#then again this comes from someone who dips baby carrots in ketchup so... take my food suggestions with a grain of salt /gen

[habitual-creatures]

*Pops it's head out of the kitchen*

CR3AM CH33S3? HM...N3V3R TRI3D IT.

~CHA0TICALLY, DISC0RD/🕕

(srsly never tried it, but now i want to)

Mmm...

Yeah, it's good...

[spinach-productions]

Baby Spinach, chapter 4

Summary: cleaning up after two magicly superpowered kids takes a lot of work; cleaning up after a suspicious childhood takes more work.

Wordcount: 4034

The next morning, Gaster calls Gerald for the second time in so many days.

“What happened?!”  He exclaims upon opening the door to the wreckage of Gaster’s former apartment.  Splinters of glass and wood are imbedded in the walls, the furniture is upended and dented in places, and papers are scattered absolutely everywhere.  The only visible floor is a narrow path leading to the bedroom.  Gaster carved it out with a broom the night before in order to put the children to bed.

“Shh,” Gaster shushes him, pointing towards the bedroom, where Sans and Papyrus are still asleep. 

“What happened,” Gerald hisses quietly.

“You were right about children getting upset.”

“This is more than upset, it’s a natural disaster!  The kids did all this?”

“I did mention that they have extreme magic capabilities.”

“You did not.”

“I didn’t?”

“No!”

“Oh.”  Gaster looks at the mess.  It is, perhaps, a bit much.  “Well, would you mind helping me clean up?  This is really a two-person job.”

Gerald sighs heavily.  “Alright, but we need to have a discussion about the kids as soon as it’s done.”

The two of them make quick work of clearing the floor, throwing out the worst of the debris and pushing everything else into a pile by the kitchen door.  Nothing is irreparably damaged, and quick check reveals that both the pipes and electrical wiring are all in working order, so they move on the putting things back into a semblance of order.

“What did you want to talk about,” Gaster asks as he slots books back onto the bookcase.

Gerald continues to file a rough edge of the kitchen table. “What exactly happened last night? You were gone when I got back.”

“I thought it might be best be if the children and I were out when you got back, so I took them to the lab.”

“I’m hoping you didn’t know they were this volatile at that point?”

“I didn’t know Papyrus’ magic had already kicked in, no.”

“Doctor, are you telling me you knowingly brought a child with extremely unstable magic into our top security government facility that houses the most delicate, dangerous experiments in the Underground?”

“I’d hardly call their magic ‘unstable’,” Gaster replies.

Gerald wipes a hand over his face.  Three more are making increasingly exasperated gestures in Gaster’s direction.  He sighs heavily and turns the file over a few times before setting it on a chair.   “I have to report this.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because they tore your home apart!  I can’t even tell what kind of magic did this.”

“They didn’t mean to, it was an accident—”

“I’m sure it was, but what if they’d been around someone less durable than you?  Someone could have been seriously hurt, and with whatever they’ve already been through, what do you think hurting someone would do to them?”

Gaster laces and unlaces his fingers.  It’s an old agitated gesture, learned when he was first figuring out how to use hands.  He’s not sure if the agitation stems from anger that Gerald thinks Sans and Papyrus could hurt someone, or concern about what could happen if they did.  “They’re just children, Gerald.  They didn’t know.”

Gerald drifts across the room and puts two hands on Gaster’s shoulders.  “I know, and I’m not saying they can’t stay with you, but they need support and guidance to make sure they aren’t a danger to others or themselves.  Do you even do have the same kind of magic that they do?”

He looks at his own hands, still contorting around each other in an effort to calm himself.  They’re connect to his body through a series of purple strings.  “No.”

“They clearly need you, but they also need help from someone who has experience with their abilities, and possibly some kind of trauma counseling for whatever drove them into that bush in the first place.  It would be best if they could meet with someone who understands where they’re coming from and what they’re going through.”

“They stay here, though,” Gaster says firmly.

“They stay here,” Gerald agrees.

“We stay here,” says a quiet voice from the doorway.

The bedroom door is open.  Sans is standing just inside the threshold at a distance where he can still close the door.  He’s gripping the knob for support, but otherwise looks absolutely resolute.

