake bed of what used to be Lake Winnipeg. It’s a little creepy seeing his home country in such a state, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it with the Hangman’s Gang roaring towards Hearth.

“We have to warn them,” WingDings says.

“I already told Sans, he’s already Radioed them,” Gaster says.

“Should we go home?” WingDings asks.

“. . . No, this is the perfect distraction,” Gaster muses. “I’m shocked they would attack Hearth so boldly.” As Gaster mumbles about the Hangman’s motives, WingDings slides down the dune and hops onto his bike.

Gaster’s theory proves correct, even as WingDings gets closer on his bike, both gangs are much too busy fighting each other to notice him. After stowing his bike in an abandoned radiation-filled bunker, WingDings drops into the shadows and is taken straight to Whistling Lake. At this point, WingDings no longer suffers from paralysis after Gaster moves him and he easily swims to the filtration core. As he swims around he hears the cry to arms and a loud siren wailing obnoxiously in the spacious cavern.

The Lake itself is very shallow almost all the way around except towards the direct center where it plummets down, giving the illusion it’s bottomless.

“Home is sending reinforcements, we don’t have much time,” Gaster tells the boy, as the anxious CORE being brings WingDings piece up towards the surface.

The boy unwraps his wrappings and takes the piece, going ahead and knotting the wet fabric in an attempt to keep it in place. As he ties the last knot, a low moan groans through the cavernous space, causing WingDings to analyze the area quickly. “That’s no whistle,” WingDings says softly.

“It’s because of the fighting outside I imagine,” Gaster supplies. “There are hundreds of small outlets leading outside through the bedrock of the old Lake Winnipeg which creates those sounds. The whistling walls . . . WingDings I know I probably don’t need to ask, but would you be at all averse to doing something a little reckless?”

WingDings smiles. “I really don’t need to answer that,” he says. “Of course I’ll help.”

“The Hangman’s gang is attempting to widen an old cavern to come in the back, I want you to block them,” Gaster says and marks the way with his magic.

Summoning his blaster, WingDings grabs hold of it and flies towards the place Gaster has marked for him. He can make out more than a dozen life signatures on the other side of this particular whistling wall. With the CORE’s magic, Gaster shows exactly where WingDings needs to fire to get his desired results.

Unfortunately, as WingDings fires, a guard from Hearth rounds the bend and sees the child. Assuming WingDings is the enemy he fires his gun causing the boy to miss his shot. The strong blaster’s beam veers off and causes more rubble to fall than Gaster intended. Jumping out of the way, WingDings covers his head as the rubble falls around him, his blaster protecting him from the majority of the larger rocks.

Fearful of what he has done, WingDings shifts on top of the rubble and has the air snatched out of him. His soul runs cold while the horrible adrenalin of determination heats his bones. It is power, sickening power holding him tight and filling him with terror.

They’re dead, more than half of the enemy gang is dead including the guard that startled him.

Falling to his knees, WingDings hits the rubble, his fingers digging into the torched rocks.

“WingDings it wasn’t your fault, you . . .” Gaster’s voice goes unheard when WingDings finds himself unable to breathe.

His horror builds and builds until everything is blocked out. Screaming out WingDings is unaware of a Hearth Soldier who comes upon the sight and sticks the boy with a glowing magic sword.

WingDings wakes, stretched out on cool sand and watching as the Hangman’s gang roars by.

“Oh my word,” Gaster says in a shaky breath. They are back outside on the dune in the cold night air where they started their adventure.

Clutching the sand between his wrapped fingers, WingDings turns around and swiftly slides down the dune.

“WingDings are you all right, no stupid question, child we will just try another night,” Gaster says. “Oh wait I need to be sure Sans knows.”

“I’m glad he killed me,” WingDings kicks the engine on and speeds towards Hearth. “Saved me the trouble of breaking apart or killing myself.”

“Do not dare speak that way child,” Gaster reprimands him fearfully. “No one should experience that.”

“It happens all the time in your world, Gaster,” WingDings states matter-of-factly.

“You're scaring me child, please don’t talk like that,” Gaster pleads with him. It almost sounds as if he is holding back tears. “Just because it happens, doesn’t mean it’s right or should be treated so casually.”

Hearing Gaster struggling not to cry moves WingDings soul and the boy leaves the burn of determination and death in the billowed sand behind him. “I’m sorry Mister Gaster, please don’t cry,” WingDings says.

“I’m not crying,” Gaster barks. “Now turn around and go home.”

WingDings easily short cuts his bike back in the catacombs and brings himself straight to the column of light in the lake. “Gaster?” WingDings asks, wondering if he’ll have to dive for the piece or if his guardian Gaster will bring it up for him.

“You stubborn child,” Gaster whispers and brings the piece up.

After receiving the piece WingDings takes another short cut to the whistling cavern and hides behind a boulder. He summons his blaster and this time aims perfectly, able to leave minutes before the first guard even shows up to see what he’s done.

After retrieving his bike, Gaster helps the boy avoid the coming guards from Home who are rushing to Hearths’ aid. “I told Sans about the gang in the cavern,” Gaster says as they near the arch. “They’ll take care of the rest. Is there anything I can do for you, child?”

Tears come to WingDings eyes and since he’s wearing his goggles he can’t wipe them away. Instead they pool at the rims, making his cheeks wet. “Keep me calm tonight, talk to me, don’t leave me alone,” WingDings chokes, unable to stop smiling. “Maybe you could sing again?”

“I will child,” Gaster says and proceeds to sing the song he sang all those weeks ago.

He sings for the entire trip, from the arches, to his hideout and all the way back in his bed. WingDings is able to sleep a few hours before breakfast and keeps up appearances, but his thoughts wander easily to the cave-in despite himself. It’s one thing to see himself die, but another to be the direct cause of death. He could assure himself the other times that it wasn’t he who decided to kill, but he can’t do that this time.

That night when he wakes from a nightmare Gaster is there to sooth him and sing to him.

“Are you okay WingDings?” Tomasz whispers when WingDings returns to bed after a short walk to the boy's cleaning room.

“It was a nightmare,” he answers.

“What was it about,” Tomasz asks. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“I killed someone,” WingDings answers, hoping that hearing this will make Tomasz lose interest as he slides into bed.

“That’s pretty intense,” Tomasz leans down over the bed, looking at WingDings upside down. “I’ve had dreams like that too. I’ve killed lots of people in my dreams, even people I know.”

“I . . . don’t think I’ve ever done that,” WingDings admits. He’s never dreamed it or done it in real life. . . well video games aside, but that’s another story . . .

“Count yourself lucky,” Tomasz says and after a pause of time says. “You feeling better now? I mean, all the blood is rushing to my head now so this is getting hard to do.”

Laughing WingDings uses a magic hand to push Tomasz’s head up and out of sight. “Yes, I do actually, thanks Tomasz,” WingDings says and turns over to try and sleep.

In the morning, at the scientist’s lair, WingDings learns from Gaster that Undyne and Papyrus are on their way back home after seeing just how large the Harper Gangs new base is at Crocodile Lake. When Sans and Alphys ask how Gaster knew about the gang the old man is rightly insulted and refuses to talk to them.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little . . . childish?” WingDings asks on the computer he’s been assigned.

“I’m the CORE! They know that! Of course I would know who controls the Filtered Lakes,” Gaster says indigently.

“You should still talk to them,” WingDings says.

“Not until they apologize,” Gaster says. “It’s the least they can do for their elders.”

WingDings chuckles softly under his breath when Alphys steps out of the control room. “WingDings . . . we need to . . . would you come with me please,” Alphys says, turning towards the control room. A little surprised by the request, WingDings follows her where Dr. Sobek and Sans are waiting.

“What does he want WingDings?” Sans asks, leaning back on his console, annoyed he even has to ask.

“Don’t tell him,” Gaster says.

“He doesn’t want me to tell you,” WingDings shrugs.

“That stubborn old man,” Sans hisses under his breath.

“And he shouldn’t bring a child into this,” Gaster says. “Feel free to tell him that.”

“I don’t think that will help,” WingDings says out loud. He can feel the friction between Gaster and Sans easily. Sans body language, his stiff shoulders and lowered head are tell tale signs of his displeasure and WingDings has learned to recognize Gaster’s feelings in his tone of voice.

“What did he say?” Sans asks.

Shutting his eyes, WingDings places his hands behind his back and releases a slow breath out his nasal cavity. “Gaster didn’t like that you didn’t believe him about Crocodile Lake,” WingDings explains. “He also probably doesn’t like that you guys keep ignoring his advice.”

“WingDings!” Gaster shouts, but quickly grumbles under his breath, his anger swiftly quelled by the wise child.

Alphys is the first to speak up. “I’m sorry Dr. Gaster,” she says clearly and heartfelt.

“We’re used to you being a stubborn computer, not a person,” Dr. Sobek tags on.

“Are we going to have to run every decision by you from now on?” Sans asks the room with much less tact than his co-workers.

Dr. Sobek and Dr. Alphys groan.

“Honestly Sans,” Dr. Sobek moans.

“WingDings, please leave, I don’t want to have to explain myself to him or have you be caught in the middle,” Gaster tells him. At the same time the large screen sparks to life. “Please do not bother the child with this,” it reads.

“I wouldn’t have brought him in if you weren’t so stubborn,” Sans tells the screen.

“He isn’t the only one,” Dr. Sobek reprimands the man. “Dr. Gaster has just as much right to decide what happens to Home as much as House does. He’s only trying to help.”

“He’s the reason the planet is like this in the first place!” Sans shouts.

“Please leave WingDings, this isn’t an argument you need to hear,” Gaster tells him.

Hesitant to leave with his curiosity piqued, WingDings stands there a moment before looking over to Dr. Alphys and Dr. Sobek. “May I leave please?” WingDings asks.

“Yes, you may,” Alphys says and WingDings leaves the room. He takes his seat at the computer and types to Gaster.

“So you destroyed the planet,” he asks.

“It wasn’t my fault alone,” Gaster answers honestly. “I tried to fix it, and prepare for what was to come. That’s what the Filtration Cores were designed for. Rain has returned to the world and the oceans, even ice at the poles, but it’s taken thousands of years.”

“It sounds like Sans blames you,” WingDings types.

“He does and I can see his reasons for it,” Gaster says. After a pause he softly adds. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I can see why you didn’t,” WingDings says. Destroying a planet is . . . too large and horrible for WingDings to understand, but he can see that Gaster is trying to fix what he’s done and he isn’t a diabolical fiend.

“You fight to heal yourself, to give yourself a chance to live, but don’t let your ambition and determination come at the expense of others WingDings,” Gaster says. “Learn from my mistakes.”

“A smart man learns from his mistakes, but a wise man learns from others' mistakes,” WingDings types. “Someone told me that in another world. Probably some famous person said it.”

“The original quote was from a man named Otto von Bismarck but it was a little different,” Gaster explains. “He said, ‘“Only a fool learns from his own mistakes. The wise man learns from the mistakes of others’.”

“I’d think a fool couldn’t learn from his mistakes at all,” WingDings muses.

“I’m of the same mind,” Gaster agrees, his voice becoming lighter.

WingDings is glad to hear the change in his tone and hopes Gaster can work out his problems with Sans. An hour before lunch he leaves the Scientist’s Lair and does his job with the other children. Gaster tells him that he has gone ahead and shown the scientists all of the lakes that the Harper Gang has recently taken. The numbers are alarming enough that they’ll take the information to the rest of the House and possibly their allies.

“So you’re on speaking terms?” WingDings asks as he collects the blankets from all the beds to be washed.

“More or less,” Gaster says. “We had our differences even two thousand years ago.”

“Wow, he’s old,” WingDings says. “I mean I knew they were old, but . . .”

“I told you I made them,” Gaster chuckles.

“I was half asleep when you told me that,” WingDings says defensively.

“Yes, Sans and Papyrus are old,” Gaster reiterates. “They’re the only ones, aside from myself, that were alive during that time. The only ones who remember a time when the world wasn’t just sand and survival.”

“They’ve made a good place here,” WingDings says. “I mean, if Home wasn’t here, my job of getting the pieces of my soul would be a lot harder.”

“Yes, I’m proud of them,” Gaster says. “Don’t tell Sans I said that.”

“I won’t, you’re going to,” WingDings replies.

“Heh, you clever child,” Gaster says with approval.

It is another two days before Gaster suggests they go out for the next piece, choosing early Wednesday morning to avoid the Market Day rush.

“This is going to be a little different,” Gaster tells him as they ride through the gate and across a flat desert landscape. In the distance WingDings can make out black shapes and structures against the horizon. Normally he wouldn’t be able to see them at all, but there is a full moon tonight, revealing everything on the flat land. “I want to try just letting you walk in the front door.”

“Why is that?” WingDings asks.

“Because you are going to the Spiders’ Gang,” Gaster says. “I’m hoping they will let you in.”

“Isn’t that risky? I mean Mr. Muffet didn’t seem to like me all that much,” WingDings points out.

“He is a hard man, but that doesn’t mean he is ungrateful,” Gaster assures him. “He’s been searching for you as he travels selling his goods. Doesn’t vocally speak of you, but asks his men to keep an eye out for a small feisty child on a motorcycle.”

“Why can’t you just drop me off?” WingDings asks as Gaster directs him a ways from the ruins and a little to the west.

“Because they have a powerful magic web stretched out over their lake, an impressive web spreads through the cavern and into the water itself. That’s why it’s called Weaver’s Lake,” Gaster explains. “They would sense your presence as soon as I dropped you anywhere near the filtration core.”

“So I don’t really have a choice do I?” WingDings sniffs. “What if I hadn’t saved those prisoners, then what?”

“We’d be doing the same thing and have to bring something to trade,” Gaster answers. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary anymore.”

“Trade?” WingDings asks next.

“They are merchants and craftsmen at heart,” Gaster explains patiently, always ready with a positive answer to WingDings curiosity. “If you bring something valuable, they will give you a moment of their time, if not, they’ll kill you.”

“I don’t have anything valuable,” WingDings says as he drops down into a dry lake bed and nears a shambled metal fort, complete with turrets and wired walls.

“You granted Mister Muffet his freedom, that’s valuable for the most influential man in the gang,” Gaster reassures him.

WingDings buzzes with irritation, not at all confident. He doesn’t remember Mr. Muffet fondly. Telling him to get the fuel. It made him look stupid. He doesn’t like it when others make him look stupid, especially someone he’s trying to help.

“WingDings are you ready? Keep your wits about you,” Gaster says.

“As ready as I’ll ever be I guess.”

Notes:

A shorter chapter, but the next segment worked better on its own. Now, as an adult who works with children, it always has bothered me when adults will sometimes use young people as messengers and mediators, which sort of comes across in the chapter. I also like that Gaster is protective, but still gives WingDings as much freedom as he possibly can. This is probably one of the more positive stories I’ve written concerning WingDings and Gaster’s relationship too. Next chapter is one of my favorites, see you next week.

Chapter 13: Thank You

“Is Mr. Muffet even here?” WingDings slows down as he nears the fortress of the Spider’s gang. He is not surprised when two buggies come alongside to escort him inside.

“Yes, he’s getting ready for tomorrow's Market Day,” Gaster answers. WingDings envies the older man’s calm control, wishing it were contagious as his soul pulses and bones rattle nervously. When they enter the fort and an open area acting as their garage, the men jump from their vehicles with guns pointed at his soul, with all lights from the towers trained on him too.

“I’m here to see Mr. Muffet,” WingDings tells them, clutching the handles on his bike in an attempt to hide how nervous he is.

“That’s a high demand squirt,” the tallest of the two guards says. A maintenance woman comes forward and motions for WingDings to step off his bike. WingDings does as she asks, allowing her to roll it away.

“Tell him it’s a small feisty child on a motorcycle,” WingDings supplies, pulling his bundled hands behind his back.

The guard to his left actually gives a start, recognizing the description and scrambles back into the buggy, reaching for the radio. “Get the boss, we found his guy, Over,” the human says.

“But it’s two in the morning? Over,” another voice says.

“Pretty sure he’ll forgive you, Over and Out,” the human jumps back down, returning his gun to his holster. “Put it away Harry, if what Mr. Muffet says about this guy is true then there’s no way we can shoot him.”

The tall fluffy monster grunts, but holsters his gun as well. “Follow us,” Harry says. When they near a large gate made completely of metal pipe, they wave him into a room next to the guard house. Spiders scatter across the floor when they flick on the lights.

As they push him inside the gate opens, a tall spider monster ducking through before the door is up all the way. He steps into the tiny room and WingDings nearly takes a step back, but manages to correct himself and holds his head high. He will not let this man intimidate him.

For a longer time than WingDings expects Asher Muffet stares down at him. As if he’s seeing a ghost. “I don’t believe it,” he says softly, blinking all five of his eyes at once and then one at a time. The tall spider with short black hair is wearing a white dress shirt and vest, with pressed slacks and shoes. He is the best dressed man WingDings has ever seen and the boy has to admit that he cleans up nice.

