#hopefully ill have a decent sleep and maybe sweat out more of Whatever this is but. i also kinda doubt it. i shluld put an extra blanket

[possum-tooth]

i need to find smth to watch on the tv bc my hands are So Cold and its making the rest of my body cold. and when im sick and cold i want to Die

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[rueitae]

Between Rocks and A Hard Place

Summary: Lance and Pidge are caved in and cut off from the team. Pidge is hurt and there are pirates waiting for them.They have some time on their hands.

Read on Ao3

One last hurrah before s8, a canon verse plance fic. Roughly 8100 words. Thanks @sp4c3-0ddity for the usual. :)

~~~~~

“Pidge,” Lance rasped. His throat burned from persistent chatter and he’d lost count how many times he’d said her name, but he had to keep it up. He leaned forward to look down on his teammate’s unconscious and troubled face, tears blurring his vision. It brought sobs to his throat - a poor substitute for the lack of drinking water - seeing her so still, scratched and bloodied.

He gently nudged her shoulder pad. “Pidge, please wake up. This isn’t a good place for a nap,” he said, the weak joke meant more for him than for her. Anything to lighten things up in this dark cave.

Lance heaved a sigh of relief, rocking back on his heels when Pidge finally - finally - stirred and groaned. She opened her eyes blearily.

“Lance?” she asked, still clearly in the fog of sleep. Her eyes lazily scanned the enclosure, brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“Pirates,” Lance explained calmly. The faster she remembered the better. He didn’t have the memory restoration device from the S.P.R.A.W.L incident, so he hoped to jog her brain the old-fashioned way. “We were checking out a smuggling operation? Our leads brought us to a mine. There was an explosion and now we’re stuck. You blacked out for about ten doboshes.”

Pidge slid her forearms back towards her shoulders and pushed her upper body off the ground. Her eyes grew wide, and she let out a sharp yelp of pain, nearly falling onto her back once again.

Lance reached out to cushion her fall, heart racing for Pidge’s condition and his lack of means to do anything about it. Worse, her outburst garnered the attention of the pirates they’d come to investigate. They waited just outside the wall of fallen rock that kept him and Pidge separated from the outside. Lance blocked out their ambient jeers and focus his concern on Pidge.

He lowered her gently back to the ground. Her initial scream had turned into hurried breaths, eyes knit tightly in agony. He gulped; their situation was not good. Lance could see only two choices left to them at this point. Injured as Pidge was, he wondered briefly if the pirates were equipped and honorable enough to treat her should they surrender quietly.

“Don’t even think about it.” Pidge opened her eyes just long enough glare as she gave the order. Sweat dripped from her brow, exhausted from her labored breaths. She wrapped a hand around his arm and squeezed. Lance hissed, the pain of the pinch surprising him.

He let his shoulders slump, not bothering to ask how she’d read his mind. “They might have medical supplies. You need something, Pidge. We have a better chance of getting back to our Lions if you can run.”

“I can wait for rescue,” Pidge insisted. “We can’t count on pirate goodwill.” She gasped for breath, tightening her grip on his arm as much as she could. “Please, Lance.”

“Okay. Okay,” Lance repeated softly, refusing to outright make a promise he couldn’t keep. He sandwiched her hand with his other, offering comfort. His stomach grew ill as Pidge moaned to cope with her pain.

He activated the medical scanner on his gauntlet, able to finally assess her injuries in this quiet moment. “Nothing broken, but there’s a fracture in your right wrist… and your right knee,” he reported. “You probably have a concussion. Where does it hurt the most?”

“Makes sense,” Pidge responded. She took hold of the offending wrist gingerly, poking and stroking it carefully. “I’m a bit better now, but my shoulder is killing me. Knee and wrist are fine if I don’t move.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. We’re tucked in good.” He lifted his gaze to the wall of rock, stomach twisting. Cracks between different-sized boulders brought light inside, but there was no hole large enough for them to sneak out.

Even if they could, the pirates on the other side would be waiting for them.

Their current prison was a new and incomplete surface mine. The not yet harvested gems reflected what little sun came through, providing a decent amount of light for the enclosure. It couldn’t have been any bigger than their two Castle bedrooms combined.

“Can you help me sit up?” Pidge asked. “I’ll try and get through to the team. Hopefully the dust storm will be over soon.”

Lance lifted Pidge to rest sitting up against the back wall of the mine. “I’ll go check. Last look I think I saw a bit of the sun.”

“Oi - Paladin! Green still alive in there? You ain’t fallen asleep, have ya?”

Lance winced as he recognized the voice of the pirate leader. He wanted to continue filling Pidge in on the situation and try to devise some sort of escape plan, or at the very least comfort each other more before having to deal with this.

“I’m here, Bront,” Lance grumbled - loud enough for them to hear. “She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Good to hear!” the pirate responded jovilly. “Two live Paladins better than one alive and one dead.”

“Oh no,” Pidge whispered blandly, a groan in her voice. “He’s just as peppy as I remember. I was hoping that was a dream.”

Lance patted her good hand and stood. “Take it easy, Pidge; I got this one.” His voice sounded more confident than he felt, but Pidge needed all the rest she could get. He walked over to the wall, stepping up on a few rocks near the bottom of the sloped pile to a hole roughly the size of his head. He braced his arms on either side of it, holding his balance on the loose rubble below him. “What it is?” he asked.

A green face with red markings appeared before him. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve got a digger comin’ in the morning to fish you two out. It’s a long walk to the spaceport, so you’d best get plenty of rest.”

And where their legitimate ride home was, Lance thought with dread building in his heart. Their Unilu contact wasn’t being paid by the hour and would not wait for them. Pidge was not going to be able to handle that fast of a walk. He’d have to carry her, and if he carried her he couldn’t protect her from blaster fire. He wasn’t exactly one hundred percent perfect health himself either.

Between that and the number of pirates just outside, Lance knew the decision was made for them, but he wasn’t about to let Bront know that.

“Why are you telling us this? You planning the evening meal?” he quipped instead.

“Of course we’re eatin’! Far as I can tell it’s roasted coynet. Gives off an especially divine aroma,” he said with the air of an experienced food critic. In an instant his joyful smile twisted into a wicked grin. “If you ever escape I highly recommend you try some.”

Lance’s stomach growled preemptively at the prospect of no food until further notice. He knew his face reflected his fear too. Weakened, they’d be easy pickings to capture. They had nothing but themselves to offer, and unless the team came, the pirates would have them regardless.

“Don’t waste your energy, Lance,” Pidge told him. He turned to acknowledge her, but her focus rested solely on her gauntlet computer.

“You just wait until our buddies get here,” Lance snapped back at the opening. Maybe they could get away with a bluff. “You don’t want to see any of them angry.”

“A chance I am willing to take for a big payout. There are plenty of folks rich enough to buy off two Paladins of Voltron,” Bront said in a far more sinister tone. “Do whatever you need to prepare yourselves. Your freedom is ticking away.” He turned away, a wide grin on his face. “Shevp! Welcome back! Did ya find the herds yet?”

His voice blended into the chatter of the pirate crew at large as he moved further away, leaving the two Paladins in silence aside from the shifting of rubble, still unsettled from the cave-in.

Lance leaned his head against the wall. “Hurry up, guys,” he whispered under his breath.

“They know where we are,” Pidge said. Lance jumped in surprise. “I can hear everything in here,” she teased. “We’ll miss check-in a few varga from now. They might get here before morning.”

“You’re right,” Lance agreed. He stepped down from the ledge and put his hands to his hips. “Look at us, roles reversed.” He gestured between the two of them. “I’m usually the optimistic one. I thought you’d tell us our odds against making it out of here are too low.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Pidge was surely uncomfortable, but her injuries weren’t fatal. She was good company and she was right; the team would come for them.

“I guess we’re rubbing off on each other,” she said as he took a seat next to her. Why did rocks have to be so hard? “‘Something in space is always trying to kill us’?” She snorted, but quickly turned to him with a smile. “You are using your brain more though, preparing for logical eventualities.”

Lance forgot to breathe. The way she smiled softly at him, the light teasing and compliments, he couldn’t find a way to suck in any air.

Like lightning, both instantaneous and illuminating, he saw Pidge in a new light.

And maybe he always had, but now he realized it. Pidge was pretty and one of his very best friends.

He liked her. As in like-liked her.

Pidge was right. They’d been rubbing off and growing on each other for a long time.

“Lance? Are you okay?” Her scrunched face told of confusion and a hint of worry.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Was that a squeak? Oh no. Now what? Throw in pick up lines? PIdge always looked so disgusted when he used them on Allura --

Oh.

Perhaps this newfound feeling wasn’t just one way..

Oh quiznak, and they were on the cusp of being captured.

“It looks like your brain broke,” she said flatly, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I spoke too soon.” She returned her attention to her wrist comm.

“Hey! It is not!” His stomach twisted. Maybe he judged Pidge’s feelings wrong. She probably thought he was still a dumb not-sharpshooter goofball -

He could do something about that.

