Hands and other intricacies

It hurt.

At nearly every waking moment, it hurt.

The holes in his hands weren't the problem anymore, but the pain irradiated to his wrists, burning deep inside his bones, waves of stings as if they were being grated.

He couldn't work. Holding anything increased the pain by tenfold. Progress had grinded to a halt. All because of an experiment that didn't even succeed in the first place.

If it had worked, all the pain would have been worth it. It wouldn't matter, if it meant the barrier could be broken. But all he had to show from this failure were two barely working hands, and two unplanned children, neither of which helped with the project. They actually hindered it more than anything.

...It would have been better if they had never existed.

His hand gripped the pen tighter, knuckles trembling at the pitiful force he could muster. It only sent more jolts of pain down his arm, before throwing it unceremoniously across the desk. The table was a mess, papers strewn about, a mountain of crumpled balls in a corner, erratic scribbles crossing out equation after equation.

Squeezing his left hand over the point where hand and wrist connected barely helped, sending pulses of pressure to his fingertips. It only made the squeeze tighten.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

Thunk!

The thud of bone hitting the table brought his attention back.

Then the pain. First from the impact, and after, a different kind, scratching its way through his wrist.

His arm had fallen on the table, without the hand, which was still in his grasp.

Oh no.

A chill washed over his entire being, staring at the removed hand.

It wasn't ...unheard of skeletons being able to remove their limbs, he himself had done it many times before. It wasn't meant to hurt either, but the stinging at the end of his wrist begged to differ.

Reattaching it should be simple, he just had to connect the two points and give it a gentle twist.

Thunk!

...

..

.

His hand didn't attach.

Ignoring the pit forming in his stomach, he tried again, applying magic on it, compensating for the lack of strength. Or an attempt at it. Magic kept the bones together, it could reattach them for sure.

...It didn't work.

Tears started pooling on the edges of his eyesockets, threatening to fall over at any moment. That was it, he'd ruined his body for good, even worse than he thought he did. All for nothing.

The desk met his forehead, his entire body curling inwards, a sad trembling attempt at comfort, that the lump in his throat could not accept. It had to escape, no matter how much his body fought against it, it had won.

New jolts of pain from the end of his arm were the final push to make him crumble, giving way to all the tears he had been battling against.

It hurts.

Slamming his remaining fist was all he could do, hot burning energy running through his magic, his arm and throat overwhelmed with the need to let it out. Any more damage to his body did not matter anymore, after all that had been done. Maybe he even deserved it.

...Gaster?

Something soft weighed down on his shoulder, making him jolt, but offering enough pressure to keep his body in place.

Asgore.

— What is going on? I heard-

The king's voice trailed off, he must have seen it. There was no use hiding it anymore, even if his body screamed to not let a single soul know about his stupidity. Maybe it's what he deserves.

Even so, he couldn't look him in the eyes, as he raised his body off the desk, turning to meet Asgore, gaze glued to the ground. The tears had stopped by now, their traces becoming sticky, the remains staining his glasses. His breathing still was erratic, shallow breaths that barely did anything.

Pathetic, was it not?

Still, a hand cupped his face, the thumb grazing through the tear marks, in an attempt to clean them. It was so soft, before he could realize, he was leaning the entire weight of his head on it. Warmth irradiated from it like a dying hearth, just enough to stop his body from shaking.

And it stayed, keeping him upright, as the other hand held his upper arm with that same warmth trailing downwards, soothing the new aches that had begun to form in the bone.

It trailed slowly, to the middle of his arm, dangerously close to his mistake. His breath was held, but Asgore did not lower it any further, the touch somehow even gentler now. He still did not dare to look in his eyes, his king's body already said a lot by itself.

Even though the touches were so light, Asgore's feet were perched on the tip of his toes. He could easily and comfortably plant both of his feet at the height he was seated next to Gaster, but it was not about ergonomics or comfort. Asgore only did this in moments of discomfort, as if the different posture would steady his body better. So was the flick his tail did every so often, wrapping around one of the legs of the chair, or the way his breathing stopped short, shallower than it usually was. Or the many other small quirks his eyes could not muster the strength to focus on.