Gerald smiles gently.  “You stay here.”

He and Sans watch each other for a moment.  Gaster gets the distinct impression they’re sizing each other up.

“You try anything weird and we’re gone,” Sans says.

Geralds nods.  “Understood.”

“And my magic is perfectly under control.  We’re not going to any specialists.”

“I’ll leave that decision between you and Gaster.”

“We’re not.”

“I understand,” Gerald says, “I want to hear what you have to say about that, but first maybe we can clean the house and I’ll make some lunch?”

Every piece of displaced houseware suddenly leaps into the air and begin to shuffle itself back into order.  They’re not in exactly the right place, Gaster notes as his books arrange themselves upside down and slightly out of order on the shelf, but everything settles approximately where it belongs.  Through the process, Sans glares at Gerald with folded arms.

“Well,” says Gerald as the chipped cups and plates file neatly into the cabinet, “That does explain what kind of magic you use.”

A pan clatters onto the stove, and as the food sorts itself into the cupboards and refrigerator, a loaf of bread and block of cheese are land pointedly on the counter.

“Right,” Gerald says, drifting to the cutlery drawer for a spatula.

Sans sits at the table while he cooks.  He glowers with his arms crossed, and it’s very clear that Gerald’s precense will only be tolerated for the length of time it takes to make lunch.  Papyrus, on the other hand, is over his mood and completely thrilled to have company. He babbles at everyone who will listen (which is mostly Gaster) and kicks his feet in the booster seat Gerald got the day before.  He lets Gaster hand him various (child safe) things for inspection, moving them between his hands and chewing when appropriate.  He also sometimes reaches over to pat the back of Sans’ head.

“There we are,” says Gerald, carrying four plates, “Three grilled cheese sandwiches and one small cup of mashed carrots.  Would you like ketchup with yours, Sans?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Sans grumbles, pushing the bowl of mashed carrots out of Papyrus’ reach.

Gerald sets the bottle near his plate.  “Mostly tomatoes, with some vinegar and sugar mixed in for flavor and preservative measures.”

Gaster eyes the bottle with distrust.  He will allow it in his home until Sans official decides he doesn’t like it.

Gerald watches Sans glare at the plate for another moment, then tilts his head the way he does when he’s figured out a puzzle.  “Sans, please point to any part of the sandwich.”

Sans raises an eyebrow at him, but points to a small section near the corner.

Gerald breaks off the piece, dips it into Papyrus’ mashed carrots, and eats it while sharing a look with Gaster.  Why does an eight-year-old think there might be something wrong with his food?

Mollified, Sans grabs the sandwich and stuffs half of it in his mouth.  After a moment’s thought, he grabs the ketchup and tries to pour some on his plate. It resists, then falls out and splashes over the plate and table.  Sans freezes, looking first to Gerald, then to Gaster.

Gerald puts a napkin on the table and slides it to Sans.  “No harm done,” he says gently.

Sans hesitantly takes the napkin and wipes up the worst of the mess without taking his eyes off Gerald’s face.

“I’m not angry,” he says, still gently.

Sans doesn’t look away, but he does start eating at a slower pace.

As always, Gaster is impressed by Gerald’s ability to understand people.  He reflects that it’s a skill he’d like to learn one day as he takes a small spoonful of mashed carrots and tries to feed Papyrus.  Papyrus gurgles and bats the spoon out of Gaster’s hand, sending it clattering across the table.  Sans freezes again.

Gerald smiles and uses a fresh napkin to sop up the mush. “Looks like this table is due for a cleaning, huh doctor?”

“That seems to be the case,” Gaster replies.  He tries to feed Papyrus another spoonful and is met with the same results.  “This is not how mealtimes are supposed to go.”

“Here,” Sans says, taking the spoon from him.  He makes a complicated flight path with it to get Papyrus’ attention, then taps on his mouth with the other hand.  Papyrus watches the spoon zoom through the air, past his face a few times, then bites down on it when it gets close enough with a delighted noise.

“I don’t know how you did that,” Gaster says.