Lance summoned the red bayard and let it morph into rifle form. “I’ll show you brains. I’ve got a plan. We’ve got time and there’s plenty of openings. I’ll take them out one by one.”

Pidge considered him carefully, more worry in her eyes than anything. “There’s a lot of them out there, Lance. If you don’t they’ll be even more mad at us. If you do, we’ll have to wait on the — "

Lance dropped his bayard as Pidge took a sharp intake of breath, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

“Pidge, what is it? What’s wrong?” He held the back of her head and part of her shoulder. He searched with his eyes but found nothing.

“It - it hurts. My leg.” She leaned into him, shrieking every time she moved.

“You need pain medicine at least,” Lance insisted. His heart raced. What should he do? He had nothing.

“No,” Pidge gasped firmly. “It’s not worth it.”

There was nothing Lance hated more than being useless. He wasn’t a doctor and he had no medical supplies. He couldn’t break them out of this cave and he couldn’t get ahold of the team. Whether they came before the pirates could get in or not he had no way of knowing.

The only thing he could do was offer Pidge comfort...and he could negotiate. But he had to put his full trust in the rest of the team to rescue them.

Decision made, he carefully set her down against the wall. “I’ll be right back, Pidge. Hold on.”

She wanted to respond, the way she looked at him with fury and fear, only for a cycle of coughing, convulsing, and pain to strike her.

Resolve washed over him at the prospect of finally taking action. He took up his bayard and rose to the designated speaking hole.

“Hey, Bront! We need to talk!” he yelled, pounding a fist against the wall.

The pirate leader lifted his head in acknowledgment, then waved casually to dismiss his companions.

“What can I do for you, Red Paladin?” he asked upon approach. Bront grinned in a knowing manner and Lance felt his stomach twist, flinching unintentionally. The man relished having him and Pidge at his mercy.

“My friend needs medical attention,” he said. No sense in wasting time, not when her sobs echoed around the cavern. “She won’t be able to walk tomorrow in her condition. I need something to mend her leg at least.”

Bront laughed. The delight he took in this was sickening. “I think I’ve got enough room on a machine for that tiny one. Unless you have something to make it worth my while?”

“A clean capture,” Lance managed, he hoped, confidently. “If you give me something to help ease her pain, maybe even fix her, then I won’t put up a fight in the morning. None of your crew gets hurt and we all get out of this desert faster.”

Bront made a show of thinking, a long hum on his lips.

Lance sighed. It was just like dealing with the Unilu. “I suppose my word as a Paladin isn’t good enough?”

“I prefer collateral on a physical level. If you’ve got something, I have several vials of panacea we recently acquired from the nearby Galra base. Sounds like Green could use it.”

Lance’s heart leapt in hope. Panaceas were good and legit if it came from a Galra base. He’d seen them work before, essentially a healing pod in a syringe. It could fix her leg or wrist, but not both.

This was worth making the exchange for. If Pidge was in less pain the odds increased that she could help him form a solid escape plan. She’d be able to run if need be. He paused to let the thump of his heart fade from the inside of his ears.

He held his bayard up to the hole, back in its base form. “This is my only weapon. This for panacea.”

“You’re a good man to be so concerned for your teammate,” Bront mused. “Or maybe you’re thinking of other things?”

“What are you talking about?” Lance asked, legitimately confused. “Of course I’m worried about her!”

“Ahhh. I know what desperation sounds like,” he teased. “You have the cry of a lover.”

All warmth drained from Lance’s cheeks. He should be embarrassed to have been called out like this so soon after his heart revealed itself for Pidge, but there was no time, and the lewd expression Bront met him with chilled him to the bone. He had a bad feeling about where this was going.

“Still want to heal her knowing she has a ride tomorrow or”--the devilish grin only grew--“are you planning to engage in a more private activity?”

Lance audibly gasped. He thought… oh Quizn - bad choice of word.

“N-no! Nothing like that!” he finally replied angrily, trying desperately not to seem flustered at the pirate’s implication.

Bront threw his head back and laughed. “I like you,” he roared. “I think I have the perfect client in mind. You will thank me later!”

“Look, are you going to take me up on this or not?” Lance demanded against the second round to laughter.

The pirate shifted and produced a perfectly sealed package with a syringe filled with panacea inside. The color was a perfect shade of blue, not teal like many of the knock-offs he and the team had encountered.

Lance’s brain stalled as he realized the moment of truth was now.

“Take care of the lady tonight - my treat. I won’t even ask for her weapon.”

Lance set his bayard inside the crack, not trusting himself to speak. His cheeks were on fire from embarrassment and he knew that if he said anything it wouldn’t come out threatening or dignified.

Bront set the package in the same area, and Lance took it. He held it tight, as if it would make him safer now that his weapon was with pirates.

“A slick piece of tech you’ve got here,” Bront said, examining the weapon airily as it swung like a pendulum from his finger.

“It’s old so don’t break it,” Lance grumbled. “I’ll be taking it back when our friends get here to rescue us.”

Sobs from Pidge's direction took his attention away from the pirate. Her helmet was off now, lying a few feet away. It was her balled up form shivering in pain that thrust a dagger through his own heart.

"This had better work," Lance threatened, holding up the panacea for emphasis.

Bront flipped the dormant red bayard and caught it expertly with his other hand, rolling it onto a single finger, twirling it around as if it were a toy. "Guess you'll find out soon, Loverboy. Good luck. I'll see you in the morning."

The pirate walked away. Lance refused to watch as the man made light use of his weapon. Attending to Pidge was far more important. He jumped down from the higher rock and jogged back to where he'd left her. Ripping open the bag with his teeth, he knelt at her side.

"Pidge, I've got a dose of that healing pod juice," he said lightly. "I'm going to use it on your leg, okay?"

Pidge hissed, her eyes clenched shut in pain. "You idiot," she managed. "Hurry, I can't - I think i might throw up."

Lance made quick work taking off her boot and shin armor. He needed to inject it directly into her skin. "Just stay still, Pidge. Almost there," he said, making his voice as soothing and comforting as possible. He rolled up the black under suit to her thigh, careful around the knee. He winced when he encountered the deep red gash right on the joint, surrounded by shades of blue.

"Okay, here goes nothing," he said as a warning. He gave the syringe a good shake before injecting it into the side of her knee.

Pidge screamed, sitting up straight in a flash, huffing and gasping as the liquid worked its magic. Lance sat mesmerized as the gash in her knee knitted itself up.

The process was slower than he'd have liked. In a healing pod Pidge would have been asleep and under anesthetic while muscles and bones righted themselves. Right now, she felt and saw it all.

The pain had to be excruciating.

Once the liquid was fully injected, his usefulness playing physician stopped. He scooted over behind Pidge and wrapped both arms around her tightly. "I know it's not much," he said into her ear over her screams and sobs. "Just focus on me, not the pain."

"I'm trying!" Pidge yelled. She grabbed his leg with her good arm and squeezed for all she was worth. "Lance, it’s too much. I can't - " Her coherent sentence went interrupted by more crying, writhing in his arms.

She twisted and turned, kicking both her legs wildly. So far so good; at least she had movement now. "It'll be over soon," Lance promised - he wasn't sure how in the universe he was still so calm - and he hoped he was right. He didn't know how long this would take, but for now he just held her tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. Think about Green; she's probably worried about you, right? Or your projects - whatever you normally think about. Do something crazy - anything. I'm here for you."

Pidge angled her head to face him. She stared, long enough for tears to stream down her face and shiver in pain. But she had stopped screaming. Hopefully the panacea was almost done working and -

His brain stopped when she dragged his face towards her own and locked their lips together.

Her grip on him pinched slightly, but it was hardly a blip on his emotional radar compared to kissing Pidge.

Lance knew he wasn't putting much effort into it. Pidge pressed forward enough for the both of them, but he didn't pull away. The experience was pleasant and warm, and he supported the back of her head and shifted his body to sit at her side to make it easier on her neck.

Surely this answered the question of Pidge having any romantic feelings towards him. Scarcely realizing his own mere minutes ago, he'd not had the time to develop any expectations or fantasies.

He was glad, because Pidge was a great kisser.

Pidge broke off and immediately buried her face in his chest - before he could catch a glimpse of her reaction. She left his mind in a foggy haze from both surprise and how right it felt.

Her breathing steadied, and Lance stole a look to her knee. It looked as if nothing had ever happened to it. Relief overflowed from his chest and he relished in Pidge’s softer and easier breaths. He sighed and nestled his nose into her hair, emboldened by her initiation.

“Feel better?” he mumbled, running a supportive hand up and down her back.

It took Pidge a long moment to reply, and she didn’t bother lifting her head. Lance worried about any adverse effects from the panacea. None of them had actually used it before. They’d assumed it would work just as well on humans, but really who knew?