The king was used to hiding the worst of his feelings from most monsters. But Gaster wasn't most monsters, decades of knowing Asgore made all the little signs as clear as day. Their exact meaning was lost in the blur that his mind had become now, but the vague idea was still there.

He wished he didn't know the vague meaning.

It would have made the abrupt stop of his touches hurt less. The way he got up and left the room, leaving him behind. The way he didn't say a thing.

His eyes slid again to the hand limp on the table. Detached from his body, he couldn't feel a thing from it, but a ghostly sensation started forming, where it used to be. And even more where Asgore's hands had touched.

These thoughts were stopped by the first aid kit being put near the hand.

...Oh.

...It's Asgore. He would not leave him behind. Of course.

For someone with hands nearly twice the size of his own, Asgore's work was extremely delicate. Applying magic at the pulse point, forming a rudimentary support, nearly painless, unlike his own attempt. It calmed his soul in a way he hadn't realized he'd been aching for. He managed to catch the king hitching his breath before connecting the hand back.

The gentlest of pushes and twists, being quickly reinforced by gauze, pulled tight, to avoid its unravelling. The pressure didn't let him angle his wrist much, but it kept everything in place.

Neither of them made a sound during this, not even as the soft green glow of the king's healing magic focused on the point of detachment. It soothed most of the pain, it stopped the screaming at the back of his mind.

The gentle nature of this spell, combined with all the energy spent in his outburst, slowly coaxed his eyes to close, focusing on the feeling of his hand being cradled so caringly.

Both of the king's hands held his, one on his wrist, and the other on the back of his hand, careful around the hole in it. If the situation was different, his soul would be jumping out of his ribcage at this contact.

— Can you move it now? — Asgore's voice cracked at the start of the sentence, having grown used to the silence. It might have made Gaster laugh if there was more energy left in him.

He settled with just obliging what the king had asked.

Or he would, had it not been for the monarch's own hands keeping his in place. One of his eyes opened, confused at the barrier, wandering to where their hands met.

— Oh, I...sorry. — Asgore let go of his hand as if it was hot glass, looking away from him.

...Huh.

Still, he stretched his fingers slowly. Yes, they were shaky, but stable enough. Squeezing and releasing nothing, moving them as much as the gauze restraint let him. It should do well for now.

Asgore took his other hand now, leaning closer.

— I think you should go home now, then. You need to rest.

...Home. Some of the burning from before lodged itself into a lump in his throat. He'd have to see them. His eyes shut tight in response.

— No.

— Gaster, you're hurt, and your kids-

— If I see them right now, I will do something stupid. I don't want to see them. — Venom nearly dripped from his snap, and he'd think he may have actually bitten Asgore, seeing how the king flinched.

Regret followed soon after.

Asgore had the same expression on his face, arm hairs standing tall, staring at his face now. He darted his gaze once again, shrinking onto himself.

There was a heavy sigh, he didn't even have to look at Asgore to know exactly how his face was. Brows furrowed, eyes closed, nostrils flared, lips pressed thin.

Even if he knew the expression, he could never be sure what the exact feeling behind it was.

— I think a nice, hot, cup of tea would do you well, Gaster.

The friendly suggestion had a tired undertone, exasperated if he had the bandwidth to inspect it fully. Which he did not.

It was these moments that the elevator from the lab to the corridor near the castle proved itself useful. Especially this late. New Home was a city that didn't sleep early, and the less monsters to bar their walk, the better.

Even with Asgore's help, the ache was slowly creeping back as they approached the front garden. It was dull, and not as intense, but still there, an incessant reminder pulsing every minute or so. Enough to always be at the back of his mind, the silence from both of them removing any distractions from it.

The house was even more quiet, one that most found somber, but...it felt safe, having been in its rooms more times than he could ever keep track of. Maybe even more than his own home.

...

"It would have been better if they had never existed."

The hazy memory of this thought tugged at his soul. A year ago, he may have agreed with it, though, it didn't seem so right anymore.

The shifting of weight next to him in the couch cushions interrupted his thoughts, a familiar floral aroma accompanying it. Asgore had sat down next to him, setting two cups of tea on the coffee table.