“He likes it when food is interesting,” Sans says around the second half of the sandwich, which he’s now eating with one hand as he feeds Papyrus with the other.  Most of the carrot mash ends up on Papyrus’ face when he grabs the spoon and sends it flying; roughly half of the food ends up in Papyrus’ mouth.  Sans immediately cleans up each spoonful that doesn’t make it.

Lunch passes in more or less the same fashion until Sans begins to examine the ketchup.  He pushes the puddle around his plate with his fork, then cautiously rubs some between his thumb and forefinger, then even more cautiously licks his finger clean.

And seems to experience some kind of enlightenment.

“What did you say this was,” he asks faintly.

“Ketchup,” Gerald replies, pushing the bottle his way.

Sans looks between the ketchup and Gerald several times.

“You can keep that,” Gerald says.

Sans grabs it off the table and stuffs it into his jacket. “You brought this?”

“Mhmm,” Gerald says.  He’s making a face like he’s trying to take the situation very seriously, but is also smiling around the edges of his mouth.

“I still don’t trust you,” Sans says.

“Trust isn’t given automatically; it has to be earned.  I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

Sans continues to watch Gerald’s movements, but as he also clutches the ketchup tight to his chest as he collects Papyrus for their nap.

“Not one word from you,” Gerald says as Sans leaves the kitchen.

“It’s important to Sans, I’m willing to let one bottle go,” Gaster grumbles, “But just the one.”

Gerald pulls the not-smiling face again.

-

Gerald sets up an interview with a specialist for that evening. He takes Gaster aside to explain the situation: child social services is sending an agent to gather more details about Sans and Papyrus' case in person. They've agreed that Gaster is doing an excellent job sheltering and building a connection with the kids, but the agent wants to collect more information about their circumstances and background to see what kind of support they might need in the future. It hadn't occurred to Gaster that he might not be able to adequately provide for the children’s' emotional needs. He feels an unexpected twist of emotion at the idea.

“Don't worry, the agent has years of experience,” Gerald says as he gathers Sans' library books. “I worked with her during my rotation in the daycare center, you won't find anyone better in the field.”

“I don't care,” says Sans from the end of the couch. He's somewhere between angry and scared, and is consoling himself sitting between Papyrus and the door. They've rearranged the sitting room so Gaster's armchair sits across from the couch, giving the specialist somewhere to sit and Sans somewhere to hide.

“I won't let anything happen,” Gaster says, from where he's sitting between Sans and the door.

“For what it's worth, I won't either,” Gerlad says, placing the books by the blankets and pillows in the bedroom closet. They’re saved from further conversation by a knock on the door. “Ah, there she is.”

“I'm right here,” Gaster says as Sans curls further into himself.

“I know,” Sans whispers as Gerald drifts to the door.

Gerald says as he opens the door and extends an arm for a handshake.  “Hello Lieutenant, thank you for coming.”

“Pretty sure I told you to call me Donnie,” says Donahue, taking Gerald’s arm in a firm grip. She's swapped her official uniform for a band t-shirt and some jeans, but civilian clothes can't hide the fact that she's First Lieutenant of the Royal Guard.  She carries herself too confidently, and she very obviously spends her free time on strength training.  “I hear there's some neat kids in here.”

“There are. Two of them, in fact.” He shows her into the room. “Donnie, this is Sans and Papyrus; Sans, I believe you and Papyrus have already met Lieutenant Donahue?”

“Just 'Donnie',” Donahue repeats. She crosses the room and throws herself into the armchair.  Gaster raises an eyebrow at her unprofessional demeanor, but doesn’t comment.

“I thought you were a guard,” Sans says from where he's scooted behind Gaster.

“The Guard paid for my education, so I act as a liaison between them and child social services. Basically, I've got the resources and muscle to make sure kids are treated right.”

“We are being treated right.”

“You definitely are now, but I need to make sure you're getting all the resources you need.”

Sans glares over Gaster's shoulder. “Are you implying that Gaster is mistreating us?”

“No way. It's easy to see how much this guy cares about you. I'm saying you need stuff that he can't give you. You've been doing great on your own so far, and you've been doing a great job taking care of the little guy. I want to give you everything you need to keep doing great. Plus, I want to know more about you.”