“This is the boy,” Muffet tells the two. “Get washed child, you two with me,” he says and they all leave the room.

It isn’t till they’re gone that WingDings realizes he has been holding his breath. Sighing heavily, WingDings fights with his tight nerves as he undresses.

“You did very well, WingDings,” Gaster congratulates him. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“I’m glad you do,” WingDings says, leaving his clothes on the bench, while using his magic hands to draw the bath and fill a bucket of water. After dumping water on his head he lowers himself into the tub, trying to ignore just how cold it is.

In an attempt to relax he takes a breath and as he releases it lets his body sag. He is close to relaxing when someone comes striding through the draped door again. Snapping erect faster than a soldier given the order to stand at attention, WingDings holds his arm over his ribs, guarding his soul.

To his surprise it is Asher Muffet who steps in. He’s rolled up his sleeves and is carrying clothes. “I’ve brought clothes for you to change into,” the man says before picking up his tattered rags. “I’ll have these washed for you.”

“Wait,” WingDings reaches one hand out of the tub, a magic hand appearing on top of the pile of clothes. “I . . . Sorry sir, but I have to leave by five.”

“Then they’ll be ready for you by five, child,” he says stoically and leaves the room.

Clattering his bones, WingDings glares at the heavy curtain before roughly grabbing a brush and scrubbing himself. “I don’t like this,” he mumbles, scanning himself to make sure he cleans everywhere he needs too.

“Do not worry, you are in Mr. Muffet’s care, he doesn’t bring clothes let alone touch dirty ones for just anyone. No harm will come to you,” Gaster tells him again.

“I can’t help but worry anyway,” WingDings sighs. “What if he’s like Miss Muffet.”

“Was it an unpleasant experience,” Gaster asks with honest concern.

“Mmmmm,” WingDings thinks about that time long ago, his eyes shut and his lips a squiggly line. She wasn’t bad, but she was scary and all the others he’d met after. “Hard to say.”

When he is finished, WingDings dries himself when Mr. Muffet returns. Holding the towel close, the boy watches Mr. Muffet cautiously as he scans his body with a similar device to the ones Sans used when he first arrived at Home. With a stern nod of his head, the man smiles a debonair grin at the boy. “Very good,” he says. “Please change, I'll wait for you outside.”

“You need to relax, child,” Gaster tells him.

“Right,” WingDings nods. He blinks several times and shakes his head in hopes of flinging his unease right out of himself.

After changing into a simple shirt, pants, and sandals, WingDings comes out of the washing room to Mr. Muffet.

“Welcome to the Spider Gang, what can I call you,” Mr. Muffet asks as they wait for the gate to rise in front of them.

“You can call me Roman,” WingDings supplies. “And no, that is not my real name.”

“Well aren’t you a presumptuous child?” Mr. Muffet hums, grinning down at the boy, not with disappointment or anger, but delight. “I wouldn’t expect you to give your real name, not with a history or saving prisoners from the Harper Gang.”

“Then why ask my name?” WingDings inquires.

“So I have something to call you by, Mr. Roman,” Mr. Muffet chuckles, bringing four of his six arms behind his back while the others come forward to fix the front of his vest. “I have so many questions for you, but I expect I won’t have very many answered.”

“I must be careful about what I say sir,” WingDings explains, a little tiny strain of guilt for his secrecy wiggling through his bones. He’s gotten so used to his secrets and lies and truths coming back to bite him.

“And yet, you came here anyway,” Mr. Muffet observes, leading the boy through one of several wide concrete tunnels. Unlike the entry at Home, the tunnels here have a fairly low ceiling, forcing Asher Muffet to duck down. “Honestly, if you were worried about revealing something you shouldn’t have come at all.”

“Well,” WingDings looks straight ahead, noting that some of the walls of the tunnel have been knocked down, revealing the other tunnels beyond it. He decides to be honest. “. . . you’re right actually.”

“Whatever your reasons I’m glad you came,” Mr. Muffet replies, they step out of the low tunnels and into a city built inside a crater. The ceiling of metal is held up with enormous pillars, where large intricate spider webs hang on display as if they were paintings or tapestries at an art museum. Most of the city is dark, giving the impression of nighttime.

“While your rescue was hardly flawless you did accomplish what I could not,” he continues, taking WingDings down a steep street and toward the largest house on the block. “You saved my friends and I, taking us straight to our doorstep through the arch, where the Harper Gang could not get us. I also got a valuable buggy out of it that made up for my trade losses when I was captured.”

“You’re welcome Mr. Muffet,” WingDings answers as he follows the tall man into his brick home.

“Have a seat, Mr. Roman,” Mr. Muffet takes WingDings to the sitting room where reupholstered furnishing boasts their class, proudly proclaiming their superiority to anything else around, not only because they are beautiful but by merely existing. The room is even trying to smell good, but it can’t avoid a flowery musty smell no matter how hard it tries.

As soon as he takes a seat, a woman comes in and serves him tea and cookies. “This . . . is really generous of you sir,” WingDings says, pressing his hands into his lap and quickly analyzing everything. It isn’t poisoned of course. For a moment WingDings tries to bring up Muffet’s history, but as soon as his eyes change blue the observant spider’s eyes glint with curiosity.

WingDings stops using Gaster’s magic immediately.

“Honestly child, that isn’t necessary,” Gaster hisses at him as the boy picks up the tea cup and politely takes a sip.

He dislikes tea, even after being forced to drink it so often, but he’s mastered hiding his distaste very well. “It doesn’t taste like hot water, I’m impressed,” WingDings says as he accepts a cookie.

Asher Muffet nods in approval and enjoys a cup himself. “It is hardly enough to thank you for what you did,” he answers. “Which brings us to the business at hand. You only came here because you need something that only I can provide. Is that correct? To your benefit I have it in my mind to thank you by any means necessary.”

“You . . . are correct sir,” WingDings answers, carefully meeting his eyes as he listens and speaks.

“HmHmHm, then ask Mr. Roman,” Asher Muffet declares confidently. “I am a generous man to my friends and I owe you my life. I will do you no harm.” Slowly, making his motions clear to the boy, the man leans forward and pours more tea in his cup. The spider monster is well aware of WingDings unease and wants to make it clear that such unease is unnecessary.

Taking a deep breath, WingDings holds himself tall and presses his fingers in his lap. “I need to visit your Filtration Core at the center of Weaver’s Lake,” WingDings answers.

As Mr. Muffet is returning to an upright position he stops mid-way, looking at the boy in surprise, confused by the odd and daring request. After getting over his initial shock, he slowly leans back, but doesn’t return to his upright position. Instead he adopts a thoughtful expression with his many hands finding a place to rest.

“That is no simple request Mr. Roman,” the spider says, waving one finger lightly, his eyes still thoughtful. “Now I see why you had to come and see me. I also see just how much you know.” The man smiles at WingDings and the boy doesn’t quite understand what is being implied.

“You know about the web Mr. Roman,” he states outright. “And as I understand it now, you did not need to rescue us at Stained Glass Lake. You were only there so you could get to the Filtration Core of the lake. Am I correct in my assumptions?”

WingDings presses his lips together and slowly nods his head, unable to look him in the eye. “They are not assumptions sir,” WingDings answers. For someone who’s been told not to make assumptions of anything, he is envious that this man can claim to assume anything when he’s most certainly right in his observations.

“I suppose not,” the man smiles, finally leaning back. “Then as I understand it Mr. Roman you will do no harm to the filter or take any of our water, seeing as you did no harm to the Harper Gang aside from freeing us.”

“I promise I won’t do anything to the Core,” WingDings says, bringing his strong gaze up to meet the man’s eyes once more.

“No need to promise me,” Mr. Muffet stands to his feet. “Your actions are enough to convince me.” Setting his tea cup down, the monster moves towards another room. When WingDings moves to stand he waves down at WingDings, telling him silently to stay where he is at.

“He’s using the radio to ask the mage’s and monsters to lower the web,” Gaster tells the child as he shuffles back into his seat.

“Is there anything else you would like?” the woman from before asks.

“No ma’am, the cookies are delicious,” he tells her.

“I wanted to thank you for bringing him back,” the woman continues. “He takes a lot of risks when trading in the Scarab Region, so I’m glad a kind kid like you was out there to help when he needed it most.”

“I’m glad I could do something,” WingDings answers as the woman bows her head to him.

WingDings blushes and looks away.

“The gang owes you a great debt,” she picks up the tray and leaves as Mr. Muffet enters the room.

“Come with me Mr. Roman, I will take you across Weaver’s Lake,” Mr. Muffet says.

“I can get there myself sir,” WingDings says, standing and following Asher Muffet out the door.

“If you don’t want the gang hating you, you’ll allow me to take you to the filter,” Mr. Muffet insists.

Unable to argue this point, WingDings follows the man through the city, heading towards a concrete wall. He takes WingDings up old stairs with a few makeshift improvements where time has chipped away at them. When they reach the top WingDings see’s the lake with its blue light glowing like all the others.

He is taken to a dock where a few small fishing boats are tied up. Asher Muffet climbs aboard and takes the oars as WingDings sits across from him.

“Ask him why he keeps doing everything for you,” Gaster encourages him.

Always eager to ask questions, WingDings takes his guardian up on the suggestion. “Mr. Muffet, why are you doing all this for me?” WingDings asks. “You got me clothes, are cleaning my other clothes, and now you're rowing me across Weaver’s Lake. Personally.”

“You saved my life, Mr. Roman,” he reminds the child with a chuckle. “It is I who owes you, not some servant or dutiful citizen.”

“What about the others I saved?” WingDings asks.

“They were my responsibility,” Mr. Muffet supplies. “Although I suppose if they were awake I would not deny them the opportunity to thank you.”

WingDings nods his head and looks towards the column of light.

“Tell me Mr. Roman,” the man continued. “Would you rather be thanked by a servant or from the mouth of the one for whom the favor was performed?”

“The one who received the favor,” WingDings answers and then thinks of the servant woman at the house. “But even servants have reasons to be thankful.”

“That is true, servant’s words are just as valuable, but I am not a man to let them do what I can do myself to show my gratitude.”

“You didn’t make the tea,” WingDings points out.

“Mine tastes like warm water,” Mr. Muffet laughs. “Miss Tilly can give you tea to show her gratitude and I . . .” He pulls as near to the Filtration Core as he can and stops the boat. “Can give you the best that is within my power.”

Looking from Muffet to the CORE, WingDings summons his hands and floats to the glass cylinder, putting his back between himself and the man as he removes his soul. Gaster brings the piece up for him and WingDings takes it in. When he is finished he returns to the boat and takes a seat.

“Can you keep this between us sir?” WingDings asks, not sure how much the spider monster saw or understands, but not underestimating his ability of deductive reasoning. “My own gang doesn’t even know what I’m doing.”

“I can only imagine the questions they’d have for you if they knew,” Mr. Muffet says, turning the boat and rowing back towards the city.

“Will you keep my secret,” WingDings asks again, wanting to be certain. He lifts his arm to the man, hoping he isn’t doing anything strange.

“On my word, but my actions will speak for me,” Mr. Muffet promises him, taking his arm and grasping it at the elbow. “If your gang learns of your early morning quests it won’t be by my mouth.”

“Thank you Mr. Muffet,” WingDings says.

“Please, if you are to call me Mr. Anything, call me Mr. Asher,” he says. “I feel as if my gratitude is not equal to the service you have given me.”

“Trust me Mr. Muffet, what you gave me is equal to saving a life,” WingDings grins.

“Be careful child,” Asher grins back. “You go telling me anymore and I’m sure to make more accurate assumptions.”

“I’m sure you would,” WingDings agrees, but he isn’t worried anymore.

“I’ll even do you one better and keep the secret of your power as well,” Asher tips his head. “Not just anyone knows the things you do or can control the arches so easily.”

“I . . .” WingDings wonders if he’s that stupid or this man is just that smart. He doesn’t like to think he’s careless. Unless it comes to jumping into trouble, but that’s different. “I would appreciate that sir.”

“It will be done,” Asher says with a nod of his head. “You’ve still got near an hour before five.” Asher checks the time on one of his many wrists. “Care to stay for an early breakfast.”

“I’d rather head home before anyone notices I’m missing,” WingDings answers. “But thank you for the offer, maybe I’ll see you again someday.”

“I hope so,” Asher grins. “I’ve never met a child like you.”

When they leave the boat, Asher leads him back through the city and tunnels to the entrance, where WingDings changes into his tattered clothes. “Before you go, have a muffin,” he hands him the delectable treat which WingDings gladly accepts. “My family’s famous recipe.”

“Thank you,” he eats it right then and there and hums in delight at the taste. “I really will have to see you again.” WingDings says, walking towards the gate.

“Till next time Mr. Roman, safe travels,” Asher calls to him.

After retrieving his bike WingDings roars off into the desert feeling a lot better than he did when he first came to the Spider Gang's door.

“Was that so bad?” Gaster asks.

“No, I guess not,” WingDings says sheepishly. “But he figured everything out.”

“Do not worry child, he will keep your secrets better than you can,” Gaster says.

“Can’t argue with that,” WingDings admits as he speeds through the gate, not at all bothered by the pulse of blue in his bones.

By the time he returns to his bed no one is the wiser that he ever left it. The day passes like the others, busy and overall uneventful, at least uneventful in WingDings opinion. Market Day comes and goes, by far the busiest day in the week.

Now it has become Gaster’s policy to warn WingDings which nights they’ll be going out, that way the boy can get to bed early, so it is quite a wake-up call when the voice in his head decides to wake him at three in morning.

“Hmm, what?” WingDings tries to wake, but his body still feels like lead, exhausted from all the work that comes with Market Day at the Manor.

“Child, please wake up,” Gaster’s voice wobbles in and out until a loud high pitched screech vibrates the inside of his skull.

That wakes WingDings up faster than his own alarm back home and he bolts upright, hitting his head in the wire mesh of Tomasz bed. The boy above him grunts, as WingDings flops back and groans, rubbing his forehead fervently.

“WinggggDinnngggssss,” Tomasz slurs. “What gives?”

“Sorry just a nightmare,” WingDings hisses, rubbing his head, it feels like he might have scratched it. This might as well be a nightmare.

“Oh, you okay?” he asks, still half asleep.

“Yeah, just gunna go to the cleaning room,” WingDings stands and wobbles his way to the other room where he promptly takes a shortcut to the hideout.

“I’m sorry child, feels as if you have a small cut,” Gaster says with bubbling concern.

“What’s wrong?” WingDings asks, wishing to get straight to the point.

“Another spy has found their way into the Radiation Catacombs. It isn’t Nacarat this time, but a dangerous Astigmatism named Guts,” Gaster answers. When WingDings sets his mind on going straight there the man stops him. “You aren’t going alone this time, there is no point to secrecy.”

“Who should I get?” WingDings asks.

“Undyne,” Gaster answers.

WingDings hesitates. “But she’ll barf.”

“She can handle it,” Gaster says quickly. “You need to get moving before Gut’s does anything. I really need to figure out how all these people keep getting in there.”

WingDings takes a shortcut directly to Undyne and Alphys bedroom and shakes Undyne’s arm. “Miss Undyne, wake up!” he says.

In response the fish woman jumps up on top of the bed and points several spears at the small skeleton. He really should have seen this coming, but he still flinches at the sight of the magic spears.

“It’s WingDings,” he says, pulling his arms down stiffly at his sides as his eye lights shrink to the size of marbles. “There’s trouble in the ruins.”

“What did you just say!?” Undyne’s spears vanish as she jumps onto the ground. “Take me!”

Alphys doesn’t even get a chance to be the voice of reason as WingDings does as Undyne asks, bringing her to one of the various passages. In the next second the strong woman is planting a knee down and gripping the other as she fights off her nausea. “What gives twerp, I don’t get sick when Sans does that,” Undyne grins at him.

“I’m still working on it,” WingDings answers sheepishly.

“Okay where is this punk?”

“It’s Gut’s,” he answers. “And he’s making his way to the old offices . . . Is the radiation dangerous to you?”

“Naw, we’ll just make this quick and have the doc look at me after,” Undyne races forward with WingDings following after her. “Stay back kid,” she turns his soul green and throws him a spear as she bolts towards the offices to the left.

“Hey!” WingDings shouts fumbling with the spear before clutching it in both hands. He fights against the ‘shield’ type ability, determined to help and back her up. With the shouts and crack of magic echoing down the halls and spurning him on, WingDings soul breaks free of the green mode, allowing him to move again.

As WingDings bolts down the hall a wide eyed Guts comes towards him at the far end of the hall, but the Astigmatism monster isn’t looking forward, much too focused on Undyne chasing after him. Planting his feet, WingDings throws out his hand and reaches for the monster’s soul. With Gaster’s help he turns the soul blue, distorting gravity for the monster and causing him to jump up and hit his head hard into the ceiling.