— I hope you don't mind the cup choice, I couldn't find your mug.

— It's fine. — His hand attempted to grip the handle, only for a jolt of pain to shoot through.

Ah. Of course.

— Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot about it! — Asgore had leaned closer, hands carefully encasing his wrist again.

— I'm... don't worry, I just hadn't realized — A hiss weaved through his teeth, another lump forming in his throat. — I can use my left hand.

Proving this point wasn't painless, but manageable. Even so, the king's hands lingered, pressing on the gauze, one thumb grazing the underside of his wrist, until they finally retracted.

The tea was the perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold. The lump had gotten smaller, making it easier to breathe, slowing his thoughts. Maybe Asgore was right about it being needed.

Asgore hadn't said another word after getting to his own cup, but his tail had wrapped around Gaster's leg, slowly tightening the grip. He still was bothered.

— ...Why did you pull your hand off?

Why?

It was...annoyingly harder to explain it now. The logic behind it had all but disappeared once Asgore came to the lab. At best, a vague idea was all that seemed to be possible to put into words.

— To make it worse. — A mumble was the most confidence he could gather. Not a lie, but...not the entire idea.

It was embarrassing, not even being able to fully remember what had just happened.

— Why?

— So it would be an actual reason to feel pain? — Saying it out loud now, it sounded ridiculous, warmth spreading through his face the more he thought about it. — So it would be visible.

— But you already have holes in your hands...

— They don't even hurt anymore. That's what makes it worse. If they did, then it would have been so much easier. I know they're the cause, but I don't know how.

The weight of the cup was starting to tire his arm, a trembling sensation he couldn't ever get used to. If the pain wasn't enough, the stamina of his arms had been limited to a third of what it used to be, if not less. It was infuriating.

Asgore's hand helped him put the teacup down, without saying a word about it. Was the weakness that obvious? It only made him sink deeper on the couch.

— It's been a year and a half since that happened, and ten months of my wrists hurting. Every time I think it will get better, it only gets worse not much after. — The bottom of his vision was starting to become blurry again, as if he hadn't humiliated himself enough in front of Asgore already. — I feel like anything that is not the bare minimum is too much, because I'm always worrying about the pain or how to avoid it. Every. Single. Day.

Taking off the glasses made it all so much more exposed, but the lump in his throat was only getting bigger. It wouldn't do much for the mess already on the lenses, but it would still retain some dignity.

He couldn't see Asgore as well now, but maybe it was for the best.

— Sometimes I can't even look at Sans and Papyrus, all I can think about is how I'm in pain and how if they weren't here, I wouldn't be suffering. — From the corner of his vision, he could see the shape that was Asgore wince.

It was still too fresh on both of their minds, for sure. Somehow, Asgore stayed at his side, even after knowing the truth. Not without consequences, though. A wordless agreement about not touching the topic had been working, past their reconciliation, but it was impossible to separate it from his pain now.

— ...I don't like who I am like this.

It croaked pitifully out of his mouth, dying nearly the moment it did so, more of a whine than actual words.

Immediately, a blur enveloped him completely, pressing him against warm, soft fur. One hand slowly began rubbing circles on his back, making him melt into the contact, leaning all his weight against it. The blur, Asgore, trembled ever so slightly, squeezing Gaster even closer.

...How can he always be so gentle?

The thought only made more tears pool at the bottom of his eyes, finally escaping as he shut his eyes tightly. It stung.

His fingers dug into the fabric, as if Asgore was the only thing left in the world. For all he knew, it might as well have actually been the case.

The hand on his back moved to the back of his head, giving the gentlest of pushes to bring him even closer, claws careful around the end of the crack in his skull.

As much as his chest wanted, the tears had run dry already, whimpers being the only reprieve he had now. The most humiliating kind.

— It will get better, I promise.

— ...But I'm suffering now.

As if it didn't hurt now, as if he wasn't going to have to experience it all the same. It didn't make the burning in his chest any lighter.

The hug got tighter after his answer. He could see the way Asgore gulped at the truth.

— ...I'm sorry.

The king's voice was small, fragile, shaken. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, empathy was one of his most defining traits. It was no different now.

