#drwingdings

!!!!!!!!

Doc!!

You’re...you’re back!! Oh my Gods, you’re back, Jesus, fuck, fuck, I...

I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to...everything just...my Determination was stronger than Chara’s when I killed them, after you all...they weren’t gonna be able to come back, so I tried to...

I Reset so many times...but something...everything was jumbled and a mess, and I kept bleeding from the nose and blacking out, and time kept...cutting out and jumping around. My Dr. G thinks that it’s because I was a different Frisk from your own, and our different timeline frequencies just kind of cancelled each other out, like crests and troughs, and...and...

[[ @drwingdings. ]]

Alphys hadn’t actually consciously realised some one had come to visit at all. She showed up outside Wing Dings’ lab with heated food and fresh coffee and the polite but threadbare fiction that she was just dropping in and not worried at all about whether or not he was actually getting food, or rest.

@drwingdings

* Hey, it’s a note from Wing Dings!

* He, uh...

(closed starter for @drwingdings)

In the end, instead of going back to their own timeline and running the risk of missing days in Gaster’s world due to time-stream misalignment, Frisk had simply curled up and slept in the shed. It was dusty, cold, and full of boxes of the Gods knew what, but the ambassador knew it was one of the only time anchored spots in the universe, and enough heat radiated from the main house to keep them from freezing to death. A few magically-constructed blankets made a quaint little nest, and it didn’t take long for the teenager to snuggle up and drift into dreamland on a raft of memories.

Honestly, they didn’t know what they’d been expecting when they’d peeked inside the shed; it wasn’t like this version of Sans was going to pop out of a corner and say ‘surprise!’, and it was highly unlikely they would’ve found any anchored objects of his in the nooks and crannies, especially since he had no reason to spend time there in the first place (though, the more they thought about it, and the more they looked at the data gathered by their timeline tracker...). All the same, Frisk felt compelled to check, and the garage felt familiar and safe even without the lab equipment. 

How many times had they curled up on the cot in the corner as a child while their own Sans tinkered all night with the Odessa? How many times had they been soothed to sleep by that familiar blue glow and the clinking of tools on metal?

A different time, a different place, but Frisk could still see blue behind their eyelids as they nodded off.

When the teenager woke up, five hours had come and gone, and they figured it had been more than enough time for the doctor to have finished the evacuation and returned to the lab. A quick change into their battle body and programmed timeslip later (far easier and less physically taxing than teleporting) and Frisk was standing in front of a familiar office door in the true lab, knocking and waiting only a second for a response before cracking the door and sliding inside.