Not expecting to do that much damage, WingDings releases the soul in time for Undyne to turn the monster's soul green and fight him once more. She throws numerous spears at him, showing no mercy even as the monster gets weaker and weaker. Analyzing the monster he finds severe internal bleeding and blindness to his eye. “Undyne, you’re killing him,” he shouts at her.

Hearing him snaps the determined woman from her exhilarating fight and she allows her victim to drop to the rusted cold metal floor with a hollow bang.

“I guess San’s will want to question him,” Undyne says, rolling her shoulders and neck with a satisfying crack. “Go get him will ya.”

“Uh, yeah,” WingDings stares at the Astigmatism a moment, his body tense and soul shoving up his throat.

Since he’s never been to Sans place before he lets Gaster take him. He’s placed at the foot of the bed and identifies the smaller lump as Sans. “Mr. Astor!” WingDings grabs the blanket on Sans side of the bed and shakes it, not sure if this Sans is as heavy a sleeper as his brother back home. “Wake up sir!”

Toriel wakes first upon hearing the child and sits up in surprise. “What are you doing here child,” she asks, completely bewildered and holding a paw up towards her muzzle.

“I need Mister Astor, Miss Undyne sent me,” he rattles off, still shaking the pile of bones.

“Five more minutes Papy,” the sleeping skeleton mumbles into one of his arms.

“Sans get up!” Toriel shakes him more vigorously, unafraid of hurting him and successfully wakes him.

“Geez Tor, where’s the fire,” he yawns.

“Mister Astor, Miss Undyne is waiting for you in the Ruins,” WingDings blurts out. “She has Gut’s apprehended but he’s . . . fading fast.”

The skeleton spins around, looking at the boy as if he’s some kind of anomaly. As if his standing there shouldn’t be possible in a world where magic and teleportation exists. When the sight of the boy and his words register in the skeletons' sleep-idled brain, he curses and shoots out of bed, grabbing a shirt and vanishing from sight.

Leaving him alone with Toriel in the bedroom.

“I’m gunna go back to the Child Manor,” he tells Toriel with a smile that suggests that everything happening tonight is quite normal and expected. “It was good seeing you again.” A quick dip of his head and he’s out of sight.

Shuffling out of the boy’s cleaning room, WingDings returns to bed.

“You were gone for a while,” Tomasz says above him.

“Sorry, did I worry you?” WingDings whispers back.

“A little,” he teeters off.

“I’m okay now, go back to sleep,” WingDings encourages him, turning over himself.

“. . . Yeah, okay,” his friend agrees and turns over to go back to sleep.

What a night.

Notes:

And thus begins the last arc of the story. I love Asher Muffet. He is one of my favorite character’s in this story, even though his role is so small. As for Gut’s . . . don’t expect to see him ever again. I probably could have included that last part in the next chapter, but just goes to show how busy WingDings night is.

And any excuse to see Undyne again is good enough for me.

Chapter 14: Flowers and Chains

Notes:

Warning for Feels.

“You and I are going to be searching the ruins today,” Sans tells WingDings when he arrives at the Scientist’s Lair the next morning. “Papyrus will be joining us, but he’s properly blocking the entrance the spies have been using.”

“So . . . what are we looking for?” WingDings asks, eager to help and a little confused. If they found the entrance their enemies have been using then what do they need to do now?

“We’re going to double check and make sure there is no other way for anyone to get in here,” Sans sighs as he shifts WingDings and himself into the Radiation Catacombs.

“Is Undyne all right?” WingDings asks as he moves down the dim blue metal hall. As he walks he becomes acutely aware of the scuff marks from his early days of driving the motorcycle and hopes Sans doesn’t notice them.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Sans asks.

“From the Magic Radiation,” WingDings explains, moving into the office space and lowering to his hands and knees to get a look at the old ventilation shafts. In old movies spies always use ventilation shafts to sneak into places so it seems like a smart place to start.

“Naw, she wasn’t in here long enough for it to matter,” Sans explains. “Did Gaster ever tell you what Magic Radiation actually is?”

“No, I didn’t ask,” WingDings says, not at all blaming the old man for not telling him. He just didn’t ask the right questions, because Gaster has always been willing to attempt satisfying his curiosity.

“It’s my magic,” Gaster answers before Sans can have the honor of answering it instead.

“So it's Gaster’s magic?’ WingDings asks, not at all sure how that works.

“My original theory was that when he died his magic infected the planet,” Sans says, assuming Gaster answered the first part of the question. “Now I know it’s because he’s a ghost, hilarious.”

“I am not a ghost,” Gaster grunts. “That would be an insult to Dr. Sobek if I was.”

“Gaster says he isn’t a ghost,” WingDings says.

“Suppose so, but it’s the closest thing to describe him,” Sans says. “His magic is what’s been keeping the Filtration Cores working all these years. It’s also his magic that has kept the arches working and the computers from deteriorating.”

“Did you guy’s work out your problems?” WingDings asks as he opens another vent and looks down it. He can hear some banging a far way off and narrows his gaze suspiciously; ready to dive into the narrow space with a glowing hand to light his path but Gaster stops him.

“You're hearing Papyrus working,” the old skeleton explains to the boy. “No need to worry. He’s just finishing up.”

WingDings nods and crawls out of the duct before standing to his feet. Sans is still thinking about his answer, but WingDings doesn’t press the man, going over to a damaged wall to investigate.

“More or less,” Sans finally answers with a deep breath. “Don't worry WingDings, the grownups will work it out. We have to, heh, not like I can avoid my creator even if I wanted to.”

“Just call him your father, that is what he is” Papyrus says as he suddenly appears in the room.

WingDings jumps in surprise and points at the lanky skeleton. “You can teleport!” he says louder than his normal cadence. He didn’t mean for it to come out so loud and clears his non-existent throat. “When? How?”

“I’ve known for the last thousand years,” Papyrus says, standing tall and proud. “If you are wondering why I didn’t use the ability when we met, it's because Undyne wanted to fight our way out and I followed her directives.”

“But . . . that means, Hmmmfzzzz,” WingDings buzzes in frustration. That means all this time when he thought he’d done something amazing for Undyne and Papyrus it really wasn’t. They just went along with his rash decision and rolled with the punches.

“I do recall that Gaster used to make that same sound when frustrated,” Papyrus recalls moving towards the door. “If you have this area covered, I’ll move on to the barracks and storage units.”

“Thanks Papyrus, you’re the best,” Sans calls after him, walking up to where WingDings is standing. The boy is doing an admirable job stamping out his embarrassment from learning of Papyrus’s ability to teleport and is doing his best to return his focus to the task at hand. “So you’re pretty small for a ten year old.”

“Doctors say that stress in my early years impeded my early growth, although I guess in this case it’s Gaster’s fault,” WingDings rattles off with practiced ease, used to the question.

“I’m only following the schematic of your own skull, I wouldn’t be able to safely make you taller even if I wanted to,” Gaster explains.

“Not malnutrition?” Sans asks, unaware of Gaster’s commentary.

“Not malnutrition,” WingDings verifies, although the point can be debated after the time he spent in Saint Petra.

“Well the reason I ask is because you’re just the right size to fit in there,” Sans points to the old ventilation duct he’d been investigating earlier.

WingDings looks up at Sans with irritation. It was one thing to go in there because he suspected trouble, but another to go in simply to be cautious. “It’s filthy,” WingDings says flatly. “And you guys don’t take baths here.” It’s nice being able to speak so honestly for once, without fear of his words giving him away.

“What if I promised you a bath, then would you do it?” Sans asks, palm open to the vent.

“It’s dark,” WingDings says.

“You’ve got glowing hands right,” Sans says. “I’ve seen you use them in the lair. In fact a lot of the merchants keep asking for you, thinking you’d be ‘handy’ to have around.”

WingDings smiles, he’ll never grow tired of that joke. “I’m happy to give the scientist’s and Miss Ross an extra hand when they need it,” he moves over to the vent and slides in on his ribs. For a moment he feels a little nervous, but a hand close by helps ease the tension in his soul.

He slides some hands onto his ribs and spine, making it easier to glide through the crawl spaces without the bother of crawling. As he suspected the vents are filthy and even slimy in places from corrosion. WingDings does his best not to think about it as he systematically checks all the routes, with Gaster keeping track of his progress and making note of where the shafts are damaged. When he is finished an hour later WingDings is ready for a break and never wants to crawl through a ventilation shaft ever again.

After that they take him straight to the bath. A different bath this time, located at one of the other gates to Home. He eagerly jumps into the water, which to his delight is warm this time. “You have a scratch on your skull Bone Child,” Papyrus notes as he works at scrubbing the boy’s back.

“Oh, this morning I hit my head on the bunk when Gaster woke me,” WingDings explains.

“Make sure to scrub it clean,” Papyrus tells him. “We don’t want it getting infected.”

“I will,” WingDings lifts the scrub brush to his skull and does as the man asks.

“Is Dr. Gill aware of the state of your soul?” Papyrus asks.

“He is,” WingDings answers, noting that the other skeleton has stopped scrubbing.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Papyrus staring down at his soul with heavy concern and sorrow creasing his brows. When the larger skeleton notices WingDings looking at him, he shifts his gaze and gets back to cleaning the boy, being extra careful when brushing around the soul.

Three days later, Gaster takes WingDings to Mount Kilimanjaro in what was once Africa. Like the rest of the globe it is mostly desert, but at least he gets to enjoy the sunshine again. The three combined volcanoes still stand tall and proud overlooking the desert and capped in snow. “Where are all the animals?” WingDings asks.

“Unless they’re underground with gangs they don’t exist anymore,” Gaster says as the boy waits on top of a barren hill, overlooking the area of rocks and petrified trees.

“So they’re extinct,” WingDings says, snapping a quick picture.

“That is correct,” Gaster answers sadly.

WingDings leans forward and across the bars of his bike. “Do you think my world faces this future?” WingDings asks.

“I think this is one of many futures you could face, child,” Gaster answers. “At least that is my theory.”

“But your past is nearly identical to mine,” WingDings says. “The books are the same, the monuments, the languages.”

“And what about the people?” he asks.

“Well, I guess not,” WingDings says. “I mean I didn’t create Sans and Papyrus like you did. And Toriel isn’t thousands of years old unless you put her in a stasis of some kind.”

Chuckling, Gaster replies in the negative.

“Were you even sealed underground by humans?” WingDings asks.

“The only one who sealed a massive number of people underground was me,” Gaster answers solemnly.

Nodding, WingDings gives the area one more look before sitting up and coasting down the hill. “I know you probably hate what this world has become,” WingDings says. “But I still find it interesting.”

“Only you could say that,” Gaster says. “But since seeing again through your eyes there are moments that I have to agree with you. I can’t properly tell you just how . . . blessed I feel to experience the world again through you. I have so much power and knowledge, but . . . how I’ve missed being able to see the world, interact with it. And see that not all hope is lost. This world can be saved, things are getting better. It just takes time.”

Unseen behind his scarf WingDings smiles as he listens to his guardian, following Gaster’s directions towards a point in the mountains side. From WingDings perspective there is not an entrance to the lake, but Gaster shows him to a narrow crack a short ways up the mountain. “If you want, maybe you could live again,” WingDings speculates.

“And how is that child,” Gaster asks curiously.

“You made me a body, why not make yourself one?” WingDings asks, squeezing through the crack. “You could even remake some of the extinct animals right? When the planet is habitable again at least.”

“I . . . I could,” Gaster hesitates. “But I’m not sure I should. And it would take a lot to produce such a body, your body is incredibly difficult and still holds many flaws.”

“I’m sure you could get it right,” WingDings walks into the cavern, forced to duck several times when it becomes narrow.

For a long time nothing is said as WingDings lifts a glowing hand in front of him and follows Gaster’s guiding magic. The boy isn’t expecting Gaster to speak so is a little surprised when Gaster adds a solemn thought. “If you could have a second chance then maybe I could too,” he says.

Not understanding the man WingDings is unable to comment. He is encouraged by hearing Gaster so hopeful, but finds himself strangely spooked by the statement as well.

When he comes to the lake he is once again surprised. The cavern walls are covered in moss, with glowing blue flowers decorating the walls and even floating on the lake itself. Aside from a few small mice and other critters no one else is present, which shocks the boy. Such a beautiful place, surely someone would have found it by now. He pulls out his phone again to snap a picture of the wondrous place.

“It’s remained hidden all these years,” Gaster tells him. “There was a settlement here centuries ago, but when the lake went nearly dry they had to leave. Instead of draining the lake they left enough in order for the flowers to stay alive. Once they bloom, they do not die unless they are picked, my magic sustains them.”

Walking up to one of the flowers he taps its petals. “Don’t forget,” a voice in a foreign tongue says.

Careful not to make a sound WingDings walks to another and taps it. “I don’t know you, but don’t give up,” it says.

“I love the color green, I’ll treasure it always.”

“I danced on this lake, I wish you could see it.”

“Tomorrow will be better, make it better.”

“The end of the world is lasting longer than I thought.”

“I grew a garden here, I’ll teach others to grow.”

“Don’t forget, I love you and miss you . . . Taila.”

WingDings stops and stands near the flowers a moment, unaware of the tears in his sockets.

“I call it Memory Lake,” Gaster says. “The tribe here used to call it their Garden.”

Blinking his eyes to get the water out of his sockets, WingDings summons his blaster and quietly flies to the center column where flowers cluster around the glass cylinder. With Gaster’s help he retrieves the piece and touches one of the flowers, but it doesn’t say anything.

“These flowers are new,” Gaster explains. “Why don’t you say something to them?”

WingDings presses his lips and tries to think of something to say. He wants to say something that will mean as much as what those who used to live here had to say, but he can’t think of anything profound on the spot.

He goes to the first flower and leans down. “My name is WingDings Gaster and I want to live,” he says, flicking the petals to be sure it got everything. Instead of going back he goes to the next flower. “I’ve had a hard life, but it’s not so bad.” He moves on.

“I’ve lived. I’ve died. I’ve killed. I’ve saved.”

“And I won’t give up, so don’t you give up either.”

“My soul is broken, but I will fix it.”

“So thank you Gaster.”

“You destroyed the world, but you’re saving mine.”

“Don’t stop helping. Don’t stop doing what is right.”

“Don’t forget.”

Satisfied with what he’s done he takes a video of it for his brothers back home. WingDings backs away and returns to the opening of the cavern, taking a picture with his phone one more time before he leaves. Gaster is silent, but WingDings can feel the ache of sorrow and joy washing his bones like warm rain. He doesn’t say anything to break the silence and speeds off to the arch.

“Thank you WingDings,” Gaster finally says as they speed through the arch and enter the cool night of the canyon.

“You’re welcome and . . . Thank you too Gaster,” WingDings says back and warps back home.

Later that day, when it is officially sun up without any sun, WingDings trades his ‘Iliad’ book for ‘The Skull of Truth’ and goes through his daily routine until Undyne and Papyrus show up after dinner. Apparently it’s Marcus and Angelica’s birthday and the two come over to play board games with them. Birthday’s, unless you're turning fourteen, aren’t big celebrations, but Amy does make a point to remember and give them a sweet treat when she can.

In this case Marcus and Angelica get to move their things to the other rooms, joining the older kids. That’s when WingDings remembers when Marcus first told him he’d be turning ten in a couple months. Has he really been on this planet that long already?

“Now I get to bunk across from you!” Marcus says happily as they get ready for bed. “This is the best night ever!”

“Welcome to the big boys, MK,” the self proclaimed leader, Jay, tells him. “Looks like we got a full room now.”

The boys cheer and whoop and holler until Amy knocks on the aging paneling of the door.

“Feels like we met a milestone,” Rize says from his bunk.

“All twenty-four beds,” another echoes.

“Bet that’s never happened before,” Tom croaks.

“What if we get more boys?” another asks.

“Amy will just put another bunk in here,” WingDings answers, halting any unspoken fear that they might get kicked out or forced back into the little kids room.

“Yeah, we’ve got room,” another agrees.

“Lights out,” Amy calls and WingDings turns the switches. “And WingDings is right, I’d just get another bunk and chests.” With everyone’s fears relieved, before they knew they had any. The boys spend the rest of the night quietly chatting until drifting to sleep.

Over the next several days WingDings begins preparing for his trip to the next lake, which according to Gaster is going to be freezing cold unlike the rest of the planet.

The reason for this?

The next piece is in Antarctica. While Skeletons are fairly tolerant of extreme temperatures, that doesn’t mean it doesn't affect them. As WingDings learned as a Beast and his time on the streets, he can still suffer from overheating and frozen bones. If anything he has to be more careful since it’s harder to tell.

Late Wednesday night the boy works on trying to sew some leg warmers, only returning to bed sometime after midnight. He’s sleeping soundly until four-thirty in the morning when Amy shakes his shoulder. For a second his eyes glow a vibrant blue, but settle when he realizes who it is. “Get dressed,” she says and leaves the room.

Doing as he is told, WingDings dresses and heads down to the hall where Sans and Papyrus are waiting. “Thank you Miss Amy,” Papyrus says. “He’ll be back by thirteen hundred hours.”