Neither of them let go, not for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that the burning pain in his chest had started to die down, letting him breathe deeper again. A headache was threatening to appear soon.

He couldn't be bothered with this vague warning. Couldn't be bothered with much right now, everything seemed so tiring. Sleep was a welcomed offer at this point.

Asgore didn't share the same thought, though. He freed Gaster from the embrace, guiding him by the shoulders, still squeezing him with the most gentle of touches. It was embarrassing how disappointing it felt that the smothering had stopped. At least the pleasant smell of flowers and clean fur still clung around.

He must have dozed off at some point, as the cold touch of a damp towel against his face was the next thing he felt.

— Oh, sorry. Too cold? — Asgore's voice was now a soft tone, retreating one hand. The other was still cupping his face, carefully angling it upwards, to the tiniest degree imaginable.

— No, it's...it's fine. — Croaking out this sentence shouldn't have been as hard as it was. But both breakdowns started to finally take their full toll on his body.

It must have been a sorry sight. Trails upon trails of dried up tears, defining the eyebags even more, no doubt a hint of snot mixed in the middle, nearly falling over from exhaustion, and not even mentioning how horrendously his glasses must have fared out.

At the very least, the cleanup was soothing the annoying sting the tears had caused on his face. He'd be able to finally be somewhat presentable in front of Asgore that night...if Asgore wasn't the one doing this.

A fluffy towel and fire magic were used to dry him up, taking extra care near the scar across his right eye.

— ...Thank you, Asgore.

That same old, soft smile appeared again. Even blurry, he could feel the warmth of it, though still with a certain tension keeping it from widening too much. Not a surprise, the entire night had been filled with it as well.

— ...If it's hurting now, can I? — He extended both hands to Gaster, palms already faintly glowing green. — It won't fix it, but...it's something before you go home.

It didn't take him any time at all to accept it, meeting Asgore's hands.

Their gentleness was something he never grew tired of, but it left his soul yearning for more. More of his touches, more of his presence, just...more of Asgore. And the ache that it could never be more than just this was one he became used to by now, a dull phantom of an old wound patched over.

Warmth followed the calming energy of the magic, relaxing his bones and taking care of whatever pain the healing could not. Asgore might not have been an expert in healing magic, but his control over fire was something impressive. Finding another monster with this level of finesse was a challenge only beaten by fire elementals.

It didn't stop at the connection of his hands and wrists, but crept further along his arms, barely visible flames came right up to his elbows, the furthest the pain had ever gone in all these months. Basking in this comfort, he nearly gave in to the temptation of closing his eyes again.

But the blurry sight of Asgore's face kept him awake. An endearing sight, with how focused his eyes were, the small curves his mouth made, the ever so slightly furrowing of his eyebrows.

At the end, the king brought one of Gaster's knuckles closer, before pressing it against his lips, a touch so light he could have thought it hadn't actually happened.

But it did.

It did happen.

His soul could have very well exploded at that exact moment, and he would have died happily.

The gesture froze him in place, eyes locked on Asgore's face, his own burning a deep purple shade, no doubt of it. Somehow, everything seemed a little more defined than before.

It made Asgore look away, letting go of both of Gaster's hands, immediately covering his face with one paw.

Oh. Right. It couldn't have been intentional.

It was late, this whole detour had taken way too long. Exhaustion was clouding his judgement now.

— ...I should go back home. — Saying this made his soul grow heavy, only being able to come out as a mutter.

— Are you sure? — The same pleading expression he'd seen a thousand times before met him when Asgore turned to look at him again.

It was a tempting offer, what Asgore was implying. One he almost accepted. But the start of a pounding headache pleaded the case against staying, which putting his glasses back on barely helped.

— It's getting late, I already made Jay wait long enough.

He didn't even want to think about having to explain himself to her right now. The chances of a stern talk were annoyingly high, no doubt about it.

— I see. — Even so, there was hesitation in Asgore's speech, holding his breath for a moment. — Are you feeling well enough to go home?

— I'm too tired to do anything stupid by now. — Gaster paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, with a sigh. The exhaustion really was setting in now, he couldn't even phrase things right. — What I meant to say is, I won't do anything stupid.