Pidge groaned; at least it wasn’t a pain-induced one. “Physically? Yes. I might die of embarrassment though. I should have asked you first.”

“The kiss?” Lance let out a sharp laugh. “Well, I did say you could do anything. That’s on me.”

She turned her head up slightly, enough that Lance could almost see one whole eye. “You didn’t mind?”

“I’m still holding you, aren’t I?” he teased. “Besides, this just means I owe you one back, right?”

Pidge didn't respond right away, but her frown and furrowed eyebrows betrayed her sour mood. His heart stilled. Had he said the wrong thing?

He loosened his grip as she gently pushed off from his chest. She stood, shakily at first, and Lance lunged forward to held steady her.

The irony of kneeling before Pidge and holding her hand in this particular moment was not lost on him. His heart beat loud, his ears throbbing.

"Looks like that healing stuff really did the job," he said in an attempt to break the awkwardness.

"Did you mean that?" Pidge asked, voice firm. Her gaze likewise ensnared him and he couldn’t break away. She wasn’t talking about the panacea. "I can say it didn't mean anything, just a distraction from the pain."

She offered an out, but Lance didn't want to take it. Pirate suggestiveness aside, he didn't know what would become of them tomorrow, if their relationship - friendship or otherwise - might somehow be used against them or if they’d be separated. He didn't want to lose this chance, not when he'd already missed the opportunity to help Shiro's clone. He refused to put anyone else in danger because he didn't take action.

So he stood and clasped her hand. That alone pleased him more than it should have when Pidge's face turned a bright red and her lips parted in surprise. The corners of his mouth curled up on instinct into his favorite teasing and flirtatious smile, but his heart felt more sincere than ever.

"Trying to get out of paying me back? You'll have to do better than that, Pidge."

She clenched her fingers around his in anger, but did not take her hand away. "If you're going to start flirting with me just like with every other girl in the universe, you can forget it. I kissed you out of necessity and delirium. I don't want you to read anything into -- "

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, interrupting her. "So, in delirium and in pain, the first thing you thought to do was kiss me?" he said in humor as he found her eyes once more. "Now we're even."

Angry eyes melted into soft and defeated orbs. "This is a bad time for this," she said.

"I don't know when we'll next have time, Pidge. So, let me try, okay?" At a small nod and with butterflies flying into the wall of his stomach, he said, "Even though this situation really sucks, I'm glad I'm stuck here with you. You're the smartest, bravest, most creative person I know. You're amazing, and I felt like telling you every day." Pidge froze, emitting a soft gasp, but he continued, "You're beautiful, Pidge, inside and out. I would play the Gameflux all day every day with you if I could."

He didn't expect his words to open the floodgates in her eyes.

"When we met at the Garrison, you wanted to be my friend," Pidge managed to choke out. "You kept trying to be my friend, even though I pushed you away so many times. I just... I just wanted to - I wanted to hear that from you so much. I didn't think I'd ever -- " Her lip wobbled. "I hate caves and I hate pirates!"

She fell limply against his chest, unable to speak any further until her tears dried up. Lance held her close, not about to let her fall. He didn't need to hear any more. Pidge had been waiting long enough, and he felt awful about it.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while.

"You gave them your bayard," she stated, wiping her tears away and changing the subject. She had the right idea. It was time to figure out a plan.

"Yeah, I did." No sense in lying about it.

Pidge sniffled. "We're outmanned, outgunned, and at a strategic disadvantage."

"Ten to one, at least," Lance supplied. "But the team is on their way, the pirates are going to dig us out, and you can walk."

Pidge inhaled deeply and took a step back, letting her shoulder roll down and relax with the exhale. She did not let go of his hand. When she opened her eyes, tears were nearly gone, and in their place a steely determination.

"We can assume they have a functioning communication device able to get past the storm since they called in for machinery," she said methodically. "If I can get to it, I can contact the Coalition channels to see if anyone is closer than the Atlas.”

“I’ll keep them talking as long as I can,” he offered. “You’ll be okay with one hand?”

“I’ll have to be.” She held the injured wrist. “I should keep this elevated.”

Lance looked around the cave for inspiration. “Well, there’s plenty of rocks,” he joked.

Pidge’s face fell. “I guess that will work…”

He sighed dramatically. “Pidge, I am not going to let you rest on a rock if I can help it. Here.”

He settled himself down on the floor, shifting around for the most comfortable position. Once his head found a nook in the rubble that wasn’t too sharp he set his arm around a rock that was about head high, and gestured for Pidge to join him.

“You can use me as a pillow. Come on.”

At her uncertain face, he added, “It’ll keep us warm too. We should be well-rested for tomorrow.”

Pidge sighed in surrender. It took her only a few steps to reach him and curl up beside him. He didn’t have to coax her to rest her head on his chest and lay her arm across his abdomen.

“Comfy?” he asked once she stopped adjusting. He wrapped his arm around her back when she shivered and snuggled in closer.

“As much as I will be. Thanks, Lance.”

He rested his own head on hers. “Anything for you, Pidge.”

They descended into an easy silence. Lance watched the opening in the wall as Pidge’s sleeping breaths nearly lulled him to sleep.

He had no reason to think Bront lied to him about the digging machine coming in the morning, other than the man being a pirate. He’d been truthful so far as Lance could tell, and to even have panacea on his person meant he took care of his crew. They could have ended up with worse captors.

One of them needed to be awake, in case he made a move early. Since Pidge needed all the sleep she could for her recovery, that left him.

As the sun set outside,  it grew more difficult to distinguish the hole in the wall with the rest of the cave. The pirates kept Lance awake, a group of them keeping vocal well into the night.

“You didn’t have to get me the panacea,” Pidge said out of nowhere, startling him. Her voice was laced with the grogginess of waking.

“Yes I did,” he insisted. “It was killing me to see you in so much pain. Besides, it... would have been a short fight even with my bayard. I was using my brain, promise,” he teased.

Pidge shuffled to reach the computer on her gauntlet, still content to use him as a pillow.

Static echoed when she turned on communications. “The dust storm must still be going on. I still can’t get a hold of anybody.”

“Didn’t Coran say they could last for days?” Lance gulped. The pirates could have them well off planet by then.

“Weeks,” Pidge corrected solemnly. “Did Bront tell you where he was taking us? I can at least leave a scrambled message for Matt.”

I know just the client.

Lance shivered. With how fixated Bront was over their, at the time, non-existent romantic relationship, he really didn’t want to find out. He hoped that Hunk’s famous gut feeling would be enough to bring the team on time.

“He didn’t say, and hopefully we’ll never find out,” Lance said, unintentionally holding Pidge even closer. “We missed check-in a while ago. The team has to be on their way.”

Pidge leaned back on his arm, sending him a determined glare. “We have to be ready if they don’t.”

“I know,” Lance conceded. There wasn’t much they could do except stall for time. He could talk and Pidge would do her share of distracting, but they had to wait until they were free and that wouldn’t take long once the digger arrived.

Or would it?

“Hey Pidge, how powerful do you think that digging machine will be?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, puzzled by his train of thought. “I saw a lot of machinery that looked like twenty-first century Earth tech. We might have ten dobashes or so before they can make a hole big enough to get us out.”

“How long would it be if we reinforced the wall with Altean tech?”

Pidge opened her mouth to remind him they didn’t have any other equipment, but stopped herself, her face lighting up.

“I still have my bayard! I could try and weld the rocks together,” she said with a bright smile. “Lance, that’s genius.”

His chest glowed and his heart fluttered at the compliment. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear her praise him like that, confirmation that he wasn’t dumb and not just a goofball.

“Are… you crying?” she asked, breaking Lance out of his reflective world.

He was tearing up, he realized.

Pidge searched his face for answers and he hated that she frowned instead of smiled. “It’s like I’ve actually never said a nice thing to you.”

“That’s not true!” Lance was quick to retort, frazzled that this was suddenly about him. “You uh…”

Her eyes grew wide with horrified realization. “Seriously? I swear every time I think about our conversations I remember saying something nice.”

“No… just… goofball, not being the team sharpshooter…generally in the way.” Each and every time he’d been unsure of himself and his place on the team.

It had hurt to see her in physical pain before, but he may as well have stabbed himself. Because now her emotional pain was explicitly his fault.

Pidge sucked in a sharp breath. “Lance, I’m — “

“No, it’s okay. I deserved it,” he said. He averted his gaze, electing to continue his lookout duties. All traces of daylight were gone now, and even the pirate chatter had diminished. A low hum of insects was all that remained. “It took me too long to man up out here, too long to take things seriously.”

The weight of Pidge’s head returned to his chest.

“Being a goofball is one of my favorite things about you,” she said quietly. “You lift us all up. If I hadn’t been focused on finding my family I would have enjoyed hanging out with you after class. Even if I was annoyed, I was really grateful for the distraction.