“Bring him back safely,” she says stiffly, worry etched in every contour of her face. Before going upstairs she turns to WingDings. “You do everything as they tell you WingDings.”

“Yes Miss Ross, I will,” he answers, confusion ebbing through his gaze.

She nods stiffly at him, still clearly worried, but leaves them at the entryway, going back up the stairs. Sans motions for WingDings to follow and they leave out the door.

“You’re taking me to the market?” WingDings asks incredulously.

“We couldn’t think of anything else,” Sans explains.

“Gaster mentioned something to me in passing,” Papyrus says as they walk down the steep path.

“He talks with you?” WingDings asks.

“Yes, through the radio,” Papyrus answers and WingDings has to agree that this makes a lot of sense. “He mentioned that he can see things through your eyes, this is how you located the little girl Nola. Even through solid objects to hidden places.”

“Yeah, she was very sick at the time,” WingDings says.

“Well, we need you to use that ability to make sure we don’t get any stowaways,” Sans continues. “But the official reason you're coming is to help unload goods for trade.”

“I can only lift so much weight,” WingDings confesses.

“Just do the best you can,” Sans says. “Also let us know if any orphans climb on board.”

“You’re not going to make me stop them are you,” WingDings asks, knowing that he could never do that.

“No Bone Child, we don’t want the orphans wandering places they shouldn’t,” Papyrus explains.

“Speaking of orphaned children that brings us to our next item of business,” Sans continues. “You’re an orphan and typically the market . . . isn’t the best place for them.”

“They are bought and sold like cattle,” Papyrus growls.

“Which means we have to put a leash on ya,” Sans says.

“Why not just have me check the vehicles when you get back,” WingDings asks.

“We want to catch them getting on,” Sans explains. “It’s too risky waiting to check when we’re already Home. One of these days they’ll figure out where we live and they’re getting better at it.”

WingDings goes silent and doesn’t make any motion to respond, taking on a contemplative look, staring at the graveled ground, but secretly he is ecstatic! He’s always wanted to go to the market, but those dreams were dashed nearly as soon as he’d even had the idea. It would be a great opportunity to trade for some heavier furs he needs, but Sans mentioned being on a leash. Whatever that means.

“I’ll be happy to help,” WingDings finally says.

“Be careful WingDings,” Sans warns him. “Trust me I wouldn’t be agreeing to this if I had another option, but we can’t keep having spies sneak in and Gaster’s magic is just what we need.”

“I’ll be careful,” WingDings promises.

“And don’t draw attention to yourself,” Sans says.

“I won’t,” WingDings says, still smiling.

Sans doesn’t appear confident but he is forced to drop it when they enter the garage and greet the merchants and traders assembled and loading up the buggies. They put WingDings to work right away, having him move boxes with his magic hands and making their work a lot easier. He’s his own assembly line.

Just as dawn is tinting the sky, Sans calls WingDings aside with a chain and shackles on both ends. “I feel cruel doing this, but it’s for your safety,” he says, reaching down and locking one shackle to WingDings ankle, until the boy lifts his foot and it just falls through.

The shackle is made for an adult, showing that Home is not used to dealing with children slaves. A good thing to be sure, but a problem for the present matter at hand. They next try his wrist and it is no surprise when it easily slips off. “I’m guessing the holes are a little more sensitive.”

“They are,” WingDings answers.

“Sorry kid,” Sans lifts the shackle and puts it around WingDings neck, locking it shut.

“I can just teleport out of it,” WingDings reminds Sans softly, hoping to make the other skeleton feel better about this.

“But nobody else knows that,” Sans reminds him and shackles the other end to his own wrist.

“Everything’s loaded up, let’s go Big Bones,” Undyne shouts at him over the roar of her Baby Grand.

“Can you tell Sans he’s a hypocrite,” Gaster says, breaking his long silence during this entire process.

“Gaster says you’re a hypocrite,” WingDings tells Sans as the man hoists WingDings up into the buggy.

“He’s right,” Sans agrees, putting a mask over his entire face, before putting one on WingDings. Everyone is putting on their masks and turning on their engines. A roar echoes through the garage closely followed by eager yelps and hollers. Undyne leads the gang, shooting out ahead and zooming for the nearest arch.

A rush of excitement races through the boy as he is jostled in the back along with their supplies.

“I’m glad you're excited child,” Gaster says, the breath of a sigh barely passing his invisible lips.

“Is something wrong?” WingDings asks.

“This is extremely dangerous,” Gaster states, thinking it obvious. “They were reprimanding me for putting you in danger and now they are doing the exact same thing, only you won’t have the same freedom to protect yourself.”

“I don’t see why not?” WingDings says.

“Members of the Harper and Snarls Gang will be present,” Gaster explains. “You need to be aware that both of these gangs are furious with you and are actively trying to hunt you down. If you use your Blaster, bones, or teleport for any reason they’ll know who you are and then Home will be under their scrutiny. As it stands now Home has not done anything to harm the Harper gang's pride, but you have.”

“You make it sound like I did something wrong,” WingDings mumbles. Beside him Sans looks at him oddly, but the skeleton can’t hear the boy clearly over the roar of the motor. Even so WingDings decides to choose his words cautiously.

“No child, you did the right thing, I wouldn’t want it any differently,” Gaster explains. “I just want you to know the danger.”

“I understand,” WingDings nods. Some of his excitement has diminished with Gaster’s warning swimming in his skull, but as soon as he catches sight of ‘The Pit’ his excitement returns tenfold.

‘The Pit’ is just as its name suggests. A large pit blasted perfectly into the dry earth, leaving a nearly perfect circle. High walls and natural cliffs go around the perimeter, blocking out the sand and much of the sun. There are long pieces of cloth draped over the top of the hole, all the way down the sides, layer upon layer, bolted into the steep sides or erected on steel rods. Along the perimeter are six entry points, all spiraling down or cut steeply out the sides. WingDings wouldn’t want to be caught inside this place if the gangs decided to have a fight, but the deep pit is the perfect place to escape the dangerous sand and scorching heat.

Leaving their buggy near the west exit, WingDings allows Sans to carry him down, before he gets to work unloading the crates of goods for the merchants, putting everything into roughly made low riding carts. When he has the opportunity to look around he is in wonder of the market's layout. It’s more like a city than a simple once a week market with metal crafted stalls and permanent structures lining the dirty streets. Without thinking WingDings walks towards the city, but is stopped when the chain goes taunt and holds him back.

WingDings grumbles, but walks back towards Sans, who hands him a sandwich. As he follows Sans, rolling the crates of goods with his magic hands, WingDings eats the sandwich and accepts a canister of water from Undyne. When they’re all done with their breakfast, Sans picks up a heavy satchel and hands WingDings a smaller bag to carry. “Stay close,” he says, walking out into the street. “Got a few things to trade while I’m here.”

Nodding eagerly, WingDings steps beside him as they walk into the street. As they walk, WingDings’ smells, not the rotting stench of sand or the burn of the sun, but the enticing aroma of warm food, the cool sting of metal, and sweaty people. He could go without the stench of filthy humans and monsters, but the rest is a delight. Around him are interesting smells and above him are the stretched pieces of colorful cloth casting a multitude of colors on the dirt streets.

“Why don’t they have a market every day?” WingDings asks softly as Sans stops at a stall to trade a book for another book.

“Some come daily,” Gaster gladly informs him. “The Spider and Diamond gangs for example have permanent structures here that they man nearly every day. But most everyone else only comes on Thursday to avoid traveling the desert. There is talk of some gangs participating more often, but as long as the Harper, Diamond, Steel, Snarl, Packard and Cherry gangs remain hostile, it is doubtful that will ever happen.”

“Now, it is likely you’ll be passing by Mr. Muffet at some point,” Gaster tells WingDings mentally. “It will be easier if you don’t make eye contact with him.”

“Hey Mister Muffet, just the man I need to see,” Sans greets as he turns around the block to a structure made of sheet metal and brick.

“Unless, of course, Sans has business with the man,” Gaster sniffs.

WingDings keeps his eye lights down cast as they walk right up to the spider mans business, with Sans reaching into the window with his unchained arm to grip one of Mr. Muffet’s arms. Without any hesitation at all, the spider returns the gesture, reaching forward with another hand to pat Sans shoulder.

“I’ve been meaning to see you for a while Mr. Muffet,” Sans says. “But I keep missing ya.”

“I’ve had others running the front recently,” Asher explains, leaning forward, showing his genuine interest in Sans and the coming conversation. “What can I do for you today Mr. Astor?”

“I actually came with your order,” Sans reaches over to WingDings and takes the bag from his hands. “You said you wanted me to deliver it directly to your hands so that’s what I’m doing.”

“So I did, Mr. Astor, so I did,” Asher eagerly takes the bag while reaching with another to get Sans what he’s requested, which happens to be a crate of seeds, jars of tea, and baked goods.

“Mmmm, yes, you make the best there is,” Sans says, eagerly taking the box and handing it to WingDings. “My wife loves the tea your clan makes, nothing in Home comes close.”

“I’ll deliver the rest of your request later,” Mr. Muffet tells him.

“He means information about the Harper gang’s activity,” Gaster adds for WingDings before the spider continues speaking.

“But I have to say Mr. Astor,” Asher says, standing upright and clasping his hands in front of himself. “HmHmHm, as much I respect you, I must draw attention to the chained boy beside you for you see I do not think Mrs. Astor would approve of slavery.” At this point Mr. Muffet looks down at WingDings, his eyes scrutinizing him with curious concern.

WingDings smiles up at the man in reassurance.

“He is not a slave,” Sans assures the man. “Merely chained to keep anyone from running off with him.”

“Ah, that comes as a great relief Mr. Astor,” Asher relaxes his shoulders, one hand lightly picking up a spider crawling across the counter to put it on his shoulder. “You are well aware of how unsavory I find that practice.”

“I am,” Sans nods his head. “You have nothing to worry about. Home isn’t changing its mind about that any time soon.”

“Then have a muffin child, on the house,” Muffet reaches forward to hand WingDings the muffin.

As the boy reaches out eagerly for the treat another person comes to stand beside him. “Mr. Muffet, it’s good to see you manning your stall again,” a dark familiar voice says, making WingDings bones shift uncomfortably. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you again.”

When WingDings looks up he is horrified to see the black wafting curls of Flint’s smoky head, lazily drifting in the dusty air. Swiftly, Sans shoves WingDings in front of him, pinning the boy between himself and the stall, with his body hunched protectively over him.

The very last person any of them wanted to see.

                                                   

Notes:

Okay so that scene with the echo flowers gets me every time. Might not hit anyone the same way it hits me, but attempts were made. Also we get to see Asher again, hurray! I might be the only one excited to see, but that’s okay. Sans also has a prominent role in this chapter.

Have some old art of the Echo Flower's Lake. I drew this I think before I even wrote this chapter years ago.

Chapter 15: Not a God

There stands the very last person anyone of them wants to see, Flint. What makes it worse is the confident man obviously has no problem being in the presence of those who hate him.

“Mr. Muffet, it’s good to see you manning your stall again,” Flint says, making WingDings wish he was someplace else. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you again.”

“I can’t be everywhere at once, Mr. Flint,” Asher says, two of his hands lie flat on the counter, while the others grab hold of his stylish coat. “Is there anything I can do for you sir?”

“Got any of those donuts? I’ll take some off your hands for these old buttons and thimbles I found,” Mr. Flint says, taking a leather bag from under his coat and dangling it in front of the merchant.

“That is hardly a fair trade Mr. Flint,” Asher says, keeping up his formal control and not even glaring at the thug.

“Oh it’s not?” Flint puts the bag back and then notices WingDings with his muffin. “Not my fault your goods are so expensive.”

Right as Flint makes a move to snatch the muffin right out of the boy’s hand, WingDings defiantly stuffs the whole thing into his mouth, glaring daggers at the elemental.

“Heh, smart kid,” Flints brings his hands back, his glowing eyes sparking back at the boy. “Still got him chained up I see.” Apparently, it would be unreasonable to hope that Flint wouldn’t recognize the skeleton child from his arrival to this world.

Sans doesn’t honor the man with a response and prods WingDings away from the stall, putting himself between WingDings and Flint. “Until next time Mr. Muffet, thanks for the business,” Sans calls to Asher.

“Always a pleasure Mr. Astor,” Asher nods to the man, giving a polite wave.

WingDings is about to thank the man as well until Flint speaks up again. “How much for the kid,” Flint shouts after Sans.

“Don’t look back,” Sans whispers to him. “Keep walking.”

“Hey, I mean it, I’d be willing to trade a buggy for that kid,” Flint haggles behind them before laughing callously.

As soon as they turn the corner Sans takes a shortcut and they disappear back to Homes trading stalls. WingDings finally has the opportunity to chew and swallow his treat. He wishes he could have savored the muffin, but better to eat it all at once than have that evil man get what is his.

“Okay, Undyne you’re on babysitter duty,” Sans says, unlocking the clasp and putting it around the woman’s wrist.

“What!?” Undyne looks at her wrist and then at Sans as if he’s committed some kind of atrocity. “You can’t just . . .”

“Have fun,” and in a flash he’s gone.

“That big boned piece of shit,” Undyne curses and then turns to look at WingDings who takes the opportunity to smile up at her innocently. It’s his go to expression when adults are frustrated. “Well I guess it’s you and me twerp.” Leaning down, she turns her back to him. “Hop on up, it will be way easier.”

Not seeing a reason to deny her, WingDings climbs onto her shoulders. When she stands, the boy grins happily, uplifted in more than one way after his encounter with Flint. Undyne does this with him all the time back home so it eases his distress faster than anything else could.

Although the muffin helped too.

“Sans ran into Mr. Flint,” WingDings tells Undyne.

“That bastard?!” Undyne shouts.

“Yeah, but he got the slip on him,” WingDings says.

“Good, he doesn’t deserve any of your time,” Undyne tells him. She proceeds to go around the Home merchant stalls and makes sure everything is going smoothly. Her job is to make sure the merchants are treated fairly and to keep them safe. A task she can easily do even with WingDings riding on her shoulders.

“That confrontation with Flint could have gone a lot worse,” Gaster says as WingDings watches the merchants and traders contently. “Flint is the one who captured Asher Muffet in the first place, but neither wants anyone else to know.”

“Hmm?” WingDings buzzes. Just enough noise to let Gaster know he wants to know more, while not cluing Undyne into the secret conversation taking place in his head.

“Asher Muffet doesn’t want the other gangs to know he was captured because it will make his gang appear weak and Flint doesn’t want the other gangs to know so he doesn’t make any more enemies than he can handle,” Gaster explains. “Although I’m sure Flint was fishing for a little insight from Muffet about his escape. That merchant will sooner spin him in a web than tell him anything he wants to know.”

As WingDings ponders what this might mean for him Undyne takes him down from her shoulders and hands him a bowl of dumplings for lunch. Thanking the merchant for the meal, WingDings eats and listens as the merchants gossip about the people they’ve met and the bargains they’ve made. After lunch they begin closing everything up and WingDings helps load the buggies.

He also uses Gaster’s magic to do his main job and check for any stowaways. After verifying with Sans that no one has snuck on board their vehicles, they drive up the west exit and out into the desert. WingDings keeps an eye out the entire time, but luckily no one dares hitch a ride. It’s probably too soon after the capture of Guts for the gang to dare try again.

“No stowaways,” WingDings tells Sans in the back of Baby Grand.

“Good, hate for them to be that daring to try twice in a row,” Sans shouts over the blast of wind and roar of the engine.

“Why?” WingDings asks.

“Spies ain’t cheap,” Sans says. “And I doubt any want to join Guts right now.”

Confused WingDings lowers his brows, wondering if prison really is that bad.

“They kill spies, child,” Gaster answers his unspoken question.

Eyes wide, WingDings lowers his head and stares at one of the crates. He had no idea capturing Guts meant he would die, Nacarat didn’t die after all. The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

When they arrive back at home, everyone takes a bath in tubs that have been prepared beforehand. WingDings is glad to be rid of the chain, not because it made him feel dehumanized, but because it was uncomfortable. After helping the merchants unload and clean their goods, WingDings returns to the manor a little past one with a muffin from Sans and new gloves. Now he won’t have to bandage up his hands when riding his bike.

Not that Sans knows this.

At dinner every kid wants to sit next to WingDings, grilling him about his experience at the market. He has nothing to hide and gladly tells them about his time with Undyne, unloading the boxes, and his encounter with Flint. His favorite part of the story is when he eats the muffin before Flint can steal it and it earns laughs and gasps of approval from his peers.

“Will you be going again?” Marcus asks as they settle into their bunks for the night.

“I think so,” WingDings says. “The merchants really like my magic hands ability, makes their jobs a lot easier.”

“Were you okay with it?” Tomasz asks above him. “I mean didn’t they have to chain you?”

WingDings shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad, they never yanked or pulled on it,” he explains. “It was a little uncomfortable.”

