True Lab, Underground 202X W. D. Gaster

Gaster finished his second cup of coffee just as the doors to the lab opened. Alphys came strolling in, a piece of toast still in her hand. She smiled brightly at Gaster. “Good morning, Doctor Gaster!” she greeted. “Good morning, Alphys,” Gaster replied, smiling. “How are you?” “Pretty good, thanks.” She settled at her desk and began to organize it. Not that there was much there. The rustling of paper reminded him of something. He picked up the research paper from last night. “Alphys, did you write this? It’s very well written.” Alphys looked up and examined the paper. A smug expression crossed her face. “No, I didn’t write it. Amy did.” “Alphys, that isn’t funny.” “I’m not joking! It’s the report on buttercups I told you about yesterday. She wanted you to read it, she said a book you had lent her inspired her to write it. She knew if she gave it to you, you’d reject it, so she asked me to give it to you. That’s also why she didn’t sign it.” Gaster contemplated this. If what Alphys said was true, and he had no reason to disbelieve her, then Amy had, in fact, written it, which in turn meant that she was smarter than Gaster wished to believe. The fact was that the report was rather well-written, despite the author’s identity. He absentmindedly flipped through the pages. Something caught his attention; something he hadn’t seen before. There was writing on the back of final page. It was in Amy’s handwriting. The message was simple; only two words, hastily written. “Asriel’s death.” Gaster furrowed his brow. A bold theory, and an illegal one; the king had issue a censor not long after Amy left, forbidding the discussion of the princes’ deaths, as well as Amy’s and Toriel’s disappearances. Still, illegal or not, he needed to hear more of her theory. He had never questioned Asriel’s illness, but it had been a decade. If nothing else, it would help the king get some closure. “Um, a-are you okay, Doctor Gaster? Y-you look kind of pale.” Gaster stood up, setting the paper down. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m going downstairs. If you need anything, you know where the intercom is.” “Y-yeah, okay….” Gaster walked to the door, punched in the code, and went downstairs. He had given Subject 1 and 2 a pillow along with their breakfast, to see what would happen. That had been an hour ago. The first thing he did was check on them. Hopefully, one of them would have asserted dominance and claimed the pillow. He unlocked the door to their room. There was pillow stuffing everywhere. Gaster stared at the mess, then at Subject 1 and 2. They hadn’t noticed him enter; they were too absorbed in their play. He’d have to clean this up later today. Which meant taking them out of the room. It can never be easy, can it? Gaster cleared his throat, alerting them of his presence. They both looked up and stopped their playing. “I need you two to come with me,” he told them. “You’ll be staying outside of your room for a while so I can clean this mess up.” They were chattering on while Gaster ushered them into the room outside of theirs. He was glad there wasn’t much in this room that could hurt them; he had no time to tidy up. “You two can stay right here until I’m done.” He gestured to the corner of the room. They settled down, still chattering away. “What is mess?” Subject 2 asked. Subject 1 followed that up with another question. “What is clean?” Gaster pinched the bridge of his nose. “A mess means a state of untidiness or dirtiness of a thing or a place. For example, your room is a mess. Clean is the absence of a mess. For example, this room is clean. Used as a verb, it is the action of fixing a mess. Example: I am going to clean your room.” This satisfied them, for the time being. They were both quick learners. That was a good sign. He left them there and found a broom and dustpan. This should be an easy enough task. The more difficult task would come later. “What is he?” Subject 2 asked abruptly. “Who am I? Who are we?” Oh, great. He was getting existential. “Am I, him?” “No, you are not the same person.” “Then what are we?” Gaster sighed and paused for a moment, continuing to sweep up the fluff. “You are things. Though it would not technically be out of order to say you are brothers.” “Brothers?” Oh, no. “We’re brothers?” Subject 1 asked. “Then what are you? Are you our brother?” “I am not your brother. I created both of you.” But what are you to us?” Gaster groaned. “Quiet. Both of you.” He finished cleaning up and took out his phone. As much as he didn’t want to, he needed to make this call. It was an unavoidable inconvenience. She picked up after two rings. “Yes?” “Amy. We need to talk.” “Lucky you, we already are.” Gaster rolled his eyes. “In person. When is the next time you’re free?” “Well, I get off of work at nine tonight. Does that work?” “Yes.” “Where do you want to meet?” Gaster hesitated. “Where works best for you?” As much as he hated it, he needed to accommodate her. Otherwise, she would never meet with him. There would never be closure. “My house.” “Very well. Nine at your house tonight. I assume you still live at the rental?” “Yes. Is that all? I really need to get back to work.” “That’s all. I will…see you tonight.” “See you.” She hung up. Gaster sighed. There. That was done. Thank the Angel. “Who was that?” Subject 2 asked. “That’s none of your business.”

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Snowdin, Underground

202X

Amy Fjorden

“See you tomorrow, Grillbz!” Amy called out. She felt bad for him, working here by himself. But it was a Monday night, and Monday nights weren’t usually too bad. Plus, the place closed in a couple hours, anyway. It shouldn’t be too terrible, right?

“Night, Amy,” Grillby replied, waving.