“And if that’s not enough, I love playing video games with you too. You’re a good right hand to Keith and for the rest of us, and you are our sharpshooter. You’re amazing, Lance. Even if we - I - don’t say it often or at all, that’s the truth.” She lifted her head and smiled at him, a soft beautiful smile she usually reserved only for her family now was his too. “It’s true you’ve grown for the better, but we all have. None of us started this crazy adventure perfect. Don’t ever lose what makes you, you.”

“Pidge.” The faucets opened. Sobbing into her hair wasn’t his most ideal way to begin a relationship (or being stuck in a cave surrounded by pirates if he was honest), but the way she held him as tightly as she could despite her fractured wrist made him feel welcome to stay that way as long he wanted.

All seemed fine and perfect. Apart from the circumstances, Pidge’s arms were exactly where he wanted to be.

The ambient humming noise that Lance once thought belonged to local wildlife grew more prominent and distinctly more machine-like. Pebbles shook and crumbled from the wall faster than before.

“Oh quiznak, they’re coming.” Lance’s heart sunk. This was too early. They weren’t going to be able to even start their plan.

Just as distressed, Pidge flopped over and began to roll the back undersuit back down to cover her leg, slow going one-handed. “Help me get my boot back on.”

Lance sat up and grabbed the boot and shin guard, the urgency of the task keeping his mind from dwelling on what might be waiting for them after the pirates.

The temperature in the cave rose, and though the task of armoring Pidge was a simple one, water dripped from his brow into his eyes. Wiping his face did nothing but agitate it, covering his gloves in moisture.

Pidge suffered as well. “Sorry, I sweat pretty bad normally,” she said as he slipped her boot the wrong way for a second time. The last piece.

Rock fell to the ground with a great clash, diverting Lances attention.

A hole large enough for several people to fit through was now the entrance to the cave. Fresh air filtered in, the night breeze cooling and drying his sweat. The drilling machine responsible sat just outside, the drill bit powering down and still glowing a shade of orange from its heat.

Pidge took his hand, trembling. “Okay, a little more advanced than twenty-first century Earth.”

A loud click sounded and bright lights flooded the cave. Lance yelped and diverted his eyes, his senses overloaded. Pidge groaned and buried her face in his side.

“Good morning Paladins! I hope you slept well!”

Lance squinted to see Bront filtering in with five additional crew. His fingers itched for his bayard, but it dangled far away from him on the pirate’s belt. The sight of it served as a physical reminder of his promise not to resist, and it took all of his willpower to remain still while holding Pidge’s boot.

It wouldn’t stop him from snarking.

“Was hard to with how loud you all were out there,” Lance said, making sure to glare holes in the man.

The head pirate laughed. He gestured from his crew to the Paladins, a wordless order to restrain them.

“Looks like I’m right on time! Would have hated to walk in on you two in the act; I can respect a couple’s privacy.”

Lance knew he shouldn’t, but he looked to Pidge. He couldn’t not after her exclamation of ‘what’ to Bront’s comment. Her face was caught between horror and rage.

Two pirates lifted Lance to his feet, one on each arm. “We don’t want to hear it from you,” he hissed, hoping the man would get the hint.

He didn’t. A devilish joy flashed in his eyes, a grin to match. “Despite the digger coming early, you were able to unleash all your passions and get dressed again minus a single boot.” Bront shifted his weight and clapped slowly and deliberately. “I am impressed.” He laughed in almost unbridled delight. “My client is going to love you.”

Lance felt sick, so he refocused his energy on the pirates lifting Pidge to her feet. One of them finished the job of putting her boot back on. Seeing her able to stand on her own made him feel slightly better. The trade had been worth it

“Careful,” he told them as authoritatively as he could. “Her wrist is still healing.”

“Where are you taking us?” Pidge demanded.

“Don’t you worry, Ceronis takes good care of his wards. Talked with him last night; he doesn’t have any Earthlings yet. You’ll get a pretty cushy room - plenty romantic too, I’ve heard.” He winked at them.

Lance forgot to breath out, sucking in more air than he needed and coughing. They were going to some kind of crazy collector and encouraged to be intimate. His chest tightened at the implications, on the verge of panic.

Where was the team?

Pidge kicked and growled. “That’s sick! Let us go!”

Bront made a show of considering. “Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s only fair to bring you in together. Secure them to the transport. We head for the spaceport as soon as camp is packed.”

He turned on his heel and headed outside.

A pair of handcuffs linked Pidge’s good hand with one of Lance’s with a resounding click.

“You can keep it as our gift to you,” one of the crew teased. Lance fell forward from a rough push, his boots scraping across the ground and barely keeping his footing. The others joined in the laughter.

Pidge tumbled into him. Already unbalanced, they hit the ground clumsily.

Pidge gasped sharply in pain. Her wrist must have been hit.

“No need to be pushy,” he twisted to growl at their guards.

The head of the group gestured with his blaster. “Don’t waste time, get up.”

He didn’t want to risk further incapacitating Pidge, so he helped her to stand with him while she nursed the offending wrist, eyes shut as if to will the pain away. If they had any hope of escape, it wasn’t now and they both needed to be as fit as possible.

Guns to their backs, they marched out of the cave. The sudden activity clawed at Lance’s stomach, reminding him neither had eaten since they left the castle.

The cool fresh air and the cloudless, starry sky refreshed his sore muscles, and he let his feet dig into the soft sand. It would be peaceful if not for the dozens of desert vehicles, all clearly armed to the teeth with turrets on top and blasters out the sides. With a few cosmetic changes, they would have fit in with any group Earth tanks.

Bront led them to one.

“Since you’ve both been so cooperative, I arranged some special transportation to the spaceport.” He put his back to them and pounded on the fortified side.

With a stinging yank, Lance lost control of his arm. He opened his mouth to deliver a quip, needing something to lift his spirits.

Pidge paid him no mind. She’d pulled up her wrist computer. Trying to send the team a message, he realized. The storm had subsided, so they could get ahold of anyone now. He shut his mouth. She typed fast even with the shared weight of his arm, wincing with every tap.

Pidge was working, which meant he needed to as well.

Bront’s pounding opened a door in the side of the tank. His heart sank, knowing where this was going. If they went in there, communications definitely wouldn’t work.

“Oh come on,” he complained, making a point to shield Pidge’s actions with his body. “It’s nice out and it was super stuffy in the mine. We can walk for a bit.”

A sharp gasp. “Watch it!” Pidge snapped, her eyes lined in water. Their guards had caught her in the act. One of them pulled a knife out of her cuff, which crackled with electricity, rendered useless.

“Dude, I told you her wrist is bad,” Lance added in anger. “Don’t make it worse.”

“Don’t be sending any cries for help,” Bront retorted, smiling. It was not a nice smile, and it chilled him worse than the night air.  He bowed mockingly. “Ladies first, I insist.”

Blasters hummed to life behind them, leaving only one choice.

He hadn’t felt this hopeless since that first showdown with Zarkon.

A soft pressure wrapped around his hand. Pidge’s grip tightened in sync with her angry face, tinged with sadness.

“You should have listened to Lance,” she spat. “Our friends are going to tear you apart looking for us.”

“I’d almost welcome the challenge if I weren’t here for business,” Bront aired. His face twisted into a nasty scowl. “Get in. Another word or pause and I’ll have Keln take out your whole arm, Green.”

Lance refused to risk the bluff. He squeezed Pidge’s hand and stepped forward, making the choice for her. She reciprocated the comforting gesture and offered no resistance when helped up through the hatch.

Lance awkwardly followed head first, yelping as gravity pulled him to the floor inside. He landed on his back, one arm splayed out and the other stretched uncomfortably, still connected to Pidge. He twisted to his side as Bront pushed his legs completely inside.

The floor was less cold and less hard than he had expected.

“It takes these machines about three varga to cross the desert. You two do whatever you want in that time; no one will bother you,” Bront said in delight. “See ya then.”

The door shut, several locks clicking with finality, and total darkness engulfed them.

Fairy lights illuminated the area moments later. The strings decorated the cushioned walls and ceiling, the floor similarly pillow-like. Actual pillows sat at one end.

It was very… romantic, for a holding cell.

It only served to unnerve Lance further. The list of things he would give to be in this position with a girl he liked was long, minus being kidnapped of course.

And he was here with Pidge.

“He - he’s not kidding, is he?” Pidge asked, cheeks a dark red. “He thinks we’ve already - oh quiznak,” she moaned.

“I don’t think he’s kidding about his client either,” he said. He took deep breaths, trying to slow his adrenaline filled heart. “Did you get a hold of anyone?”

Pidge shook her head and sat, resting her injured wrist on her knees. “I just managed to get out some incoherent code. They’d know it’s me and that’s about it. If they crack it.”

“There’s still time,” Lance said quickly. He sat up, crossing his legs for comfort. “Red’s saved Keith from death tons of times, so the Lions could find us too.”