“Maybe you can wear a scarf next time,” Marcus suggests.

“Hmm, that’s a good idea,” WingDings agrees.

“Lights out,” Amy says and WingDings gladly turns over to get the rest he needs.

Over the weekend WingDings continues to collect what he needs for his arctic trip and also has to make an unplanned visit back to Paris to get the rest of what he needs. The trip won’t last long, but arguably it doesn’t take a long time to freeze in Antarctica. By Tuesday he’s ready for his trip and bundled up as snug as an Inuit. Which are a northern hemisphere people, but WingDings thinks the analogy still works.

Traveling across the ice is much harder and he slips and slides when he goes too fast. It is also difficult to see, not because it is dark, but because of the falling snow and sleet. When he reaches an icy cavern, WingDings is forced to leave his bike out front and slip along smooth glistening ice, making the boy feel as if he’s on a dark slide. As he goes further down light permeate from the ice.

When he reaches the bottom the lake filtration is glowing bright as always, its crystal blue light reflecting off the ice and making them glow in various shades of blue. Deep vibrant blues, the likes of which WingDings has only seen in some of the tapestries in the Manor or Dr. Gill’s paintings. Carefully he steps onto the frozen portion of the lake, easing out and only summoning his blaster when he hears the fragile ice crack under his light bones.

“Would hate to fall into that,” WingDings says as the howl of wind echoes along the smooth ice.

“The water is actually warm from the core, but you’d freeze once you got out,” Gaster verifies as he brings WingDings soul piece up for him. After retrieving the piece he quickly bundles up. With his task complete the boy takes a moment to admire the space.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this before,” WingDings admits, retrieving his phone and taking a picture. “I’ve been to a lot of places, but I think I’ve traveled more in this world than I’ve ever traveled before.”

“Not an ideal vacation, but you have seen quite a lot of this world haven’t you,” Gaster says.

“And it will soon be over,” WingDings sighs. “I don’t like saying goodbye. I always meet such nice people and see such interesting things.”

“All of them nice?” Gaster asks, knowing this isn’t the case.

“Not all of them,” WingDings rolls his eye lights. “But the good makes up for the bad.”

“I’ll miss you too WingDings,” Gaster says. “I won’t forget.”

“Neither will I,” WingDings says and flies off for the entrance.

Everything is going smoothly that day until Marcus comes up to him after dinner to play a game of checkers. There is nothing too odd about this until the boy leans forward and asks a question that makes WingDings scramble for an answer. And it’s such a simple question too.

“Where were you last night?” Marcus asks. “You’ve been gone nearly every night since I got my new bunk.”

“. . .” WingDings presses his lips and looks around to make sure no one is paying attention. “I’m not doing anything bad.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

“If Miss Amy caught you out of bed, you’d have to sleep outside on the porch,” Marcus says a little louder than WingDings appreciates.

WingDings summons his hands and clasps them around the boy's mouth, looking around again swiftly. He’s at a loss for what to do and Gaster isn’t offering any words of wisdom. “Why didn’t you tell her?” WingDings finds himself whispering.

“(I dom dink yoo ad) I don’t think you're bad,” Marcus says behind WingDings hand. “(Err yoo awn am abvenpure) Are you on an adventure?” It’s difficult to make out, but WingDings can understand him since he’s close enough.

“Well . . .”

“Oh, oh,” Marcus manages to open his mouth despite WingDings efforts to keep it clamped shut. “Did Papyrus and Undyne ask for your help,” he continues enthusiastically. “Or maybe it’s for the Scientist’s Lair. Or Market Day! Did you discover another cure? Are you a spy? Do you help . . .?”

Unable to take it anymore, WingDings falls back on bad habits and stands to his feet. As expected everyone notices and looks straight at him with big curious eyes. “I . . . need to think,” he climbs over the bench and briskly makes his way towards the entrance hall. He needs to get away and think.

“WingDings,” Marcus calls after him, jumping over the bench and chasing after him. “Why do you always run away?”

“WingDings you should talk to the boy,” Gaster finally suggests.

“And that worked out the other times?” WingDings blurts as he walks into the bedroom.

“You can talk to adults and yet around children you falter?” Gaster asks.

“WingDings, I can keep a secret,” Marcus says, scrambling after him, eager to please him.

Turning around, WingDings tries to speak, but nothing comes out and he ends up turning around to grab his nightshirt from the chest.

“He just wants to be your friend,” Gaster explains to the baffled WingDings.

“But we are friends,” WingDings says in frustration. The boy in front of him shifts uncomfortably wondering who the skeleton can possibly be talking too.

“He wants to impress you and share this secret with you,” Gaster continues. “It makes him feel special.”

Slowly WingDings looks back at the boy who appears very confused, but is still invested enough to wait for WingDings response. “Can you keep a secret?” WingDings asks.

Marcus eagerly nods his head.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, after dinner,” WingDings says. “But not here.” He makes a point of looking around the room and all the eyes staring at them.

“Okay WingDings, I can wait till then,” Marcus says eagerly and goes to his bunk to get ready for bed.

“What? You’ll tell him your secret, but not your bunk mate?” Tomasz’s head appears, startling WingDings and causing his eyes to sputter with magic.

“GrRrrMMMmm,” WingDings grumbles, slamming his hands against his skull. “Tomorrow after dinner.” He grumbles.

“Sweet, don’t worry I’ve got your back,” Tomasz promises and disappears back into his bunk.

Groaning, WingDings flops into bed and even with Gaster’s assurance that it would work out he finds it nearly impossible to sleep.

The next day after dinner, WingDings meets the boys out on the porch bringing Chinese checkers with him. As he sets up the game both boys help set up the tiny rock pieces. Marcus’s tail is swaying with excitement, but neither boy presses him for the answer right away.

WingDings goes first and waits for the others to take a turn before sucking in a breath and lowering the collar of his shirt. With a shaky finger he brings out his soul and shows the boys. “This is my soul,” WingDings says softly as if he’s introducing them to someone.

Both of the boys look at it with wide eyes, mouths agape as they stare at the strange soul.

“It’s a red human soul,” Tomasz says.

“And white too,” Marcus quickly adds.

“I’m on a quest to find the white pieces of my soul,” WingDings explains as he returns his soul back to his ribs. He takes his turn, but doesn’t look up again even after he’s moved his piece. “They’re in different places, so I’ve been sneaking out at night to get them.”

“I can’t believe I never noticed,” Tomasz hits his forehead like he’s missed something obvious.

“I only noticed because I was so excited and couldn’t sleep,” Marcus admits. “After that I would try to stay up to see if you were really leaving.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” WingDings says. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“It’s a promise,” Tomasz lifts his arms and WingDings grabs it by the elbow. For Marcus they headbutt to seal the agreement.

“Thank you,” WingDings says. “You guys have helped me out a lot.”

“We have?” Marcus’s brows squeeze together, skeptical of any help he might have shown to WingDings for the past several months.

“Yes,” WingDings says. “And it’s your turn Tomasz.”

“Oh right,” Tomasz takes his turn, still pondering over what WingDings has said. The older boy is trying to figure something out given his stiff brows and straight lips.

They finish their games, but before WingDings can retreat Tomasz finally speaks up. “How do you survive out there?” he asks.

“I have someone helping me,” WingDings explains. “I wouldn’t have been able to get far without him.” Wishing to avoid more questions, the boy leaves the porch and puts the game away in the chest.

At four-thirty in the morning WingDings is woken by Amy to get ready to leave for the Market. He meets Sans and the others in the garage and asks if they can give him a scarf or something to help with the shackle around his neck. Papyrus gladly accommodates him by letting the boy borrow one of his red scarves.

Unlike last time, WingDings is handed off to Undyne right away with Sans claiming it’s too dangerous for the boy to be walking around the market. Disappointed with this change, WingDings finds himself fighting boredom, stuck with the merchants at the stalls. He’s busy following a spider with his eye lights when he looks up to see an unwelcome sight come up to Mr. Garoldo’s textile booth.

“Looks like you’re stuck with the kid this time Ms. Undyne,” Flint says, leaning one hand to his lean hip. “Maybe I can buy him off you.”

Grinning in such a way that shows anything but mirth and joy, Undyne flashes all of her dagger-like teeth at the man. She turns her back to him and picks WingDings up, hoisting him onto her shoulders. She then proceeds to walk away giving Flint the finger. The man only laughs at the gesture and says something unsavory, making WingDings tune him out.

Until he sees the line of slaves chained behind the man.

As Flint turns around, he walks up to the train of prisoners, motioning for his gang of lackeys to keep going. WingDings grips Undyne’s head a little harder and analyzes the slaves. They are from various places or no place at all, having been traded as slaves all their lives, but what really hits WingDings hard is seeing two floral elemental kids at the back of the line, younger than himself. They appear sickly thin and have no green flora on their bodies like they should.

“I want to save them,” WingDings eyes spark red and Gaster grunts.

“You can’t save them WingDings,” Gaster sighs. “And if you did it would be very difficult.”

“Can it be done,” WingDings asks again, Undyne none the wiser. She doesn’t understand WingDings font and assumes the boy is simply cursing out Flint as he walks away down the street.

“. . . It can, but we can’t take them anywhere safe,” Gaster explains. “We can only free them and hope they run.”

“What about the kids?” WingDings asks.

“We can smuggle them home,” Gaster says. “But only the children.”

“Understood,” WingDings accepts this compromise.

As Gaster lays out the plan, WingDings keeps track of the group of slaves as they travel through the Market with Flint and his gang, picking up a few more slaves as they go along. The Gaster duo wait to make their move when Undyne takes a seat and becomes invested in her conversation with a fellow Home merchant. As she begins to use her hands in wide arches to describe her harrowing escape from the Snarls Gang, WingDings slips into the crate she is sitting on. Once hidden he vanishes, letting Gaster take him underneath a fruit seller's stall, close to the shuffling prisoners.

They are on their way back to the Harper Gang's large transport buggy, passing through a narrow alley to get there. This is when he makes his move. Summoning his hands under the prisoners suppression breastplates and onto the chains around their feet, WingDings grabs hold of the items and causes them to vanish straight into his loot box, just like he did long ago with Sans Warp Hoop.

There is a cry of surprise from one of the prisoners as the weight is mysteriously lifted from them. A second later the slaves scatter, bowling over the guards and Flint in their mad rush to escape and hide. WingDings focuses on the kids, grabbing their shoulders beneath their clothes and dragging them to his hiding place.

Flint notices the screaming children and once he’s on his feet scrambles after them.

Taking hold of the kids and covering their mouths, WingDings takes a shortcut and appears in a canvas under the bench in one of Homes’ buggies. As soon as they reappear the kids gag, but they have no food in their stomachs to lose. One of them starts to cry and WingDings holds her tight.

“I’m here to help, please don’t scream,” he says gently. The children are shaking like fall leaves, but aside from a few snuffles they remain silent. They can’t see each other because of the heavy canvas, but he can hear them and feel them in his arms. “Are you orphans?”

“Yes,” the girl quietly answers.

“Would you like to go to Home?”

“Yes!” they both croak.

“That’s where you’re going,” WingDings promises. “Stay here and be quiet.” He pulls out some food and water from his inventory and hands it to the two. “We’ll talk later.”

With the kids taken care of for now, WingDings reappears in the crate with Undyne none the wiser. The whole escape only takes seven minutes to do, but there is one small snag in the plan. WingDings reaches down and holds the shackle that is meant to be around his neck. “Gaster, what do I do?” WingDings whispers, starting to panic.
“Can you hold it in your magic hands and teleport into it?” Gaster asks.
“I’ve . . . I’ve never done anything that precise,” WingDings buzzes. Just a few centimeters off and he’d kill himself. Then he’d have to save those kids all over again.

“You have several times,” Gaster corrects him. “Just picture what you want and I’ll take care of the rest if you’re scared.”

Reassured by this promise WingDings does as he’s told and successfully shifts back into the collar. A minute later WingDings hears the cries of outrage from the Harpers gang as they search the market for their missing merchandise. When Undyne stands to her feet, WingDings shuffles out of the box as Flint goes searching through their stalls, making people move and shoving boxes as he searches haphazardly.

“Where are they!” Flint shouts at Undyne.

“I’ve been here the whole time!” Undyne shouts right back, adding a curse word in there instead of his name that bears not repeating.

Flint looks about ready to contest her, but he isn’t an idiot. Spitting soot into the dirt he moves on to the next stall, shouting every sort of curse there is while searching for his slaves. Papyrus comes jogging up to Undyne and watches as Flint goes, leaving a trail of angry and fearful merchants in his wake.

“What’s got him all upset?” Undyne asks, gesturing furiously after the man.

“I do not know,” Papyrus says. “He’d have to set something up to be upset.”

“PPffff,” Undyne laughs and hits the bony man on the shoulder. “Good one.”

WingDings is too busy watching Flint and the other members of the Harper Gang sweep the stalls to appreciate the terribly scrambled meaning of the words. He keeps a careful eye on them, especially when they search the buggies, but none of the slaves are found, having hidden themselves in plain sight or finding their friends.

When it is time to leave, WingDings helps the Home merchants load the crates and scans the buggies for spies. One spy is found and quickly disposed of by Undyne, who slugs them into a pile of junk. WingDings also tells them that there are two children stowed away, but they don’t draw attention to them.

No one has reason to suspect WingDings, but the boy doesn’t imagine the critical eye Sans is giving him. Luckily for the boy, Sans can’t read his mind or see what he’s done entirely, he can only judge someone who’s done a crime after all or if someone is lying to him outright. When they get back they retrieve the children from under the seat, bathe them and let Miss Amy know that she’ll have a seven and eight year old joining her in Child Manor. This will bring their numbers up to ninety-two.

They’ll need to get more books.

WingDings has the opportunity to take the two siblings up to the manor. He tells them about his time there and how nice everyone is. He also warns them of the harsh punishments for stealing and wandering off, but given the kid’s expressions and souls he rather doubts they’d even consider it. “You’re going to like it here,” he tells them as they pass the dried out fountain with the broken statue.

“Were you the kid that saved us?” the boy asks, stopping where he is.

“What makes you say that?” WingDings asks, turning around to look at the lanky elemental.

“You’re voice,” the girl says.

Looking back at the manor, he presses his lips and walks closer to them. “Keep it a secret,” WingDings tells them. “If they knew what I did, they wouldn't let me go to the market.”

“We promise,” the two nod their heads and he leads them inside.

He doesn’t expect them to keep the promise long, but that’s okay since he won’t be here much longer. When he gets his last soul piece he won’t have to worry about anyone keeping his secrets. They can tell whomever they like.

Once inside the home he introduces Oak and Flora to Miss Amy, before showing them their bunks in the other rooms. Mr. Jose has gone ahead and added an extra bunk and chest in each room, that way the kids won’t be nervous about possibly losing a home. At dinner everyone is excited to hear about WingDings adventure at the Market, but it’s a rather boring tale today when he leaves out the part about the slaves escaping.

Like when he first arrived at the Manor, the other children don’t prod Oak and Flora for answers about how they got there or where they came from. The unspoken rule works in WingDings favor, but it also helps make the two feel more comfortable. After dinner Dr. Gill comes and checks the kids out who need it, including Oak and Flora.

The next day WingDings is working in the Scientist’s Lair when Gaster speaks up. “Apparently Sans wants to talk with us in the Radiation Catacombs,” he says.

“Do you know why?” WingDings types.

“I’m hoping it is in regards to the Harper’s Conquest and not our little stunt yesterday,” Gaster replies.

WingDings finds the request odd and can’t keep the spike of unease from his soul. “Okay,” he stands to his feet and tells Mr. Garmish he’ll be back soon, before leaving the room and taking a shortcut to the ruins. He lands in the hall and with Gaster’s help locates Sans in the old offices.

“Thanks for coming kid, figured this place was comfy enough,” Sans turns a screeching old chair around that is melted to the floor and motions for WingDings to take a seat.

After WingDings is seated in the rusty chair, Sans sits in another one across from him. Hearing the screeching chair is a painful sound in WingDings skull, but he manages not to move and makes it even worse.

“Did you free the slaves?” Sans asks. The bluntness and suddenness of the question is so unexpected to WingDings that he can’t hide his surprise. He also cannot keep himself from giving a start and causing the chair to squeak.

“You did,” Sans states. The lights of his eyes blink out making the room feel even colder than it already is.

Taking a shaky breath, WingDings shifts as carefully as he can in the chair and tries to meet Sans sockets. “Yes,” WingDings answers.

“Why? Why would you do that?” Sans anger slowly seeps down his hunched shoulders, his deep voice becoming as gravely as an unused road. “Do you know what you just did? The consequences of your actions?”

“I wasn’t caught, no one knows what I did,” WingDings buzzes, a mix of his determination and caution distorting his voice.

“Doesn’t matter if you were caught or not,” Sans bursts, the hands in his pockets pulling tight on his tattered jacket. “The Harper Gang is tough enough as it is without you rattling them up. You kicked a hornets’ nest and now they’re going to be preying on the other gangs.”

“I was only doing the right thing,” WingDings sputters in defense.

“It isn’t your place WingDings,” Sans tells him his eye lights returning. “You can’t solve this world's problems by yourself. And Gaster. . .” The stout skeleton looks through WingDings to his constant companion. “You . . . Aren’t . . . God.”

Sans isn’t addressing WingDings, but these three words still hit the boy as if they were spoken to him alone.

“You know we are struggling to find water,” Sans is now having trouble keeping his voice even, the edge of a shout struggling to break free. “You know we can’t travel the Scarab Region freely anymore! None of the clans can without fear of being snatched up by the Harper Gang. And knowing all this about the Harper Gang you go ahead and save those slaves in front of the entire market. In front of every clan. The Harper Gang will have blood for the fools you made of them yesterday and who do you think will pay the price!”

Sans is no longer sitting, standing and shouting at the hollow walls, not even looking at WingDings, because he isn’t shouting at the boy. Even so the boy is scared and has shrunk into the horrible chair, his soul jittering with anxiety and the need to run from the angry man. It’s a flight or fight response, but WingDings doesn’t want to fight Sans, he cares about his opinion too much.

“And this kid,” Sans's voice breaks. “I can’t believe you would put him in danger, Gaster. I thought you’d learned after creating all of this.” He waves out one hand at the decrepit state of the office, cold and melted, with the stuttering hum of broken machines that will never work again.

“You aren’t God,” Sans repeats. “You can’t fix this world.”

Unable to keep it in, WingDings sniffs and quickly wipes a tear from his eye socket.

Visibly slouching Sans sighs and glances away from the boy. “Sorry kid, but you can’t be making waves like that,” Sans says, his tone softening, becoming like a low rumble of water rather than a rocky uphill road. “And you can’t be putting yourself in harm’s way like that.”

For a minute or two Sans stands there awkwardly, before deciding to vanish from sight, thus avoiding further conversation.

“WingDings,” Gaster softly says, earning a short start from the boy.

Realizing his fear is unnecessary, WingDings brings his knees up to rest his head against. “Did I really hurt Home?” WingDings asks in a dull drone.

“No, WingDings,” Gaster answers him with solemn assurance. “The Harper Gang was planning on occupying the Scarab Region even before you arrived. Your willingness to act was not wrong.”

“But I didn’t even think about what the Harper Gang would do after they lost the slaves,” WingDings says.

“I did, I knew, and I will take care of it,” Gaster promises. “Home can’t afford to stay on the sidelines, they have to take a stand for what’s right. They are the strongest gang in the region and they need to stand up against the Harper Gang if they want the world to be anything like the place they’ve built here.”

WingDings silently listens, drying his eyes and calming his shaky soul.

“Don’t stop doing what is right WingDings,” Gaster begs him. “No matter where you go, if you see something wrong don’t turn your eyes away. Be smart about what you do, but don’t stop caring.”

“But I’m just passing through,” WingDings says, his anger coming loose now that his fear is no longer knotting his soul.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gaster says, matching WingDings fragile anger with sturdy confidence. “Don’t be ashamed or afraid to stop something you know is wrong, wherever your soul takes you.”

“Thank you Gaster,” WingDings says, taking a deep breath before hoisting himself out of the evil rotting chair.

“You are quite welcome, child,” Gaster says. “Although there is one piece of Sans advice you should keep with you.”

“What’s that?” WingDings asks.

“He is right, I am not a god and neither are you, even with the power to turn back time,” Gaster says. “We can’t control everything. We can’t forget that our actions will have consequences. . . Miss Amy is anxiously waiting, you should get going.”

WingDings nods, doing his best to shake the last of his nonexistent nerves before taking a shortcut towards the manor.

Notes:

I really love all the scenes at the market. So many things going on and possibilities to exploit . . . like Flint's pride. Overall an adventurous chapter, but the ending was a downer. Pretty difficult scene with Sans, but this conversation does stick with WingDings for a long while. He carries this encounter for the rest of his life I think.

Chapter 16: Comes Back to Bite

Notes:

Momentary character death and violence.

Oak and Flora are there in the kitchen, ready to help make lunch with Amy and himself. The rest of the day is calm and peaceful, aside from the usual noise that comes from a group of ninety children. When WingDings finds some free time that night, when everyone is asleep, he heads to the hideout to do some maintenance on his bike.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” WingDings asks Gaster early the next morning in the hideout. “Sans mentioned having trouble getting water?”

“They’ll be leaving any day now for Silent Lake,” Gaster tells him. “I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong.”

“Silent Lake?” WingDings asks.

“It’s the lake you came to when you first arrived,” Gaster replies.

“But . . . wasn’t the Harper Gang there?” WingDings asks, checking over his bike to see if it needs any repairs.

“They appear to have vacated the lake, so Home has decided it’s their best choice,” Gaster does not sound convinced that this is a good choice.

“Why not go to Hong Kong? Or Antarctica?” WingDings asks, putting on a glove and reaching in past the engine to dislodge some sand.

“They don’t want to leave the Scarab Region, those places are much too far from Home,” Gaster grinds, before going silent and sighing in defeat. “Enough about that, you are probably wondering where the last piece of your soul is located.”

“I am, but I didn’t want to leave before . . . with all this trouble around the Harpers Gang,” WingDings starts again, taking a brush and cleaning the inside parts of the bike where he can reach, his magic hands busy with other places on the vehicle.

“It’s all right WingDings, the Harpers Gang is Home’s responsibility, not yours,” Gaster assures him, helpfully pointing out places on the bike with his magic that need extra attention. “There’s a reason I’ve left this piece for last.”

“Why’s that?” WingDings asks.

“It’s in one of Harpers established hideouts, one of their bases” Gaster explains. “It’s not their main hub, but they’ve been there over a year and the lake is depleted. This will make it difficult to get you in without being caught.”

“As long as I reach the piece before they catch me it should be fine,” Wingdings says.

“I can’t let them get your body,” Gaster says softly, a tell-tale sign that he’s about to ask something difficult of the boy.

“How do I give it back?” WingDings asks.

“One of two ways,” Gaster says. “Option one is to short cut directly into the filtration core where your body will instantly dissolve leaving only your soul.”

WingDings winces at the thought, after all it wasn’t a pleasant experience the first time he did that accidentally. “Option two?”

“You gather your piece and leave the body for me to possess,” Gaster answers. “But like you, I’ll be momentarily helpless. If the Harper Gang is aware of our presence I’ll be at their mercy.”

The thought of Gaster in Flint’s hands sends a shiver up the boy’s spine. He’d rather leave the body for Gaster since it is his though. It’s a little strange thinking that Gaster will be taking his place, but even still he’d rather give Gaster this second chance. A chance to live again, not as a disembodied voice or cranky computer, but as a person like everybody else.

“I like option two,” WingDings says. “I want you to be with everyone and I know you’ll take care of them.”

“Thank you WingDings,” Gaster says, a warm feeling of hope filling WingDings bones. “I will do my best to follow your example.”

WingDings smiles and turns his thoughts to the Harpers Gang. “I assume you have a plan Gaster.”

“That I do, but first I’d like to visit the gang and see the city with my own eyes, or your eyes as it were,” Gaster clarifies. “I must ask that you don’t free any slaves. Any heroics must be saved for when we get the piece of your soul.”

“Understood,” WingDings checks the time through Gaster’s magic and they decide they have enough time to get a quick look at the Harper Gang's base.

On the way across the desert, Gaster reveals that the lake was once called Pearl Lake, the water appearing glossy white because of the high levels of calcium on the walls. The cave walls are still white where the calcium hasn’t been scraped off, but the lake-bed has been built on, used to store the high amounts of natural ore they mine.

After hiding the bike in the sand Gaster takes WingDings into one of these buildings, close to the Core. There are no lights in the structure and WingDings first battle is fighting off his immediate fright of the dark. Summoning a hand, the boy follows Gaster’s guiding magic towards a gap in the building, looking out into a damp and slippery street.

“Looks like they should have thought twice before building anything here,” Gaster comments as WingDings cautiously pushes himself through a tight crack under one of the thin metal sidings of the structure.

First thing he does is look around the actual Filtration Core and is disappointed to see guards posted a safe distance away from it. There is also some kind of device connected to the Cores cylinder. “What’s that?” WingDings asks.

“They are using the energy from the core to power the lights and other necessities in the living quarters,” Gaster explains.

“Is that okay?” WingDings asks, knowing that the Core is supposed to be for the lake.

“Yes, they aren’t causing any harm,” Gaster admits. “Makes our jobs more difficult, but it’s quite an ingenious machine really.”

“Hmm,” WingDings turns away from the Core and heads towards the living quarters, wishing to locate the slaves.

“Put on the child magic restraint,” Gaster suggests. “If anyone sees you they’ll assume you’re a slave.”

WingDings takes out the restraint from his inventory and after disabling it, puts the device on. With the bulky armor acting as his disguise, the boy shuffles into the town, allowing Gaster to scan as much as he can while he gets familiar with the layout of the shabby town. The term ‘town’ is a rather generous description, with the living quarters being made up of slim sheets of metal acting as fences more than actual houses since they don’t have roofs.

This might be even worse than the slums of Saint Petra.

After locating the slaves, who are all asleep in crammed bunks, he wanders towards a walled area of the city, sticking close to the shadows as he studies it. The area looks to be the command center of sorts, with a few guards lazily watching the perimeter.

“Best we avoid that place,” Gaster says. “That’s where the better off in the gang live. It’s also where they keep all their weapons and buggies.”

“Does it lead to the exit?” WingDings asks.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Gaster says. “But with your blaster it wouldn’t be difficult to make another exit. I noticed a weak point in the cavern wall near the storage units. We don’t have time to look at it now, but we can come back tomorrow.”

WingDings nods and returns to his bike, no one of consequence aware of his being there.

“There are more slaves than gang member’s stationed there,” Gaster tells him as they travel. “We could either free them and instigate a revolt, or we could try leading them to safety.”

“Without buggies, they won’t make it far,” WingDings points out.

“Very true, I’ll see what I can come up with,” Gaster says, a hum of excitement making it into his voice.

After getting some rest WingDings goes through his day like all the others, although he does avoid looking at Sans directly when he comes into the Scientist’s Lair. He takes the time that afternoon to tell Onionsan and the others that he’ll be leaving soon, thanking them for their support, but assuring them they might see him again.

When it comes to telling Tomasz and Marcus though WingDings struggles, since they don’t even know he’s from another world. He wants to tell them, he thinks they should know, but it’s hard to say goodbye. It was hard with Onionsan and Gaster, but there was also closure with them.

After dinner he takes out the Chinese checkers game and asks the two to meet him on the porch. They eagerly join him, expecting him to tell them something about his adventures, but when WingDings doesn’t say anything about it they grow quiet and less eager. When the game is nearly over WingDings finally takes a breath and lets it out in one go.

“I have only one piece left,” he tells them. “And after I get it . . . I’m going to be leaving.”

“What!?” the boys yell in unison.

“You can’t leave!” Marcus says.

“Where would you go?” Tomasz asks.

“I’d go home,” WingDings says, tightening his shoulders at their outburst. He was expecting them to be upset, but not necessarily this loud.

“You are home,” Marcus says.

“That’s right, this is home,” Tomasz echoes. Well it is ‘Home’, but still not his home.

“I can’t stay here,” WingDings tries again. The looks on his friend’s faces are confused and a little angry. At a loss and not prepared to defend himself WingDings searches for the quickest way to get him off the porch and up to his room without appearing to be a coward. “I’m sorry.” He quickly puts the pieces away and slams the board under his arm. As he stands and moves for the door in one motion he nearly rams into Angelica who is standing in the open doorway.

Jumping in surprise, WingDings huffs in mild annoyance and attempts to move around her. In response she shuffles in front of him and when he tries again, she’s there. “You’re leaving?” she asks.

“Yes, please move,” WingDings says with a huff, trying not to get angry.

“You just told us your secret,” Marcus is on his feet.

“You’re just going to leave, after everything we’ve done together,” Tomasz says. Unlike Marcus he’s still sitting, shaking his head and looking as if he’s been betrayed.

WingDings doesn’t like that look.

“What’s going on?” Angelica asks.

“I’m trying to say goodbye,” WingDings says. “But I suck at it.” Maybe he should just try again? Just a little stress on his soul and he could load. No big deal. He discretely lifts the hand holding the game pieces to his sternum.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Marcus blurts.

Seeing her brother struggling makes Angelica suspicious and defensive. Her eyes narrow and her tail lies heavily behind her. “And you weren’t going to say goodbye to me? Or any of the others. What about Nola? Evelyn? Tom? Miss Amy?”

“I . . . I have to go, I can’t live here,” WingDings sputters, falling into his font for a few syllables. “I need to find the other pieces of my soul and they’re in other worlds. I have to go back to my brothers, my family. . . Get out of the way!” His eyes spark red and the girl gives a start, backing away from him.

When she recovers from her surprise she glares at him with a defiance built from years of facing death head on. “What’s wrong with you?! I’m telling Miss Amy.”

“No!” This time WingDings is the one stepping in front of her. “You can’t.”

“You need help WingDings,” Angelica moves around him again and no matter how many times he moves in front of her she keeps going around. He doesn’t have the heart to physically hold her back and watches in defeat as she goes up the stairs. WingDings looks at Marcus for help, but the glare in his eye tells the young skeleton that he won’t be getting any help from him.

“I can’t let this happen,” WingDings sparks.

Before Gaster can stop him the boy summons a hand and gives his soul a gentle squeeze. It is more than enough to summon the ‘Load’ and ‘Continue’ buttons.

He presses the load option.

After a brief trip into a black abyss WingDings is transported back to his chair in the scientist’s lab just as Sans is walking by to the control room. The boy remembers to not make eye contact with the man and proceeds to re-enter the codes he did the first time around.

“Child, that was completely unnecessary,” Gaster says, with several emotions battling it out in the old man.

“She was going to tell Miss Ross, I had to do it,” WingDings swiftly types into the computer.

“And you would have been reprimanded for thinking of leaving, your closest friends would be angry with you and then you’d have gone to bed . . . WingDings while the results of your actions were rather regrettable your farewell wasn’t civil enough to lead to anything better,” Gaster explains.

“I’ll do it right this time,” WingDings says out loud, earning strangely an encouraging round of cheers from the scientists. They assume the boy has made a mistake in his coding and is going to try and sort it out himself, which is commendable in their opinions. Goes to show they are all good people and WingDings feels a little ashamed that he really has made a regrettable mistake that needs correcting.

But even still, their encouragement means the world to him.

“I’m sure you will try,” Gaster grunts. “I just don’t approve of this use of your ability with time. And why did you end up going back so far?”

“This was the safest time I guess,” WingDings explains, remembering to type this time. “When it’s not the last time I was determined it goes back to some random moment I’m not in danger.”

“Isn’t that rather . . . undependable,” Gaster observes.

“Should time be predictable?” WingDings asks instead.

“See when you say things like that child I worry about you,” Gaster sighs.

The remainder of the day goes as expected and although there is a brief temptation to not even bother telling his friends, he grabs Chinese’s Checkers and tells Tomasz, Marcus and Angelica to meet him on the porch.

“Why is Angelica here?” Tomasz asks.

“Because she would have been standing outside that door listening if I hadn’t,” WingDings states.

“He’s right,” Angelica shrugs. “I wanted to know what you guys were talking about.”

“First off, I’ve been sneaking out at night,” WingDings tells her.

“He’s finding the white monster bits of his soul,” Tomasz continues in WingDings stead.

“What?” Angelica asks. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s true, he’s got a human and monster soul and he’s trying to collect the pieces,” Marcus tells his sister.

WingDings is glad MK said it because she has to believe her brother. This way she can’t call him a liar. Been a while since anyone has called him a liar and he would like it to stay that way.

“There is one other thing I didn’t tell you,” WingDings starts.

“You freed the slaves didn’t you,” Angelica says.

“What!?!” the boys say in unison, before looking at WingDings as if he’s Saint Nick. “Did you really?”

“Uh, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” WingDings says, hoping to divert this tangent before it starts.

“We should ask Oak and Flora,” Marcus suggests.

“Stop!” WingDings lifts a hand and with shaking magic hands he sets up the game he’s ignored up to this point. “You’re . . . distracting me.”

“Distracting?” Marcus asks. “From the game?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’m not from this world,” WingDings says hastily, worried he might never get it out at this rate. Why are children so easily distracted? Just one little comment sends them off in random directions.

“Are you serious?” Angelica lifts a brow, clearly not believing him.

“Like ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’,” he says.

“Oh I’ve read that one,” Tomasz blurts.

“Figured you had, I’ve only seen the movie,” WingDings admits.

“Movie?” Angelica asks. Now her brows have dropped completely, showing that she is confused more than anything else.