That anger hadn't fully dissolved yet, but it was low enough, enough to make it clear how ridiculous it was that he got angry at actual babies.

...He really was an idiot when angry, wasn't he?

—...It's good to hear that. — Asgore smiled, even more worn out than before, with a subtle beauty in this weariness.

The ghost feeling on his knuckles made his soul jump around his ribcage as he got ready to leave. It was foolish to keep feeding this idea, that one day his feelings would be reciprocated. Not that his soul cared if it was likely or not.

At the front door, he tried to rummage through one of his pockets, searching for a cigarette packet. He'd more than earned it tonight, no matter if Jay would complain about it later. Though, his success was caught by Asgore, when he caught up to do their routine goodbyes.

The grimace in his face said everything. It was a point of contention for years now, and only recently there had been a truce about the topic, but Asgore's face still made it clear what he thought about it. An improvement, yes, but it did not lessen the guilt whenever he got caught.

— I think you should rest more, Gaster. Take tomorrow off, please.

Rest.

If only it were that easy. That was all he had been doing, if he wasn't taking care of the kids, he was resting. The few weeks he felt well enough to work only kept bringing pain, the only cure to his restlessness at this point was the same as the poison to his wrists.

What good could rest do if it wasn't actually improving the situation?

— ...I have been. — He had to bite his tongue to keep the rant in check. It didn't seem worth the effort, not now.

— Well, I hope you take care, alright? — Asgore briefly brushed a hand on his shoulder after opening the door for him. — Have a good night.

He could only manage to nod as he attempted to ignite the lighter, a few steps away from Asgore. Attempt being the key word. Not only was his hand strength not the same as before, but the magic still hadn't fully connected it back to the wrist yet, making the finer movements clumsy and imprecise.

Perfect, just perfect.

Nothing that night would be easy, would it?

Before he could try with his other hand, a small flame lit it up for him. A very familiar flame. Looking up, Asgore promptly averted his eyes, snuffing out the rest of the magic still in his hand.

...Oh.

Warmth began spreading through his face, as he processed the gesture. Asgore hated, no, despised cigarettes, any monster would expect some other kind of reaction from him...but this? He didn't even know how to feel about it.

If it were normal circumstances, he'd be worried about this change in behaviour, but now, with Asgore looking at him, it made his soul feel lighter.

Oh.

He was looking at him.

Staring, even.

— Just this once. I'm not making this a habit.

It only made his cheeks feel hotter, impossible to not notice, for sure. Not that noticing made it any better, it just kept feeding even more fuel to it.

He had to get away before it became even more ridiculous. And before he wasted this cigarette just staring back at Asgore like a fool.

— ...Thank you.

Only the cold air of Snowdin was enough to calm his face on the way back.

Back home.

It was the only and the last place in the world he wanted to be in. Returning there, having to explain himself, and dealing with a partially immobilized hand for who knows how long...anywhere else sounded more appealing. But nowhere else was as safe. Well, nowhere but Asgore's home.

The gestures still replayed in his mind. Cleaning his face, the kiss on his knuckles, the cigarette, they were all new. Recklessly, it made his soul beat faster, at the faintest chance of it being what he stopped hoping for a long time ago. It was never going to happen, he knew that much, but...the intent didn't seem to matter that much now. If it was from Asgore, it was enough.

Snowdin had fallen asleep, not a single soul was outside this late. Only the crunch of fresh snow made him company on the trek to the front door. The cold metal of the doorknob brought his mind back to the present, and to whatever reception he might get.

As expected, the house was dark, save from the faint light coming from upstairs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, besides the smell of batter from the kitchen, but it was a matter for later.

Each step in the staircase was careful, the places where the wood creaked had been seared on his brain by now. Warm, dim light filled the corridor from the Sans and Papyrus' room.

It was these moments that he thanked Jay for offering to stay with Sans and Papyrus for a few hours. More often than not recently, he'd find himself having to catch up on work whenever his arms recovered enough, and tonight...he really needed the time away.

Jay was sitting in the armchair by the cribs, jotting down something in a small notebook. The wolf barely reacted to his arrival, if not for her ears perking up the second he stepped foot in the room.