Amy stepped outside, into the cold. It was colder than usual tonight. Amy pulled her coat more tightly around her. The coat was worn. She had gotten it eleven years ago, of course it was worn. She hadn’t yet gotten around to washing the other jacket she found yesterday. Would that jacket even be heavy enough, for the below-freezing temperature that was standard for Snowdin?

She arrived to her house to find him, standing on her doorstep. He had the nerve to smile at her. That smile. She hadn’t seen it in such a long time. It made her pause for a moment. She smiled back and took her house key from her pocket.

“Evening, Gaster,” she greeted as she opened the door. “Come on in.”

It took a great deal of self control not to fling herself onto the couch and fall asleep. She was running on precious little sleep right now. That was partially her own fault, of course. Gaster closed and locked the door behind him.

“Can I get you anything?” Amy asked, hanging up her coat and putting her keys in their designated place by the fridge. “Anything at all?”

“Tea would be nice, if you have it.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have some dinner. I haven’t had a chance to eat yet.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Amy worked on making dinner for herself- just a sandwich -and tea for both of them. She watched Gaster settle down on her couch, the same one Heath had left in the house as a “bonus.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It was unusual, seeing him here, acting so casually. He was even dressed casually, for him; only a white button-down and slacks. It didn’t look half bad.

“So, why exactly did you want to meet?” she asked slowly.

Gaster didn’t even look at her, or open his eyes. “The message on your paper.”

“So you read it.”

“Yes. You think Asriel ate buttercups?”

“I’ve thought it since I first read about buttercup poisoning form your father’s book, back in your lab all those years ago.”

“Ah. That’s what had you looking so scared.”

“Mhm.”

“Well then. Explain your theory.”

“The night Asriel died, he…. Earlier that day, he had been to the Ruins. He came back and began to feel ill. Your father says buttercups grow near the Barrier. To most people, that means buttercups grow in New Home. But the Ruins touch the Barrier, as well; there is an entry to the Underground there, so the Barrier dwells there, too. Buttercups grow beneath the mouth of the pit there.

“By nightfall, he was dead. Within twenty-four hours of the consumption of buttercups, the one who consumed them would be dead. Plus, Asriel exhibited all the externally visible signs of buttercup poisoning.” Amy turned away from him, taking the teapot off the stove, and poured two cups. She put tea bags in the cups and left them alone.

“Do you have any further evidence?” Gaster asked, finally looking at her.

“What more do you need? If we could go back in time, maybe. Talk to Asriel and Chara. But we both know that’s impossible.” She finished eating her sandwich and walked to the couch, holding the mugs of tea. “Here. It isn’t golden flower tea, but it’s still pretty good.”

Gaster took one of the mugs after Amy sat down. “Thank you.”

“So…why is my theory so important to you?”

Gaster didn’t respond for a minute. “Asriel’s death is a mystery left unsolved for eleven years. It’s about time it was brought to light.”

“That, and Asgore would want to know, right?”

“That too.” He sipped his tea. “I will say, I think your theory is correct. I, too, saw him in his final hours, and what I saw aligns with the symptoms of buttercup poisoning as you described. You’re also right in that there is no way to know now.”

Amy stared at her cup. Her hands were shaking. Must be from being tired. There was silence for a few minutes. “So, um…how is he, anyway? The king.”

“He’s seen better days. We all have, really. He misses Toriel. He misses you.”

Amy squirmed. “That so?”

“Yes. You are, after all, his daughter and his heir.”

“He’s not my father.”

Gaster ignored this comment. “He knows where you are, you know.”

“He- He what?”

“He knows you’re here. The Guard alerted him within days of your departure.”

“Then why am I still here? Why didn’t he send the Guard to bring me back?”

“He respects that you’re an adult, and that you have the right to make your own decisions. He feels that forcibly taking you back to the palace would be in violation of your fundamental rights.”

“Oh.” Amy’s grip on her mug grew tighter. She took a sip of its contents. Cold. She felt the familiar warmth of her fire magic in her hands. Tiny flames slipped through her fingers as she warmed the tea up again. After a few more moments, she stopped the fire and took another drink. That was better.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Amy asked, more quietly than usual.

Gaster thought about this. “How much have you told Alphys about…us?”

“That we were good friends, once. Why, have you told her otherwise?”

“No, no. Have you told her about yourself?”

“Not…really.” Guilt settled over Amy. “I don’t…. There’s no reason for her to know.”

“She is your friend, is she not? Doesn’t she deserve to know?”

“I…I’ll think about it.” Amy sighed quietly. “She does deserve to know, but…I’m not sure I’m ready to tell anyone about myself.”

“You’ve been living here for eleven years, my dear. Someone must have noticed by now.”

“I know, I know.” Then she paused. “My dear?” Gaster said nothing. Petty man. Amy covered a yawn. She should be getting to bed. She was so tired. But she had a guest….

“I suppose we’re both tired, eh? I’ve been here longer than I anticipated, anyway. I’ll be off now.” He stood and walked to the front door.

“Wait.” The word slipped out before Amy could stop it. Gaster turned. “Stay safe, okay? Wouldn’t want more cracks in that SOUL.”

Gaster almost smiled. “The same to you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”