“I go to different places to find the pieces of my soul,” WingDings barrels on. “And . . . and I wanted you guy’s to know I’m going to get the last piece soon.” WingDings finishes setting up the pieces of the game and looks up. “After I get it, I’ll be moving on.”

“What . . . are you saying you have to leave?!” Marcus raises his voice and WingDings gets a sense of déjà vu.

“But this is your home,” Tomasz repeats.

“It’s been wonderful here,” WingDings says quickly. “But I have two brothers waiting for me and other pieces of my soul to find. . . I wanted you guy’s to know and I wanted to thank you for keeping my secrets.”

“Of course WingDings, you’re our friend,” Tomasz says.

“Yeah, we promised,” Marcus says.

“Yeah, still don’t want to see you go though,” Angelica leans forward and moves one of her pieces, taking the first turn.

“I don’t always get to say goodbye,” WingDings admits. “So I wanted to make sure I could.”

From there the conversation becomes solemn, but it goes a lot better than the first time. They finish their game and head to bed before WingDings takes another trip to Pearl Lake for some more research. This time Gaster and WingDings take note of the guards' routes and take a closer look at the possible exit they can make for a quick escape. It doesn’t solve their problem for transportation, but Gaster reveals that he is trying to convince the House to retaliate and is pushing that they start with Pearl Lake since there aren’t many guards stationed there.

“They want to wait until after they have the reservoir full before doing anything about the Harpers Gang,” Gaster tells WingDings on their way back home. They are getting a late start since Undyne and Papyrus are currently making that necessary water run. It’s nearly five in the morning and WingDings is ready to get a little sleep. “They’ll even have the support of the Spider Gang and Hearth Gang.”

“Muffet’s supporting Home?” WingDings asks.

“He is,” Gaster replies. “He told Sans about his kidnapping, excluding your involvement to his rescue. . . Undyne and Papyrus are nearing Silent Lake.”

“Can I use the Arch?” WingDings asks.

“We’ll use a different Arch just in case,” Gaster says.

WingDings doesn’t complain or protest even though it means he’ll be kept from his bed a little longer. When they’re nearly close enough for him to take a shortcut to his hideout, Gaster’s voice sputters in the boy’s mind, causing him to slow and stop.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“Yes,” Gaster says softly, a static of horror popping through his words. “Yes, something is very wrong.”

Without being told anything more, WingDings turns his bike towards the nearest gate and drives towards it. No one can tell him not to go, he is determined to help Undyne and Papyrus even if it reveals all his secrets.

“I was right, it was too good to be true,” Gaster’s voice sizzles and cracks. “It was a trap. Papyrus and Undyne are fighting a large force from the Harper Gang, including Flint. I’m trying to contact them by radio, but the gang is jamming all the transmissions in the area.”

“Just get me there, we can help them,” WingDings says.

“Be careful WingDings,” the man re-configures the gate, no longer caring or worried that Sans will find out their secrets. “I’ll try to get Home to send their guards as soon as possible.”

WingDings doesn’t answer as he bursts through the Arch towards Silent Lake. As soon as he appears, there is gun fire and WingDings takes a shortcut, closer to the cave entrance, bypassing the waiting gang members.

“They were expecting us,” WingDings jumps from the bike, not bothering to hide the vehicle as he takes another short cut straight into the lake.

Careful not to draw attention to himself, WingDings peeks his head out of the water and scans the shore. He see’s Flint fighting a severely wounded Undyne on the shore. Papyrus is close by, concentrating on keeping the other gang members away from the hoop which is still activated and sucking in water through the shortened tube.

Most of the Harper gang is staying back, conserving their energy and waiting for the chance to move in on Papyrus. They steadily back him further and further into the water, figuring that the skeleton cannot swim because most no one can in this world. First and foremost, they need to disconnect the warp hoop without damaging the tube again. Summoning his hands, WingDings grabs the hoop and pulls it forward.

“Sans is helping you retract the hose, keep it up,” Gaster tells him.

When the gang notices the hoop moving they shout in alarm, a human member turning Papyrus’s soul blue and slamming him into the water. WingDings finishes moving the hoop away from the hose and as soon as he’s finished, flings it away from the gang and stores it in his inventory. Then he summons a short bone attack, tripping the human.

The human releases Papyrus soul, allowing the tall skeleton to stand back up and take a breath. Summoning his blaster, WingDings uses it to bowl over the Harper Gang surrounding Papyrus. Using this distraction to his advantage, Papyrus sends a wave of bones out towards the gang, pushing forward now that he doesn’t have to defend the hoop.

Seeing the tide turn Flint curses and uses his magic, sending out dense smoke to fill the shore line.

“What is he doing?” WingDings asks, daring to bring his head a little further out of the water in an attempt to better see what is happening. The shore is soon filled with smoke, the coughing curses of Undyne and even the cries of the Harper Gang as they struggle to breath. With Gaster’s help, WingDings highlights the bodies of his friends through the heavy smoke. He can make out everyone and Flint, watching in horror as the elemental walks up to Papyrus and slams his head into a rock.

“Papyrus!” WingDings shouts, calling his blaster and latching onto its skull.

As Flint returns to Undyne, WingDings flies over the water, but is forced to stop when he comes to the wall of smoke. “FLINT!” WingDings yells as he watches the man pull the woman up by her short ponytail and aim a gun at her head.

“Was wondering if you’d show up again,” Flint says and with a wave of his hand, dismisses the smoke. What is left behind is the eerie glow of blue upon the black shores, the bodies of both his friends and Flint's own gang sprawled across the ground.

“Don’t hurt her,” WingDings demands, summoning several hands to float around him, twitching between several hand signs demanding Undyne’s release.

“The plan was to kidnap them,” Flint says, laughing as he lets Undyne sag into the ground, but he keeps his gun pointed at her. “Had to get creative and it looks like they took the bait.”

“Creative?” WingDings asks.

“Not tellin’ kid,” Flint barks a laugh when WingDings glare takes on a glint of red magic. “I’m willing to make you a deal.”

“I’d rather not,” WingDings snaps.

“I only need one of them alive, kid,” Flint threatens, his smile becoming a sneer. Behind the man some of his crew begins to move, coughing and trying to get back on their feet.

“Keep him talking,” Gaster says. “Sans and the others are almost here.”

“What did you have in mind?” WingDings asks.

“WingDings you need to put your hands away, they show your thoughts,” Gaster tells him.

Looking behind himself, WingDings realizes his hands are showing words and swiftly dismisses them.

“A trade,” Flint says, his crew stumbling up behind him while a small group of them put Papyrus in a magic suppression breastplate. “I promise no harm will come to them if you come with me instead.”

“I can’t trust your promises,” WingDings says coldly.

“You’re going to have too,” Flint says. “Now get over here before I change my mind.”

“Home is confronting the guards in the sands, they won’t be getting away with you,” Gaster assures him.

Taking a tight breath, WingDings floats forward on the blaster, banishing it and splashing into the water. “Let them go,” WingDings says.

“Put the harness on him,” Flint ignores the boy and one of his lackeys comes forward with a small magic suppression unit. “After you put that on these two go free and you leave with us.”

WingDings doesn’t say anything as they lift the device over his shoulders and turn it on. Immediately he’s down on his knees, a stinging and uncomfortable buzz tickling his strange bones. “Pick him up,” Flint says and one of the men hoists WingDings onto his shoulder. When Flint lifts his gun at Undyne’s head, WingDings screams. As the gun is fired the ‘Load’ and ‘Continue’ button appear and time stops.

Slamming his hand on the ‘Load’ button WingDings is back on his bike driving towards the gate. As he passes through the gate the Harpers Gang is waiting for him, but this time WingDings is a little distracted, replaying the moment Flint turns the gun on Undyne’s head. One of their bullets hits his bike and goes flying, once again stopping time and summoning a ‘Load’ or ‘Continue’.

WingDings loads again, but this time stops before passing through the gate. He scrambles off the bike and stumbles in the sand, kicking it up and pacing madly. “It didn’t work!” he screams. “We have to think of something else!”

“And we will, but you need to calm down,” Gaster says, an array of emotions struggling within the old man. He is doing his best to keep them under control though, not about to overwhelm his hurting charge. “If you can.”

“I can,” WingDings mutters, shaking his head and trying to get the image of that gun out of his skull. The boy kicks the sand and shakes his hands. “Okay, buying time didn’t work.”

“You can try fighting,” Gaster suggests. “But that smoke will take you out just like everyone else.”

“Then I won’t get close,” WingDings gets back on his bike and this time warps directly to the lake after passing through the gate. Doesn’t even give the gang a chance to know he’s even there.

Since he’s a little later this time Papyrus is already under the water and the gang is scooping up the hoop. WingDings grabs it with his hands and takes it from them, summoning a bone to trip the human again so Papyrus is free. Despite gasping for air Papyrus still manages to get the upper hand causing Flint to fling his smoke everywhere once again.

This time WingDings uses his blaster to knock Flint over, but the stubborn continues to send his smoke screen outward, despite falling. WingDings warps to Papyrus and latches onto him, teleporting as close to the warp gate as he can before returning for Undyne. Coughing hard, WingDings latches on and tries to teleport again, but he’s kicked like a soccer ball by Flint, cracking a few ribs.

WingDings cries out, pressing the ‘Continue’ options when time pauses around him. He warps back out into the lake, coming to the surface to see Flint searching for him. As soon as the monster spots him he races over the water, as if he’s walking on top of something that isn’t made of liquid. The bastard sends his ghastly smoke billowing towards the boy.

Fighting the pain, WingDings ducks into the water and takes a shortcut back to Undyne, wrapping his arms around her.

“Papyrus was killed,” Gaster chokes into WingDings mind.

This stops the boy, causing him to choke on the smoke and his damaged ribs to spasm. This time when the options appear he presses ‘load’.

When he appears once more in front of the Arch, Gaster tells him that the Harper Gang outside found Papyrus and killed him thinking he was trying to escape. As soon as he passes through the gate, WingDings warps to the entrance, leaves his bike, and goes to the lake. This time his blaster fires, sizzling the ground and causing the gang to scatter, even Flint is shocked enough to stop fighting Undyne long enough for her to send a spear in his face.

Papyrus grabs the hoop, no longer worried about the gang, and finishes retracting the hose before turning the device off. WingDings takes it from the skeleton, allowing him to fight the gang.

But that isn’t what WingDings is worried about.

The boy looks to the injured Flint who is spewing smoke across the entire shore like all the times before. WingDings tries to push him over to stop him, but he keeps going, causing Undyne, Papyrus, and the entire gang to collapse again. “No!” WingDings summons as many bones as he can between Flint and Undyne. He isn’t going to let him near her again!

“I know you’re out there!” Flint screams at the lake. “This smoke will kill them soon enough.”

“You’d kill your own gang!” WingDings yells back.

“You think I care,” Flint laughs, knowing he can take this chance.

Flint knows that WingDings won’t risk his friend’s lives because of all the slaves he’s saved and WingDings knows that Flint knows this which infuriates the child. An assumption perhaps, but an accurate one. “I hate you!” WingDings screams at him.

“I hate you too!” Flint is laughing heartily. It’s enough to temp WingDings into killing the man, but he refrains. To think this man was his uncle in another life.

“Clear the smoke, I’m coming to you,” WingDings summons his hands and flies towards him, but he keeps his Blaster trained on the man’s back and summons more bones around Undyne and Papyrus, making it near impossible to touch them.

Clearing the smoke, Flint crosses his arms eagerly waiting for WingDings to come and stand in front of him. “I had a feeling it was you,” Flint grins. “Funny how you keep popping up.”

“Let them go,” WingDings says, cutting to the chase.

“We want to buy time, WingDings,” Gaster reminds the frustrated boy.

“Really eager there aren’t ya?” Flint sniffs, his grin still present, but a wary look in his eye. “Well, I don’t have a reason to let them go.”

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t hurt them,” WingDings says, reciting the very deal Flint made in another time.

“Feels like you read my mind,” Flint’s eyes spark purple and yellow, glinting with suspicion. “Sounds like a fair trade. . .”

But will he take it?

Notes:

Only one chapter to go. Sorry if the fighting got a little confusing there at the end. I’ve read it over so many times it makes sense to me and I can’t easily see the mistakes. I think Flint is my first real villain in this series and he’s a piece of work. Feel bad that it’s the same person as his uncle in the 1950’s story.

Also have some old concept art of a dark cave. I’ve added concept sketches to chapters 1,2,3, 8,14. See you next week.

Chapter 17: Thank You and Goodbye

Notes:

Warning: Violence and Feels.

Here they stand, right where they started all those months ago. WingDings would almost find it poetic to be standing here with Flint on these dark sands, but he only has fear and anger throbbing through his soul and bones. What makes it worse is that Flint doesn’t seem distressed at all, smiling down at WingDings as if he holds all the pieces.

“Name your terms kid,” Flint says, the smoke of his head curling with his conniving thoughts.

“But you have to let them leave first,” WingDings says, nodding towards his friends, still protected behind bones as they recover from the smoke.

“No can do,” Flint shakes his head.

“You’ll kill them,” WingDings glares back.

“I can kill them now,” Flint threatens.

“Or I can kill you,” WingDings fires up his blaster. “You will let them leave.”

“As soon as they wake up they’ll fight,” Flint counters. “I can’t let them leave.”

WingDings bites his lower lip and Gaster is about to make a suggestion, but not before Flint cuts in. “Besides you won’t shoot,” he sends out another wave of smoke, knowing the child doesn’t have it in him to kill on purpose.

Acting fast WingDings collects Undyne and ports her with Gaster’s help someplace safe. WingDings doesn’t wait to check on her, returning and grabbing up Papyrus next, disappearing from sight.

With Gaster’s guidance they all end up in an old room, much like the radiation catacombs back home. Unfortunately, this room is completely collapsed all the way around them. There is no light and WingDings swiftly summons a hand and notes the high levels of radiation and low amount of breathable air. “Is Home almost here?” WingDings asks, trying to stay calm.

“Almost, but I’m worried they won’t be prepared,” Gaster says. “With Flint searching for you, Home’s fighters will have the full force of the Harpers Gang on them.”

Taking a breath, WingDings calms his racing soul and sets his mind on the task at hand. With determination pounding, he ports out of the small space and directly in front of Flint. “We’re not done,” he shouts.

Flint curses and grabs hold of WingDings shirt. “Boy, you will regret the day you ever played this game with me,” he swears.

“Lives aren’t games,” WingDings glares and sends his hands flying at the gang, clinging, pulling and scratching at them desperately. He doesn’t stop, not until the human mage turns his soul blue and slams him into the black rocks.

“Foolish boy,” Flint barks with laughter as one of his gang members slams the suppression device over WingDings head, clamping the device over his ribs. “I won’t be leaving empty handed.”

“W(bzzz)Di(bzzt)” Gaster’s voice tries to contact him, but between the uncomfortable shock in his bones and his magic being suppressed he can’t hear the man.

Hoisting the boy over his shoulder Flint races for the exit only to be met by one of his lackeys.

“They’re here sir, but it isn’t just Home!” the young girl yells. “The Spider Gang and Hearth Gang are with them. They’ve scattered the main buggies and are nearing the cave entrance.”

“Get out there! Get me to the Arch,” Flint shouts, even as WingDings fights him, kicking and scrambling to get off his shoulder.

Taking in a deep breath, WingDings screeches in the most piercing painful pitch his font can make. It nearly sends everyone to their knees, but Flint still manages to crawl onto his three wheel bike and send his smoke into WingDings invisible lungs, cutting the boy off when the burn enters his skull.

As WingDings struggles to breathe, Flint shoots out into the desert, and past the other gangs towards the gate. Flint has a head start, since everyone is facing the cave, not the Arch. Over the roar of Flints’ engine, WingDings can hear the radio sputter. “You’ll regret the decisions you made tonight Mister Flint,” Gaster voice declares before buzzing out.

WingDings smiles. “Gaster!” he coughs.

“Don’t worry child, we’re coming,” Gaster says before Flint punches the radio, disabling it.

“I knew you were listening through the radios,” Flint curses, somehow managing to avoid all of the gunfire aimed to disable him. It isn’t that the gangs trying to save him are bad shots, but they don’t want to hurt the boy either. The gate gets closer and closer and WingDings fear mounts with it.

“Gast-,” WingDings words are cut off when they pass through the Arch. His magic stings as it activates and the suppression unit clamps down on it. The familiar touch of ice is there with even greater potency, stealing his breath and making him momentarily blind.

When his vision comes back the boy realizes the man is laughing, bellowing with the glee of having gotten away with something against the odds. Cramming his neck up, WingDings eyes go wide, when he realizes just where they are. They aren’t at the gang's main camp. They aren’t even at Home. Instead, they’re at Pearl Lake.

This can’t be a coincidence.

Flint seems to realize this as well as his laugh becomes less hearty. There are guards coming out to meet him, but when they see who it is, they wave him through. “Round up the guard, load the guns!” Flint orders as he comes through the iron walls of the fortress. “Home, Hearth, and the Spiders are coming.”