Gaster can't see Sans, but he can hear the suspicion in his voice. “About me?”

“Sure. I've never seen you before and you seem pretty cool, so I'm wondering where you've been up until now.”

Gaster privately admits to his own curiosity around Sans’ and Papyrus’ origins.  Their accents suggest they learned to speak somewhere in Waterfall, but their knowledge of the Capital City’s layout is too broad for them to be anything but locals.

Sans hesitates. “Around,” he finally says.

“I heard Doctor Gaster found you in a bush, did you live there?”

“For a while, yeah.”

Donnahue leans against her knees with her forearms. It effectively paints the picture of having a friendly chat. “Did you like living there?”

“No.” There's no hesitation this time. “I hated it.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

“It... was better. Than what we had.”

Donnie nods. “Sometimes it's better to live somewhere you hate less.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you always live in that bush, after you left the place you hated?”

“No. We moved around when people started to notice us. In the summer we'd sleep on benches, but it got cold.”

Donnie asks about the kind of places they stayed (wherever they could find somewhere to sleep) and how they got food and clothes (things that were left out, and on occasion the garbage, the garbage, they're just children and they were eating out of the garbage). She seems to be teasing out details of their previous whereabouts without asking directly; the children seem to have run away from somewhere in the capital approximately three months ago. It's impressive to watch her work.

“Sans, I'd like to ask you an uncomfortable question. You don't have to answer it, but I'm going to ask, okay?”

Sans gives a reluctant nod.

“Why did you decide to start living in parks and bushes?”

Sans breaks eye contact. His fingers dig into Gaster's shoulders. He'd started to come out from behind him as it became apparent that Donahue just wanted to ask a few questions, but upon mention of his former residence, he shrinks back again. Gaster's hands aren't biologically attached to his body, so it's a simple matter of manipulating the magic to place one on Sans' back and rub in circles while Sans puts words together.

“I had to protect Papyrus,” he says finally.

“Can I ask what you were protecting him from?”

Gaster squeezes the hood of Sans' jacket; Sans squeezes the fabric under his hands. “No.”

“That's okay,” she says gently, “You don't have to tell me. No matter where you came from, I'm glad both of you are here now.”

Sans ducks his face into Gaster's shoulder. “Me too,” he says quietly.

-

Sans locks himself in the bedroom once the interview is over. The bedroom closet nest, furnished with a mountain of pillows (courtesy of Gerald), is stocked with books and snacks and a few chewable baby-toys. It was constructed so he would have somewhere safe to hide after meeting with Lieutenant Donahue. Gaster takes advantage of the childrens' absence to sit down with Gerald, Donahue, and three hot drinks.

“Something's definite up with their past,” Donahue says, taking a sip of her scalding hot coffee, “The number one reason kids run away is because something is going on at home. Papyrus is too young to tell, but Sans is terrified of something they left behind. Plus, from what you've been describing about your conversations, Sans' education and development are all over the place.”

Gerald, who is holding his own hot drink (a cup of tea), nods in agreement. “They're not like any children I've met. Sans can hold an in-depth discussion about energy transference as in pertains to the expression of magic, but he's never seen a bottle of ketchup before.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about. He knows too much in a few specific areas and nothing about anything else. There's a good chance someone was grooming him for something, and the fact that he said he left to protect Papyrus could mean that he was next on the list.”

Gaster listens to the conversation with a pinched expression. The fact that Sans and Papyrus might have actively run away from someone, as opposed to wandering off or being forgotten, has eluded him up until this point. The thought of someone inspiring the behaviors he's seen is unsettling. “As much as this pains me to ask,” he says, “Do you think I'm the right person to be looking after them? I already have a difficult time understanding people, and I'm afraid that I might not be able to properly support these children.”