“We’re not about to die, Lance,” Pidge snapped. “We’re getting shipped off to be an attraction at a private zoo run by a pervert. We’ve never heard of this guy. The odds of the team finding us after we get off-planet are — “

“The odds are bad, I get it. Everything about this is bad.” He took her hand. “We’ll find a way out of this. I promise.”

Pidge steeled her gaze. “As soon as we can con tech out of the pervert I am making a communicator.”

Lance grinned, heart much lighter with Pidge planning their escape. “That’s why I love you, Pidge.”

A familiar purr surrounded his mind like a roaring campfire. Words did not come, but all thoughts of escape were cut off and the void replaced with an image of this planet in his mind's eye.

It was gone as quickly as it came. Across from him Pidge blinked, looking as if coming out of a deep sleep.

“Did you see that?” he asked breathlessly.

Pidge nodded, a victorious grin growing on her face. “I heard Green! The Lions know where we are and they’re coming!”

A quintet of deep roars permeated the walls of their thick metal prison. Pirates screamed and laser fire tore into the nearby landscape.

Lance gulped. “I sure hope they know we’re in one of these.”

Metal on metal screeched, drowning the scream that Lance made the vocal motion for, but couldn’t hear. Pidge dragged him back as the fairy lights were ripped into the open, along with the other half of the cell, by yellow claws.

“Lance! Pidge!” It had never felt better to hear Hunk’s voice. “Guys, I found them! Are you two okay?!”

“Hunk!” Pidge yelled, delighted. He let Pidge drag him to the new, much larger, door and waved.

“I’m sure glad to see you, buddy!” Lance yelled back in relief. “Pidge has a hurt wrist! We’re fine otherwise!”

The Yellow Lion stood imposingly over the battle, where the Blue and Black Lions circled above providing air support. Green and Red landed nearby, anxiety rattling through the bond to get their Paladins back in the pilot seat.

Lance beamed. He always relished the role of Paladin, but in this moment he let pride take over fully, both for himself and for the team he was a part of.

“Oh man that’s such a relief,” Hunk breathes. “So, Yellow kept showing me images of this guy and I’m guessing he’s the cause of this. I have him pinned under a claw.”

“Keep him right there!” Lance hollered back, scowling. “I owe him a piece of my mind.”

“I’m coming with,” Pidge said. “I want to punch him. Also,” she chuckled, “we’re still handcuffed together.”

Lance wasn’t sure why, but it was hilarious. He broke down in a giggling fit, unbound hand clutching his side. Pidge joined him on the floor, sputtering into uproarious laughter of her own.

Why not? Lance thought. This entire situation was like a weird nightmare nearly come true. Of all the times to reveal a mutual crush - it wasn’t not funny.

It was a better coping mechanism than taking it seriously.

“I need to get my bayard back,” he managed to say, though his chest hurt from laughing too much. “I told him our friends were going to be angry.”

Pidge wiped the tears from her eyes, dragging his hand with her. He took the opportunity to help, hoping his gloves were dry enough. Her smile shifted, going from pure mirth to something like affection. It was a look she’d given him so many times before but one he’d never given proper context to.

“What’s with that look?” he teased as he settled down.

“That’s what I love about you,” she responded in kind to his admission earlier, leaning her head towards him, her smile getting softer by the moment. “I always have fun when we’re together.”

Her face drew closer, and Lance didn’t realize it was partly his own doing until their faces were too close to not kiss.

So they did. His lips traveled until they met hers. She pushed up, and he pushed down in equal measure. Lance savored the taste of the alien fruit that still lingered from their previous meal. His lips wormed around hers, exploring every crevice. Pidge paused over his lower lip. The way she nibbled and licked on it excited him more than he could afford in the middle of a battle zone.

“Guys?” Hunk’s voice cracked.

Pidge pulled back with a snort. “I think we broke Hunk.”

“We gave the pirates what they wanted.” Lance shrugged with a smile.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Think Bront is watching? Want to break him too?”

With her eyebrows raised suggestively enough, Lance found he couldn’t say no.

So in the middle of the battlefield, filled with scraps of what were once armored vehicles and weapons, in front of their friends and the pirate leader who was so pleased to egg them on:

They kissed.

[ashadowcalledkei]

Finally, another chapter done.  I know, this part took soooo long for me to write, but so much happens in it that I really wanted to take my time and get it right (plus it turned out extra long).  So, hopefully you guys will like it too.  Now that it’s done, it’s back to the babyblaster verse for me~.  (Also, I’m playing with Gaster’s text, if it doesn’t work or is too hard to read I’ll switch it back)

Ash and Bone

Sequel to Lost and Found

Pairings: None Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Toriel, W̢͠.̷̕ ̵D̶̴̷. ̷̡G̵͘͜a͘s̛ter Warnings: nightmare imagery, graphic body horror

Notes: I did not come up with the GasterblasterAU and I’m not sure who did, but as far as I know it’s considered a community AU.  Check earlier chapters to see some links to other amazing GBAU writers.

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 4

Sans trudged down the hall, dragging his feet on the worn blue carpet.  The familiar surroundings of his Snowdin home should have been a comfort after the chaos his life had all too rapidly dissolved into, but instead he just felt tired.  Drained.  Numb.  He stumbled his way into the bathroom and groped blindly for the light switch until a warm glow lit the space.  Immediately, he shielded his eyes with his hand.  Even that weak light seemed to stab into his aching sockets.  He shuffled to the sink, infinitely grateful that he'd managed to convince his brother that this one didn't need to be 'improved' like the one in their kitchen, and twisted the knob.  Water began to flow, filling the room with soothing sound.  Sans cupped his hands beneath it, pressing his thin bones close together until he'd collected a small pool of clear, cold water.  With one quick motion, he brought his hands up and splashed the water onto his face.  The skeleton shivered as cool liquid dripped down his skull and soaked into his shirt.  He braced himself against the sink, leaning heavily against its smooth surface.  He could do this.  He just had to keep it together.  

Uneven breaths rattled in his chest.  Slowly, he raised his head.  The reflection that stared back at him looked even worse than he felt.  His eye lights were nothing but dim, flickering spots.  Stains of dark blue magic shadowed his sockets where the bone had become discolored and soft.  Water and sweat dripped down his neck.  His eternal smile was strained, tightened into a pained grimace that he could not manage to banish.  As he stared, he slowly became aware of something else.  Something that wasn't right.  There was a foreign edge to his joyless smile that was oddly sharp.  Almost … pointed.

A sudden piercing sound made him jump as his reflection suddenly broke.  Cracks splintered along the image, streaking in opposite directions from each of his wide, terrified sockets.  Sans stumbled backwards, his gaze fixed on the broken glass.  Only, the cracks moved with him.  They weren't in the glass at all.  A splintering sound like thick ice slowly breaking to pieces echoed in his skull.  Shaking fingers clutched at his face, digging into new fractures that split bone.  

Sans screamed as he bolted upright.  The mattress gave under his weight, making him bounce ever so slightly.  He was in his bedroom, he realized as the nightmare slowly released him.  He lifted a shaking hand to his face, hesitantly pressing his fingers beneath his left socket.  There was nothing there but drying tears.  

“Sans?” Papyrus called, rapid footsteps getting louder as he hurried down the hall.  He paused only for a moment, knocking on the door out of a mix of habit and unrelenting politeness before just opening it anyway.  The younger skeleton stood silhouetted in the doorway, anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot as he scanned the room for any hints of danger.  “Are you alright?”

Sans quickly scrubbed at his face, not quite managing to erase the lingering signs of his fear but doing his best to at least mask them as exhaustion.  “y-ya, i'm fine.”

“I thought I heard you scream.”

The older brother tilted his head down, hiding the natural flinch that crossed his features.  Had the entire household heard him?  “it was just a dream, that's all.”

Sans wasn't surprised by the sad frown the dominated his sibling's features, but that didn't make it any easier to see.  Papyrus quietly closed the door behind him before making his way over, stepping around discarded socks and stray papers without his normal chastisement.  “Maybe you should get some more rest.”

“can't.”  Ooh he wanted to, the siren call of sleep was as tempting as ever even with how shaken his nightmare had made him, but this time he couldn't allow himself to follow it.  “shouldn't have let myself fall asleep at all.”

“But you were so tired,” Papyrus said, guiltily wringing his gloved hands.

“that's kinda the point, bro.”

After his initial plan to find some abandoned cavern, seal himself in it, and wait for all this to blow over had been shot down, they'd needed to come up with some other way of making sure Sans didn't lose control.  And what they'd come up with was, in his opinion, a stroke of genius, even if he did kind of regret his part in coming up with it.  If he had no energy left to summon the blasters, then they couldn't be used against him or his friends.  It was a simple, elegant solution that, unfortunately, meant he couldn't indulge in things like food or sleep that would naturally restore his magic levels.  It also meant that he'd had to get rather creative when it came to expending all that magical energy in the first place.  A long abandoned cave system south of Waterfall was sporting several new. large craters thanks to his efforts.  It had almost been worth it all to see the look of shocked amazement on Undyne's face.  Now he just had to avoid recharging until either Gaster was banished back to whatever strange pocket dimension he'd escaped from or one of the two of them dusted.  You know, whichever came first.