As they rush to obey, WingDings is slammed to the ground before Flint proceeds to drag him into the base. “Let me go!” WingDings screams at him.

“I need you to change the destination of that arch!” Flint yells back at him, as he climbs up the battlement of metal scrap, grabbing a mask off another gang member and putting it on as he passes the unfortunate man.

“You’re crazy!” WingDings shouts.

Flint lifts the boy up and shoves him against the metal wall. “I know you can!” Flint screams so hard sparks of magic fly from his eyes and tickle WingDings face.

“I won’t,” WingDings eyes burn red.

“I’ll make you,” Flint’s smoke billows, reaching around in swirling tendrils for the boy's bones.

Not interested in seeing what the man has in mind, WingDings shuts his eyes and concentrates on summoning his magic. There is a flash of pain, but the boy manages to shortcut a meter out of the inhibitor breastplate, falling to the ground. Before Flint can grab at him, WingDings teleports again, this time going straight to the slave’s quarters. Without a second thought he releases them.

“Gaster, are you there?” WingDings asks, as he works his hands like mad and eats a bit of magic candy to replenish his depleted magic.

“Yes, are you alright child,” Gaster asks.

“I’m freeing the slaves,” WingDings says, moving out of the building and into the next. Some of the slaves come with him to help, while the others move into the street calling for the poor populace to rise up.

“Excellent, the others are on their way, but they are hesitant to leave without some sort of plan,” Gaster growls.

“Tell them about the slaves,” WingDings says out loud. He doesn’t care if the slaves look at him as if he’s lost his marbles, they aren’t going to say anything since he’s the one saving them.

“I’ll let them know,” Gaster says.

“How are Papyrus and Undyne?” WingDings asks.

“Sans got them out,” Gaster assures him.

“Boy! We’ve got more slaves,” a Woshua without any water in his tub calls to him. A depressing sight.

“Coming!” WingDings calls, scampering after the tub-like monster. He follows them into another poorly built structure and goes about freeing the slaves there. As he does so he hears the slaves getting organized outside, separating the sick from those who are able to fight. WingDings doesn’t try to take control of them, figuring they won’t listen to a child.

When he’s working on freeing the last group, there are cries near the fortress as they take the gang from behind. Flint is trying to get the gang organized, but he doesn’t have as many members stationed at this base. When he’s bringing the brunt of his wrath on the slaves, Home and the other gangs emerge, catching the Harpers’ Gang in a pincer maneuver they aren’t prepared for.

WingDings takes the opportunity to move to the Core filter. The guards are still there, but he scares them away with his blaster. Moving up to the glass WingDings waits for Gaster to bring up the piece. As he waits the boy analyzes his health and brings out his soul. The strain is obvious even without using Gaster’s magic to check the damage.

“I can’t take the piece,” WingDings growls, bringing one hand up to grip his skull. If he were to take the piece of his soul now he’d probably die or collapse. He wouldn’t be able to make the trek home safely.

“Can you put the piece in your inventory?” Gaster asks.

The thought has never occurred to WingDings before. “I’ve never tried,” he admits and pulls out his phone from under his shirt. When he sees the piece he carefully pulls it past the thick glass with a magic hand and checks the available space on his phone. He’s surprised to see how full it is before he remembers the suppression units from the market. Dumping some of those should give him the space he needs.

As he slides the piece into his device, fighting the tug on his soul, WingDings is caught off guard when a wave of smoke comes billowing towards him.

“Your soul is mine boy!” Flint screams and WingDings takes a short cut to the entrance of the Pearl Lake settlement.

WingDings lands in the middle of a shoot out and quickly summons his blaster to cover himself. Bullets and magic ping off the blaster’s skull as WingDings checks his loot box to be sure the piece is there. When he sees it listed WingDings coughs in relief and reconnects his device to his ribs, coughing and trying to dislodge the smoke clinging to his invisible lungs.

“Let me use your eyes,” Gaster says and WingDings looks up, the world pulsing with magic as Gaster outlines the life forms moving outside his makeshift shield. One life form he highlights in purple, showing Asher Muffet who is making his way towards WingDings.

“Mister Roman!” Apparently even with a battle taking place around him Asher Muffet will keep with his polite way of addressing people. The monster looks through the left eye socket of the Blaster, spying WingDings easily. “Let’s get you out of here shall we?”

“I’ll follow you,” WingDings says and Muffet leads him through the mess of people towards one of the buggies.

A familiar scream cracks behind him and a wave of smoke licks WingDings heels as he runs underneath his blaster. The sight might be considered silly if not for the fact WingDings is running under a giant skull in the middle of a skirmish with smoke trying to snatch him up. When they reach Muffet’s large buggy WingDings dismisses the blaster and looks behind himself in time to see Sans of all people. The scary skeleton calls out his own large blasters’ and fires all of them at once.

WingDings doesn’t watch any more, keeping his eyes forward as Muffet drives towards the Arch. “You came,” WingDings shouts in order to be heard.

“When your companion Mister Gaster informed me of an opportunity to cripple Mister Flint and help you in the process I couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” Asher shouts back, fixing his mask over his face and handing one to WingDings as he drives for the gate. The sky is no longer dark, glowing a vibrant pink as they drive through the Arch back to Home.

Sasha is there to greet them, helping WingDings down from the vehicle and greeting Asher Muffet, welcoming him and thanking him. “Go ahead and get cleaned up in the baths,” she tells the boy. “Papyrus is waiting for you.”

“Thank you Miss Sasha,” he says and turns to Muffet. “Thank you for your help Mister Muffet.”

“It was my pleasure, Mister Roman,” he says, lifting his hand to the boy.

“Call me Mister WingDings,” he shakes the man’s hand. “If you insist on keeping the Mister.”

Asher laughs and gives the boy’s hand a squeeze. “Things will be changing around here thanks to you,” he says.

Before the man can turn around, WingDings releases his hand and hugs the monster.

Not expecting the contact Muffet lifts his many arms, but with a soft smile leans down and gives the boy a proper hug with all six arms. “Thank you Asher,” WingDings says. “Goodbye.”

“Until next time WingDings,” he says back.

WingDings doesn’t clarify that this will probably be the last time they will see each other and with one last squeeze he separates from the spider monster. He waves goodbye and makes his way down the path to the guard house and bath. Once there he enters the small bathing room, avoiding the rush of people who are setting up other tubs of water for the returning guards.

Inside Papyrus is waiting for him. “Hello Bone Child,” he says. “I’m here to help you clean and get some answers.”

“I have the hoop,” WingDings blurts.

“I know you do WingDings, get out of those clothes,” Papyrus motions for him to get moving and WingDings does as he is told. “And . . . thank you WingDings, you saved Undyne and myself.”

“You’re welcome,” WingDings allows Papyrus to dump water onto him before climbing into the tub. He doesn’t use his magic, not even his hands, knowing he needs to conserve his energy and rest. As WingDings enjoys the warm water he realizes just how tired he is. The magical adrenalin and his determination have quieted leaving his mind foggy and bones numb.

“I did not realize you had a Blaster,” Papyrus comments as he scrubs WingDings back.

“MmmHmm,” WingDings nods, scrubbing his face with a brush.

“And those bone attacks were very accurate,” he continues.

“I had a good teacher,” WingDings smirks thinking of the hours Blaster Papyrus spent teaching him, along with his own brothers.

“Where did you get the Motorcycle?” Papyrus asks next.

“Gaster gave it to me,” WingDings mumbles.

“Why? What need do you have for such a vehicle?” Papyrus asks.

“To find the pieces,” WingDings is trying to stay awake but between Papyrus scrubbing his back and the hot water it is very difficult.

“It wasn’t to free the slaves?” Papyrus asks.

WingDings shakes his head. “The pieces of my soul.” He doesn’t see the point in hiding it anymore, not when he has all thirteen pieces in his possession. His skull slumps to his left shoulder, jarring him awake. He does his best to stay awake, but even with Papyrus talking and asking him questions he wants rest.

“WingDings your soul!” Papyrus says loudly, waking the boy as he slumps forward again. “Why is it such a dark red?”

“I used a lot of determination,” WingDings says. “I’ll be fine with food and rest.”

Papyrus appears nervous, but remains silent, quickly cleaning the boy when WingDings movements slow to a crawl. When Papyrus is finished he lifts the boy out of the tub, scans him, dries him and helps him change into shorts and a small tank top.

WingDings doesn’t remember much of what happens after that. He knows that the rest of the town is awake, bustling and asking Papyrus for an update. The skeleton answers their questions quickly before taking the boy into his home and putting him into his own bed. After giving WingDings something to eat and asking for the hoop, Papyrus allows the exhausted boy to sleep.

When next WingDings wakes Dr. Gill is hovering close by, scanning his soul and studying it. As soon as he notices the boy waking he smiles and reaches forward to take his hand. “Did you sleep well, Mister WingDings?” he asks.

“Yes, Dr. Gill,” WingDings sits up, still tired, but feeling much better. “How long have I been asleep?

“About ten hours,” Dr. Gill says, returning WingDings' cracked soul to him. It’s nearly recovered, but he won’t be at full strength till another day or two. “Papyrus,” Gill calls to the other room. “He’s awake.”

“Finally, I was hoping you’d be up before the food got cold,” Papyrus comes in with a tray of food and puts it on WingDings lap. “Is he well enough to walk Dr. Gill.”

“He’s fine as far as I can tell,” Dr. Gill stands.

“Thank you Dr. Gill,” WingDings tells him. “You’re a good doctor.”

“And you’re a brave boy,” Dr. Gill says. “Eat well WingDings, you need to get your strength up.”

As WingDings eats Papyrus takes Dr. Gill’s seat beside the bed. “When you’re finished, the House wants to speak with you,” the skeleton says.

“I don’t want to speak with them,” WingDings says, assuming he’ll get in trouble and yelled at.

“That isn’t your decision to make Bone Child,” Papyrus says, smiling down at WingDings knowingly.

“They’ll just yell at me,” WingDings crams some bread into his mouth and speaks with his magic hands. “Tell me I did something dangerous. That I made things worse.”

“While those things are true, I think they should be thanking you,” Papyrus declares. “I, Papyrus, would be dead if not for your intervention. Home now has the Spider’s as a powerful alley and the Harpers’ Gang has been dealt a crushing blow.” He smacks his fist into his opposing hand.

“. . . Thanks Papyrus,” WingDings says and concentrates on eating his meal after that.

When he is finished, he goes with Papyrus to a building he’s never been to before. It’s a large theater of sorts, with thousands of seats and no roof. On the stage is a group of monsters and humans, some of whom WingDings recognizes like Toriel, Sans, Undyne and Alphys, but he doesn’t know the others. Papyrus joins them on the stage, taking a seat next to Undyne. Apparently most of the people he knows have been members of the ‘House’ this entire time.

“First and foremost we want to thank you WingDings for saving Undyne and Papyrus early this morning,” a human male says standing from his seat. “Second, we're going to ask you never to do it again since your capture would put many lives at risk.”

“That’s a request you’ll need to ask of Mister Gaster,” WingDings says honestly. No longer does he care if they don’t believe him. No longer does he care if they call him a liar. “I’m sorry for the troubles I’ve caused you, but I think you’ll be okay.”

The group of men and women look at WingDings in calm bewilderment, but the man doesn’t speak. Instead he sits and Sans stands instead. “Papyrus mentioned you are collecting pieces of your soul.”

“And I have them all. After I’ve recovered, I’ll be returning to my own world,” WingDings explains. “But Gaster will be using this body once I’ve gone.” Before Sans or anyone can say anything WingDings continues. “I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of me and the other orphans. If Home wasn’t such a safe place I wouldn’t have been able to find the pieces of my soul as easily. . . Can I return to the Child Manor? I would like to spend my last day there with my friends.”

The members of the house turn to discuss the matter, but Sans nods his head. “You can go,” he says, causing the others to stare at him in shock. “Seems like a reasonable request to me,” he tells the others, putting his hands in his coat pockets. Several of the others look at each other, but no one protests.

WingDings smiles. “Thank you Mister Astor,” he says, wondering if Sans has come around.

“Thank you for not causing me more hassle than you could have,” Sans answers. “But kid . . .”

“Yes?” WingDings asks.

“Be careful, okay,” Sans says, showing that despite his harshness, he still cares.

Nodding and remembering the entirety of Sans' warning last week, WingDings bows his head. “Goodbye,” he says and turns from the room.

By the time WingDings gets back to the manor everyone is eating dinner, so he joins them receiving many questions from his fellow orphans. He answers their questions by simply telling them he was helping Undyne and Papyrus carry out their water run, which is as close to the truth he’s willing to get.

The next day, marking his tenth week there, WingDings does everything normally, helping with meals, working with the scientists, and helping Miss Ross. The only difference is that he makes a point of saying goodbye to everyone even if they don’t understand exactly what he means by it.

There is one exception.

“Miss Ross, I’m sorry for sneaking out at night,” he starts as he helps her with mending the clothes.

The caretaker stops and looks at him like he’s recited the entire alphabet backwards, a mix of surprise and being impressed. Normally children don’t tell the truth, not unless she gets firm with them.

“I’ve been leaving when you aren’t looking and I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why are you telling me WingDings?” she asks. “You know the punishment for sneaking out. You are a very intelligent young man, I might not have found out.”

“Because you take such good care of us and . . . I’m leaving,” WingDings takes a breath and lets it out. “I wanted you to know before saying goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Miss Ross is now stopped completely in her task, setting the clothes down.

“I’m going back to my family,” he says. “I’m sorry but. . . you’ll need to find a new helper.”

The woman looks between his eye sockets searching for a lie, but years of experience has taught her what pure honesty from a child looks like. She reaches forward and hugs him. “Thank you for telling me,” she says. Perhaps if he’d told her the truth at the beginning she wouldn’t have called him a liar like everyone else.

He returns the hug. “Maybe Gaster will live here too,” he tells her.

“Your imaginary friend?” she asks.

Instead of asking how she came to that conclusion he doesn’t question it and continues with his original thought. “Gaster isn’t imaginary and you’ll get to meet him soon,” WingDings says.

“Do you want me to announce that you're leaving us tonight?” she asks.

“No,” WingDings shakes his head. “Be less confusing if you don’t, but thank you Miss Amy.”

Hearing him call her ‘Miss Amy’ brings a bright smile to her face and she hugs him one more time.

That evening, after dinner, WingDings says goodbye to his friends, getting a few tears out of Nola and Tomasz before going to bed. Gaster asks him to take a shortcut to Papyrus bed, so he’ll have him close by when he wakes in his new body. So, from his bed WingDings warps into Papyrus’s bed where the tall skeleton is sleeping, sprawled out comfortably. “Guess this is goodbye,” WingDings says, pulling out the piece of his soul from his inventory. He lets it float there above his magic hand, glistening brightly in the dark room.

“I will miss you child,” Gaster says softly.

“I’ll miss you too,” WingDings begins to cry, unable to hold back his tears. “You’ve done so much for me, I’m so grateful,” he sputters, trying to be quiet as to not wake Papyrus.

“You are very welcome, I’m so glad I could help you,” Gaster says, warmth coming to the child’s bones. “You are such a special child. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” WingDings promises and lowers the collar of his shirt, pulling out his soul. “Before I go . . . can you sing for me?”

“Of course child,” Gaster says and proceeds to sing the calm melody that has soothed and brought hope to WingDings these last three months. When he finishes WingDings is able to accept the last piece. “Be well child, and stay determined,” Gaster says as the piece reconnects to his soul.

When the piece finds its place in his soul he vanishes from the world, entering the darkness between time and space. There he follows the familiar feeling of his brother’s souls, before he is dumped back in his body which is slouched in his chair in class.

Unfortunately, he isn’t wearing anything, having it stored in his inventory and no longer wearing what his other body had on. Before anyone notices, WingDings takes a shortcut to the restroom where he changes before heading back to class. His teacher is upset with him for leaving class, but with his head low he requests going to the office. According to his IEP he can go to the office any time he requests it, as long as he tells an adult first.

The teacher is confused, but allows him to leave. On the way to the office WingDings keeps his head down, trying not to cry. He calls Sans as soon as he gets there, doing a poor job keeping his voice from breaking. As soon as Sans appears, WingDings hugs him tight.

Sans hugs him just as tightly, picking him up a little before signing him out with the office and walking out the gates with him. “Want to talk about it?” Sans asks.

“I do,” WingDings says. “I don’t want to forget.”

Notes:

I’m not crying, really I’m not! The ending might be a little rushed, but I really do love this story so much despite its flaws. I originally wrote this back in 2018, so it is one of the first stories I wrote for WingDings and I’ve had time to tweak it over the years. The original story hasn’t changed too much, unlike some of the other stories I’ve written for him.

See you next time! The next story in the series is actually being written by my sister Clang, but I’ll still be posting the next one I have. That story isn’t finished, but if I don’t get posting this series now I’ll be here for another decade.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 9 of Shattered Soul Series