Donahue sets her empty coffee cup on the matching saucer. It's still hissing with heat, and a few puffs of steam escape from between her teeth as she talks. “I think you're fine. These kids see you as a safe adult, and if they're going to recover from this, that's something they're going to need.” She sets both the saucer and cup on the table. Her face is steeled in a way that suggests an unpleasant topic is coming up. “You're not going to like this, but I have to see if I can find their previous guardian.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me finish. I need to try and figure out where they came from because they might have living relatives, or there might be other kids in the same situation, or maybe because this whole thing might be a big misunderstanding. I doubt that one, but it's standard procedure in a case like this to make inquires.”

Gaster sighs heavily. He doesn't like the idea of digging into the Sans' and Papyrus' past. What if Donahue finds the decision to run away was unjustifiable and they have to be returned home? Or, what if it was perfectly justified because someone saw fit to hurt these two gentle children? He isn't sure which answer is worse

“I'm heading back to the office,” Donahue says, extracting a small square of cardstock from her pocket. “Here's my card. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Not you, too. Just call me Donnie.”

“Donnie, right. Thank you for your time.”

“No sweat,” she says, “I'll be in touch. Gerald, see me out?”

Gerald drifts to the door with Donnie. They have a short, quiet conversation just outside Gaster's hearing range, and then she's gone.

“I think that went well,” Gerald says when he gets back.

“As well as could be expected,” Gaster agrees, “Do you think they'll be allowed to stay here?”

“Donnie is optimistic. The foster program is overcrowded as it is so they're willing to look at alternative housing, plus the kids really like you. Trust is the best way to get someone to open up and accept help.”

“She'll want to meet with them regularly, yes?”

“Probably. She wants to build a rapport with Sans, hopefully get him into some kind of counseling, and eventually a schooling program so he can interact with other children his age.”

Gaster reviews what he's learned about Sans and frowns. “I'm not sure he'd get along with children his age.”

“Maybe not, but being around them would help him learn how to behave in social situations. It couldn't hurt to give him the option.” He finishes the last of his tea. “I need to get to the lab, it's my turn to watch the determination experiments this afternoon. Would you like me to make some lunch before I go?”

“No, you've done so much already. But if it's not too far out of your way, I'd appreciate it if you could collect the reports on the desk in my office.” He glances at the closed bedroom door. “Given the situation, I think it would be best if I worked from home for the next few days.”

“I'll bring them after five,” Gerald says, adjusts his respirator and collects his bag, promising to call ahead when he's on his way back. They exchange few short goodbyes, and he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him. Memories of Donahue's conversation tumble in to fill the sudden quiet. Gaster sits on the couch and waits for them to sort themselves out, but several minutes go by without yielding a pattern. He frowns and puts on the kettle for a second cup of tea. This might take several hot drinks to get through.

“Sans,” he calls, knocking on the bedroom door, “I'm making tea, would you like some? Or maybe a hot chocolate?”

The lock clicks and the door eases open. Sans' face appears in the gap. “Uh, no thanks, but could I get some stuff for Paps? He's getting hungry.”

“Of course.” Gaster stands to one side so Sans can pass him and move to the kitchen. He peeks into the bedroom in time to see Papyrus tumble out of the closet with the corner of a blanket held in his tiny fist.  Papyrus considers this development from his new spot on the floor.  “What did you think of Lieutenant Donahue?”

“She was okay. Kind of dangerous-looking at first, but she doesn't act dangerous,” says Sans as he drags a chair to the cupboard.

“She'll probably want to talk to you again.”

Sans picks at the corner of the cabinet door. “Why?”

“She wants to learn about you, I think. She wants to help.”

“We don't need help,” Sans says firmly, “Me and Paps are doing fine now.”

Gaster opens an adjacent cabinet, pulling a box of tea from the shelf. “Everyone needs help sometimes, Sans. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Not me,” he grumbles, grabbing a jar of pea-flavored baby food and hopping down from the chair.

“Will you do it to help me, then? I'd really like to make sure you're getting the support you need to grow up healthy.”

Sans pauses. He looks at the jar of food in his hand, and the chair he just used to scale the cabinet. He takes the chair and pushes it back into place at the table. “Okay,” he says quietly.

Gaster smiles. “Thank you.”

Sans wanders back to the bedroom.  He scoops up Papyrus to give him dinner, but doesn't close the door this time.

- Baby Spinach - Part 4

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