“Her majesty,” Papyrus visibly stopped himself shaking his head a little as he remembered that the boss monster in question didn't like to be called that any more, “I mean, miss Toriel said it would be alright to let you rest for a few hours.”  He fidgeted anxiously, as if he were afraid that Sans might truly be angry with him.  “I don't want to see you make yourself ill over this.”

Sans opened his mouth to protest, but one look at his brother's pleading expression and the fight drained out of him.  He sighed, unwilling to waist what little energy his unplanned nap had given him on arguing.  Besides, it wasn't like he could blame his brother for being cautious.  Papyrus was still sifting through his restored memories, piecing together the disjointed facts of their childhood to uncover a truth that had been kept from him for so many years.  It couldn't be pleasant.  

“any news from alphys?” he asked instead.  

“Not yet.  She did say she'd let us know if anything turned up though, so I suppose no news is good news.”  Papyrus let out a pale imitation of his normal, boisterous laugh.  

When they'd first arrived at the house, Papyrus carrying a thoroughly exhausted Sans on his back, the streets of Snowdin had been flooded with excited monsters sharing the big news.  Now, the town beyond their door was eerily still.  It apparently hadn't taken very long for king Asgore to put his plans into motion, a fact which Sans was grateful for.  Mettaton was putting his so called star power to good use, flooding the airwaves with the news about the barrier and urging everyone to remain calm.  Citizens were being instructed to either stay in their homes until further notice or come to the MTT Resort just outside New Home.  The structure seemed like a decent enough gathering spot for monsters eager to catch their first glimpse of the surface, especially since it was one of the few buildings in the underground large enough to handle that kind of crowd.  Sans was worried about how close it was to the Core facility, but Alphys had called a while back and assured them that the path between the hotel and the Core was closed for the time being and would remain that way until the 'Gaster situation' had been dealt with.  

She'd called again after finishing her first round of inspections on the Core itself, saying that everything looked fine and there were no signs of tampering.  It wasn't that Sans didn't believe her, he knew Alphys was trustworthy regardless of her own sometimes unflattering opinion of herself, but he was still anxious none the less.  They had no way of knowing what Gaster was up to or what had brought him back, and until they found that out everyone had to be ready for anything.

The mattress dipped as Papyrus sat beside him.  “Don't worry brother, everything's going to be alright.  Undyne, miss Toriel, and I will protect you.  That man won't have a chance against the three of us.”

'That man'.  Not 'Gaster'.  Not 'the twisted shell of a monster that used to be our dad'.  Sans leaned against his brother, resting his head on the taller skeleton's shoulder.  “ya,” he said softly, though he didn't believe his own words, “i know you will.”

-----

A dark figure hurried along silent corridors.  He darted from shadow to shadow, his inky black form blending in with natural darkness of the caves.  Pale hands pressed against rock as he stopped to hide himself behind an uneven outcropping of stone.  His body trembled, chest rising and falling in a useless, half-remembered reflex.  He was not afraid, not really, but being powerless left him anxious in a way nothing else could.  Even soulless creatures know to protect themselves.  He needed his weapons.  They still existed somewhere, he could feel their presence when he called for them, yet time and time again the artificial magic he'd once shaped refused his call.  

The strange tie that connected him to the constructs had been weak at first, made brittle and worn by disuse, but he could feel it becoming stronger with each attempt.  It should have been enough to summon at least one blaster to his side, yet he remained alone.  Something else held them back.  Some other willpower had hold of his creations, and that just would not do.  

He focused on his magic once more, sparking that tie to life and sending a faint burst of intent through it.  Not enough to summon, there was no point in that for now, but just enough to make it flare to life.  He felt the pulse of magic as it arced away from him, following it down the long, winding paths of  labyrinthine caves.  If his weapons would not come to him, then he would have to go claim them himself.  

-----

Papyrus did not like to be still.  It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the silence doing nothing brought with it, honestly he did see the appeal in that sort of quiet self-reflection, it just wasn't for him.  His mind was always working, thoughts racing past to fill that silence, reminding him of everything he could and should be doing with his time.  There was so much to do and never enough hours in the day to accomplish it all, so why waist a single one?  On any normal day, he would be buzzing about the house right now doing his daily chores, making sure things were as neat and tidy as they could be considering his brother's slovenly habits.  Even now he itched to do his rounds, as he knew their home was certainly not fit for company.  But, doing so would mean leaving Sans on his own once more, and that was something Papyrus just couldn't bring himself to do.  

It was obvious that Sans needed him to stay, even though the older skeleton would never say as much.  At first it had seemed like the comforting presence of his brother might be enough to let him rest, as it hadn't taken long for his dim eye lights to flicker out as he surrendered to exhaustion.  Unfortunately it hadn't lasted long.  He'd started trembling after only a few minutes, his expression pinched with something almost like pain as his breathing became strained.  Papyrus had woken him with a little shake and held him close, running a hand down his spine until he calmed.  Since then, Sans had settled into an uneven pattern of sorts, slowly drifting off only for that unseen fear to wake him time and time again.  Papyrus couldn't tell if it was the night terrors trying to return or something to do with the influence Gaster's magic had over him.  He hoped it was the former.  

So when his sleeping sibling tensed against him, letting out a breathy whimper as he pressed his skull against the taller skeleton's side, Papyrus wasn't surprised.  At least, not until Sans jolted awake with a sharp gasp.  Fatigue no longer pulled at his features, but though he was awake he didn't seem fully aware.  Something was different.  Sans pushed away from him, stumbling to his feet.  His flickering eye lights darted around the room, searching for a presence that was not there.  The sound of rattling bones filled the tense silence.

“Sans?” Papyrus asked as he stood, a knot of dread tightening in his chest.  “What's wrong?”

The other skeleton looked back, eye sockets wide as the light within them slowly expanded into hollow-centered rings.  Papyrus sensed the buildup of magic around him, but it was already too late.  Light flashed before his eyes.  He lunged forward, hand outstretched, but all he felt was the tingle of magically charged air.  Sans was gone.  

“UNDYNE!” Papyrus screamed as he darted out of the room and sprinted down the hallway.  His soul was pounding with barely restrained panic.  As he raced down the stairs, long legs taking them two at a time, he saw his friend vault over the side of the couch in her haste to meet him.  

“What's goin' on?” she demanded, her own magic sparking around her.

“Sans teleported again,” Papyrus said as he barreled towards the front door, barely managing to avoid crashing into the other monster but unwilling to wait for her to move.  “Come on, he couldn't have gotten very far!”

Normally, when his brother used one of his space-time shortcuts, there was no telling where he'd wind up.  Sans could warp from one end of the underground to the other, stopped only by the barrier that prevented any magical being from passing through it.  But at the moment, he didn't have enough power to even get out of Snowdin.  At least, that's what Papyrus hoped.  

“Please stay here my child,” he heard Toriel say as he burst through the door and out into the snow, “I can't put you in danger again.”

Though he didn't look back to make sure the warning was heeded, Papyrus was grateful to the former queen for making sure Frisk stayed put.  He had no idea what they were getting into, and the last thing he wanted was to put his young human friend in harm's way.  There had been quite enough of that lately.

The skeleton ran down abandoned streets, the footsteps of his friends crunching through the snow behind him, weaving between houses and through trees in search of anything that might show he was going the right way.  “There!” he called to the others as a familiar figure up ahead caught his attention.  “I see him!”

Sans looked so small without the normal bulk of his blue jacket.  His faded shirt and pale bones were all but lost in the blanket of winter white.  If it weren't for his black shorts, Papyrus might have missed him entirely, but there was no way anyone could miss the tall, dark figure creeping out of forest towards him.

Papyrus sprinted as fast as he could, his lightweight form and long limbs propelling him over the thick snow drifts.  He called to his brother, screaming the older skeleton's name, but Sans did not respond.  Undyne and Toriel were hot on his heels, unwilling to let the deep snow that sought to swallow up their feet with every step make them lag too far behind.  He could feel their magic flaring behind him, the presence of heat and crackling energy at his back oddly reassuring.  

“Stop right there you creep!” Undyne screamed.  An instant later, a glowing teal spear shot through the air, raining down from above like a bolt from the heavens.  It struck the snow between Sans and the mysterious figure, the gleaming magical weapon acting as a barrier between the two.  The shadowy figure remained where it was, neither angered nor frightened by the sudden attack.  Sans, however, stepped back in alarm and looked behind him, finally aware of the other monsters rushing to his aid.  Now free of its wielder's grasp, the teal construct couldn't last long, but it stayed solid just long enough for their rescue party to catch up.  Papyrus arrived just as the spear's light began to flicker out and stood in its place.  

The thing that stood before him didn't look much like a monster, let alone the man that Papyrus was still struggling to remember.  The father he'd lost had been a skeleton like himself, tall and often imposing but with a warm, if hesitant, smile and a bright glow that would spark in his eye sockets whenever some new discovery captured his attention.  Even the  man Gaster had become, the stranger that haunted his nightmares for so long, had been similar, though his once smooth features had been marred by deep cracks.  The individual Papyrus saw before him now was unlike anything he'd ever seen.  There were still some hints of the man he'd once known, if he looked hard enough.  Long cracks split a pale, mask-like face that had long since lost the fine details of the skull it had previously been.  Drooping sockets stared at him, unblinking and hollow.  White hands baring the faintest suggestion of individual bones hung at his sides, the palms marked by large, smooth holes.  But, that was all.  The rest of what passed for the man's body was nothing more than a slick, black mass more reminiscent of slime than skeleton.  This couldn't truly be W. D. Gaster … could it?

Toriel gasped as she and Undyne reached them, her normal, powerful grace giving way to an unsteady wobble.  Though the guardswoman urged her on, more than ready to attack first and ask questions later, she seemed oddly transfixed by the stranger before them.  “Doctor Gaster?” she asked breathlessly, too stunned by his appearance to manage much more than a whisper, “is it really you?”

The man paused, his hunched, drooping back straightening as he rose to his full height.  He tilted his head slightly, empty sockets focusing on the former queen, and slowly nodded.  

“Dad?”  The younger skeleton asked despite himself.  That hollow stare turned to focus on him and he could all but feel the weight of it.  The man's featureless slash of a mouth twitched, the corners tugged upwards in a parody of a smile.

�� Pa̸̷p̷̢̕yr͘ù̕s̀́,” he said slowly.  His voice was strange, the sounds raspy and distorted in a way that should have rendered them completely incomprehensible.  And yet, Papyrus understood them.  There was something so familiar in that voice.  He was absolutely sure he'd heard it before, though not quite the same way.  It should have been softer, smoother, the sounds almost static-like but still understandable if you listened closely.  Not warped and twisted into this guttural mess that only vaguely resembled the voice he'd once found such comfort in.

Gaster turned towards the smaller skeleton and the same spark of recognition pulling at his features once more.  “ S̕ą̷n͘͝s͘͞.”  

For just a moment, Papyrus thought that perhaps there had been nothing to fear at all.  He dared to believe that maybe his father would remember them and decide to stop whatever he'd been doing that had caused Sans so much distress.  But his hopes were quickly dashed.  Whatever happiness seeing them had brought the man, it was short lived.  His expression twisted, his grin melting into a crooked frown.  The air shimmered with telltale traces of magic as a pair of disembodied hand constructs manifested above him.  

“ Y̷ou ̵stol͜e t͢he҉m,” he said as the hands gestured along with the words, his tone dark like the warning growl of a large animal.  “ Ģive̛ ͝t̸h̕em̢ ̶b͢ack̶.”

Sans staggered back a step, his eye sockets wide and empty.  He sputtered something that might have been 'i didn't', but the words died out too quickly for anyone to be sure.  It was strange to see him this shaken.  Papyrus had been with his brother after countless nightmares, calming him down as the dreams he refused to talk about left him sweating and trembling, but this?  This was different.  

Undyne edged forward, her tall frame braced and ready for battle.  Teal light flashed and shaped itself into another spear, this one held tight in her hands.  Gaster seemed to glance towards her, though it was hard to tell with his dark, empty sockets, and his frown twisted into an angry sneer.  He held up a hand in an unmistakable summoning gesture, its floating counterpart mirroring the motion.  Undyne and Papyrus both tensed, alert and ready for whatever volley of projectiles the man's magic might call forth.  Only, it didn't happen.  There were no bones nor bullets aimed towards them, only a magical light so darkly red that it looked almost black.  

It was the sound that made Papyrus look away, a muffled groan drawing his attention to the brother he'd come to rescue.  Sans stood there shaking, hands clenched into fists at his sides, unfocused eye lights blown into wide rings.  This close, it was impossible to deny that the man standing before them was responsible for his distress.  Papyrus could sense the energy between them as Gaster's strange magic pulled at his sibling's soul.  He felt the power around them, raw magic sparking as something beyond his brother's control commanded him to summon his own constructs.  A pale blue glow ghosted through the air.  For a moment, Papyrus thought he saw a glimpse of the blasters, but the image faded so quickly that he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his imagination.  Magic sparkled and flashed, trying to draw energy from Sans but finding his normally impressive reserves completely drained.  The younger skeleton let out a breathless laugh of relief.  They'd really done it.  

Even with the blasters beyond his reach, it seemed that Gaster wasn't ready to give up just yet.  Magic streamed between the two, lighting up the air with angry, red sparks.  Sans held up his hands as if warding off a strong wind and a hint of blue radiated out from his palms.  It bled into the display, twining through the embers of red magic and slowly pushing them back.  

“E̛n͝ou͘gh̴ o͡f̸ ͞t͝his!” the man yelled, his voice hissing and popping with otherworldly static.  Magic flashed, blazing bright between them.  Papyrus could feel the force of it pushing him back as it flowed out like a wave, kicking up a billowing cloud of snow.  It overpowered the weak trickle of blue energy with ease.  Red light slammed into Sans and he dropped to his knees, letting out a choked scream as the foreign magic flooded into him.  

Papyrus watched in stunned horror.  Something about this was familiar.  He'd seen that sharp grimace before.  He knew the way it twisted the smaller skeleton's features.  His brother shouldn't have fangs, but sometimes, when pain gripped his soul and nightmares trapped his mind so far away that even Papyrus couldn't reach him, he did.  

Sans curled himself into a tight ball, twitching and shuddering as the sound of creaking bone rose above his own pained groans.  Papyrus knelt near him, but as he reached out to his sibling a sudden, sharp crack made him flinch away.  Sans screamed, the sound louder than anything he'd ever heard from the smaller skeleton.  He pressed his face into the ground, seemingly unaware of the scrapes the action left behind on his skull.  

“What are you doing to him?!” Papyrus demanded, clenched fists shaking from the force of his anger.

The man grinned with something akin to excitement.  More hands winked into existence around him, spelling out his words with precise, controlled movements.  “Ev̸e̸n I̛ ̀do͘n't҉ know͝. Įt̢'s̴ fa͢sçi͟nat̡i̵ng, ìs̵n̵'t͟ ͝i̶t͝?”

Papyrus felt like his soul was sinking into a deep, dark pit.  He reached for his brother's hand, but it wasn't a hand anymore.  Instead he found sharp claws which flinched away from his touch.  The small skeleton arched his lengthening spine as the subtle protrusions that studded his vertebra sharpened into wicked spikes.  Sans looked up at him, large eye sockets darkened and wet with tears.  He opened his mouth but before he could speak a loud cracking sound rang out as his lower jaw was suddenly split down the middle.  His warping features froze in agony.  A scream died in his throat only to break free a moment later as a second crack opened up just above his nasal bone, racing up between his sockets.

Shaking off her own shock, Toriel knelt beside them.  Her large hands ghosted over Sans, healing green light pouring out of her palms and soaking into shaking bone, but even her powerful magic could not manage to stop the foreign energy coursing through him.  He moaned and arched under their touch, writhing on the snow covered ground as his bones distorted into new, strange shapes.

She wasn't the only one spurred into action either.  With a sudden spike of energy and a loud scream of rage, Undyne leapt towards Gaster.  A rain of shining teal spears flashed into existence around her and launched themselves at the man responsible for the waking nightmare they had found themselves trapped in.  Gaster twisted away from them, his fluid body bending to avoid the attack in ways only a slime monster should have been capable of.  Undyne landed in a crouch only to spring to her feet again, spinning as she rose in a maneuver as graceful as it was powerful.  Her leg whipped through the air and struck the man's side, connecting with a solid thunk.  

For just a moment it looked like she might have won, but Gaster did not crumble like so many would have under the force of her attack.  His hunched form slowly straightened, pale, broken face turning to stare down at her.  Undyne's vicious smirk melted into a frightened grimace as she found herself unable to pull away.  The otherworldly black tar that comprised the man's body clung to her leg, drawing her in and keeping her pinned in place.  

“Yǫu should̕n'͟t ͏háv͏e ͜do͞né ͟t́h̸at,” Gaster rasped, a pair of hands sinking down in front of Undyne to sign the words directly to her.  

The guardswoman shoved him away, though the action did little more than unbalance her and send her toppling to the ground, one leg still trapped in the sticky, black ooze.  With an angry growl, she summoned up another spear and thrust it directly into her opponent's side.  Gaster hissed in pain, smoke pouring from the wound.  The dark tar of his body seemed to roil around the injury, pulling back and finally releasing his captive.  Undyne quickly rolled out of his grasp.  She pushed herself up only to drop into a crouch.  The material of her pant leg was charred and sticky with her own blood.

Gaster slid backwards towards the trees, his wary stare firmly fixed on Undyne.  He raised a hand which was barely connected to his body by a thin, oozing excuse for an arm and dark red light glimmered around it.  Papyrus felt Sans tense beside him, his hunched spine twitching.  A wave of energy rose up from him and he vanished, reappearing at Gaster's feet.  

“P҉r͞ot͝ect̴ m̛e͟,” the man said, his broken voice pitched ever so slightly higher as he edged further away from the woman that had managed to do him harm.  

The skeleton before them didn't look like Sans anymore.  He didn't even look like a skeleton, at least not as Papyrus knew them.  He rose shakily, balancing on four oddly jointed limbs.  His elongated skull, tipped in curving crests so very like the constructs they shared, tilted to the side like a poorly strung puppet.  Sharp claws dug into the ground.  A long tail studded with spikes twitched and snaked through the snow.  Raw magic dripped from vaguely canine jaws, oozing between sharpened teeth.  

“S-sans?” Papyrus stammered.  “Brother?”

The creature's head whipped up, a ring of light blazing to life in a single eye socket.  The others watched transfixed as the unmistakable hue of Sans's magic seeped into that light, staining it bright blue.  Long jaws parted with a breathy hiss, steaming liquid dripping out onto the snow as magic light began to build inside them.  

Suddenly, green light flared around the creature that Sans had become.  His soul manifested with a quiet 'ping' of sound as Undyne's power took hold of it.  Its white glow surrounded a core of pulsing red, but even that was quickly swallowed up as the soul was tinted with the deep emerald of her magic.  Sans fought against her hold, straining and thrashing as much as he was able, but his limbs had been locked in place.  A shield manifested around him.  Papyrus had been on the receiving end of Undyne's green magic enough times to know that the shield was largely under the control of the person it guarded and would react to protect them from whatever threat they deemed most dangerous.  This time, however, that control seemed to be lacking.  It swept wildly back and forth, leaving a blurring after image behind as it arced around the frantic creature.  

Undyne forced herself upright and summoned another spear.  She clutched the glowing weapon so tight it was a miracle the construct didn't shatter.  “We've gotta stop him before he attacks somebody.”

“No!”  Papyrus leapt up, latching onto his friend's arm as if that alone could somehow hold her at bay.  “You can't, you'll hurt him!”

It would have been simple for Undyne to shrug him off and keep going.  She could probably just charge forward without even bothering, dragging his lanky form behind her.  Instead she stopped, her single eye gazing down at him with unexpected sympathy.  “I'll be careful.”

“No, Papyrus is right,” said Toriel, fear underscoring her otherwise authoritative tone.  A haze of magic sparkled around her for a moment, making her eyes flash as she used her power to see what they could not.  “Even one good hit could kill him.  It's too risky.”

“Well then what are we supposed to do?  I can't hold him like this forever.”

Waves of powerful magic built up around the former queen, whipping her fur and making the heavy skirts of her robes billow.  The hesitation Papyrus had seen in her eyes when they'd first encountered Gaster was gone.  Former friend or not, she refused to allow this atrocity to continue.  “We stop the one responsible for this.”

Balls of fire appeared one by one around her, burning bright with shifting shades of orange and yellow.  They arced through the air, fanning out in all directions and curving around the trapped creature in order to strike at the man hiding behind him.  Gaster dodged them the same way he had the spears, but it was clear from his nervous glances that he was afraid.  

The last thing Papyrus wanted to do was take his eyes off his brother, but he knew that Sans was as safe as he could be at the moment.  Undyne would keep him contained and her shield would prevent any stray projectiles from hitting him.  Hopefully.  But doing so meant that she couldn't help them fight without splitting her focus to a dangerous degree, and Papyrus wasn't about to make Toriel face Gaster alone.  He had to do something to help.  

He summoned his own attacks, white and blue bones sprouting from the ground at his feet and racing towards his target.  Under his command, they lengthened into tall spires that snaked across the ground in a sinuous wave, curving in carefully chosen paths around the other monsters present.  Gaster ducked down, evading another blast of magic fire, and accidentally backed into a glowing blue bone.  The man let out a garbled hiss and turned, sweeping out a hand to knock the next few constructs away before dodging out of their path.  

Papyrus didn't often call on the 'big guns', as Sans sometimes put it.  He didn't think it fair to use his special attacks on ordinary opponents when there was such a high probability of someone getting hurt.  This time, however, the notion of hurting the man before him didn't seem so bad.  Gaster might have been his father once, but the father he remembered would never have attacked them this way.  His dad would never have done something so terrible to another monster.  And he certainly would never have been excited to see his own son screaming in agony.  Anger took hold of the skeleton's soul, so hot and powerful that it was nearly overwhelming.  His magic flared, flashing in his eye sockets as he called on his own connection to the blasters.  

But the blasters did not come.  All he felt was a whisper of their normal power, the suggestion of something familiar reaching towards him but unable to go any further.  Papyrus was so used to the living constructs appearing at his call, magic charged and ready to attack anything that might wish to do him harm, that he was surprised by their absence.  Then he remembered his brother's words from the other day.  'they're part of me.'  The blasters existed on their own, and yet they didn't.  Their essence was tied to Sans, rooted in the very core of his being, and now that essence that had overwhelmed him completely.  

Shaking off that grim realization and how oddly powerless being cut off from the blasters made him feel, Papyrus saw Toriel ready another attack and knew that this was his chance.  He summoned not a wave but a wall of bone, the white constructs rising up behind Gaster in a tall, curved barrier.  By the time the man noticed the attack, he'd already been trapped by it.  A ball of fire shot from Toriel's outstretched hand, quickly followed by another and another until a storm of burning magic spheres were hurtling towards their target.  Gaster did his best to dodge, but penned in as he was, he couldn't avoid them all.  He thrust his hands up to shield his face.  The fire struck him and he let out a warped hissing sound of pain.  The white, bone-like flesh of his hands did not blacken under the intense heat, but instead began to steam and boil.  A shrill scream of static pierced the air.  The man shrank back, seeming to fold in on himself as he did.  His hunched frame sagged and dripped like his very body was melting into a large black puddle that stained the ground.  And then, before the shocked monsters knew what was happening, he was gone without a trace.  

“Papyrus!”

Undyne's sudden shout snapped him back to reality and the skeleton whipped around just in time to see her restraining magic begin to fail.  The shield vanished, crumbling into a puff of pale dust as the green color holding the creature's soul faded.  The thing Sans had become shook himself free of Undyne's control.  He snarled and snapped, back bent into a narrow arch, spiked tail whipping behind him.  The creature took a wavering step towards them, growling low as raw magic dripped from between his teeth.  

Papyrus didn't want to use his magic on Sans.  He'd done it plenty of times when they were kids just learning how to harness their power and many times since when he'd managed to convince his lazy brother to join him for a sparring session, but this was different.  This felt wrong.  But as the creature stalked shakily towards him, head down and shoulders hunched, he knew there was no other choice.  

Sans's soul flared into view again, this time colored not with emerald green but with a deep, sapphire blue.  He let out a broken, wavering howl as the blue magic dragged him down.  The creature struggled to escape but only succeeded in digging long furrows into the snowy ground with his claws.  He hissed and snapped, long lower jaw splitting open in a way that made the other skeleton feel faintly ill to witness.  Papyrus could feel his brother's soul struggling in his grasp.  His faint sliver of health, already diminished by the painful force that had twisted and warped his body, slowly began to fade.  It wasn't much of a change, but it was proof enough that he couldn't keep this up forever.  And what's worse, it was proof that he was hurting Sans.  Papyrus blinked back tears.  

“S-sans … please … “  He inched closer, wincing as the beastly creature's wild gaze settled on him.  “He's gone.  You don't have to do this.  You can come back to us now.  Please,” he begged, “brother … “

Rings of light stared intently at him.  The bright, brilliant blue he'd seen there before was now flickering yellow, the two shades switching back and forth in a maddening strobe of color.  Long jaws parted and a garbled, hissing sound spilled forth.  Panicked, Papyrus tightened his hold, his magic wrapping around his sibling's soul and dragging it down hard.  The soul beat wildly in his grasp as the flood of blue magic smothered it.  Flickering eyelights guttered out as the creature gave one last pained yowl and collapsed in the snow.

Papyrus let out a frightened yelp of his own.  For just an instant, he was struck with the fear that, in trying to stop his brother from doing anything they might all regret, he might have killed his only remaining family.  But the soul in his grasp remained whole, still clinging to that smallest fraction of life.  Hesitantly, he released his grasp.  Blue magic dissipated, draining away from the magical core that faded back into his sibling's fallen body.  And then, ever so slowly, he began to change.  

Papyrus gasped and darted forward, scooping the unconscious skeleton into his arms.  The snap and creak of shifting bone echoed in the otherwise silent clearing.  Shrinking spikes that shouldn't be there dug into his hands as he held his Sans's too still form tight against his own.  This was just a nightmare.  It had to be.  If he closed his eyes tight and held his breath, surely he would wake up and none of this would have ever happened.  But no matter how many times he counted to ten and tried to shake himself awake, he opened his eyes to the same impossible reality.  Papyrus buried his face in his brother's ruined shirt and finally released the desperate sobs he'd been holding in.