— You're late. Did your head get buried in paperwork again...? — Her voice trailed off, nose scrunching. — You stink.

There it was. A new record time, even.

— It's good to see you too, Jay.

She leaned back on the chair, putting the notebook back on her bag.

— But really, what happened? It's not like you to come back this late.

If he had any hairs, they'd be standing upright on the back of his neck. His mouth clammed shut, eyes darting to the empty wall besides Jay. The gauze's texture now seemed so much more present, impossible to ignore the restraint it gave.

The idea of having to explain it all again was exhausting. He could almost feel the stare pierce him when her eyes set on his right arm.

— Dude...what the hell happened to your hand? Are you okay?

— It's nothing. You don't need to worry about it.

It barely hid the gauze, but tugging the sleeve over it lessened the intensity of the stare. Unfortunately, the new pressure against the bone sent small jolts of pain, a grimace plastering on his face.

— I do need to worry, though. Is that why you're late?

...Bingo.

His neck sunk further between his shoulders, tensing more when she approached him, hand hovering near the bandaged arm. Just the proximity sent shivers down his spine, the better hand forming a shield between her and the arm.

The thought of explaining it only made it more unbearable for each second that passed.

It had to stop.

— I don't want to talk about it. — The words all but shot out of his mouth, forcing distance between the two.

Her brows furrowed with the answer, the pout he knew way too well coming along right after. Jay faced away from him as she picked her belongings, tail flicking wildly, tension concentrated in it. Despite her attempts of controlling this behaviour, it was a dead giveaway every single time.

Silence fell heavily in the room, along with his own soul's sinking feeling.

— ...Alright. But I want answers tomorrow. Please.

The only answer he could give was a nod, as she walked towards the doorway. It wasn't a worry he could handle right now.

— ...Thank you for taking care of them. — His mutter stopped her in the middle of the way, head barely turning to face him again. — I'll pay you extra on wednesday.

— Eh, don't worry about that, just...be careful, Dingbat.

That stupid nickname always made the corners of his mouth curl up, it was hard to stay mad at it. Jay flashed a brief smile back at him, pleased with the result.

Easy to get a reaction out of, huh?

— I can try, it's all I can promise.

— That's good enough for me.

And just so, her footsteps quickly faded away, clicks from the front door sealing her departure not much after. The house once again fell silent.

Or nearly.

A soft coo came from one of the cribs, snatching his attention. Papyrus had just woken up, again. Not a surprise by now, but the timing couldn't have been worse. At least...in theory.

The burning from earlier still lingered, somewhere, deep but still noticeable. Guilt muffled most of what could come through. It was even stronger now that he could see them, not even aware of the turmoil that had happened because of their situation.

It only worsened the headache that had started in New Home. He'd need to think more over this tomorrow. Right now...it couldn't be the focus.

Papyrus began making even more noises after realizing they were being watched by Gaster, an amusing attempt at a greeting. Little hands followed along, babbling signs, uncoordinated and disorganized enough to make it a challenge to understand if they even meant anything. Even so, it pulled at the corners of his mouth.

— You are going to wake up Sans with all this fuss...

That only motivated them further, it seemed. A tiny thumb barely reached near their forehead, a motion they repeated over and over after finding their footing. A little messy, but with a very clear meaning.

Father.

Dad.

...Oh.

— Where have you learned this? — It was harder now to keep his voice at only a whisper, his soul felt like it was consuming his entire ribcage. — Did Asgore teach you that sign?

All the giggles gave him the answer, with their small hands returning to babbling.

Yes, it had been an...oversight to not have taught them the sign, but it still seemed too...definitive of a term. Even though it was true, it implied expectations he wasn't sure he could fulfill, and tonight had strengthened this hesitation.

...It made his soul grow warm, though.

Sat on the armchair right next to the crib, he raised his left hand over his mouth, and moved it towards Papyrus.

Thank you.

It was hard to know if they understood what it meant, but the intention was there. And their warm smile compensated for the uncertainty.

Maybe it was worth it in the end, even if it was never easy.

On the next day, bright and early, a package arrived at his doorstep.

Wrist braces, with a note: