"RSE"
You knew it was the answer.
It’s not, though.
It was the only logical conclusion.
Incorrect. It was the only obvious conclusion. There are countless more conclusions we can come to, if given time.
You looked up; the luminescent lights burned your eyes, but you stared anyways, counting the little holes in the segmented ceiling above your head.
Little black dots in an endless sea of white.
You hated hospitals.
We both do, sweetheart. We both do.
Of course, it was kind of expected for you to wake up in one of these goddamn beds; apparently, Tooth had come home about 30 seconds after you...ah... dropped... So they saw you collapsed on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and unfinished wine, and, as they do in situations such as those, panicked.
By the time you woke up, you were strapped into a gurney and halfway to the hospital, Tooth gnashing their teeth to your left.
When you shakily signed what happened to you, Tooth grew angrier and angrier. Proportionately, Gaster began to remember his anger, and you received 2 lectures at the same time. You decided that, once you got Gaster out of your head, that he was not allowed to meet Tooth. Nope. That’s Hell just waiting to happen.
You deserved every second of it.
BUT you got answers. You were correct in your assumption that Resilience was the correct route to follow, and you just had to interpret what breaking the bridge meant. Which was easy.
It’s not death. You’re just being ridiculous. And stubborn. And stupid.
Now, now. What a shame, you haven’t even gone on your first date with the skeleton, and he already thinks you’re stupid.
!! That is not what I meant!
You smirked. The door to your hospital room opened, and a very familiar doctor walked in, scanning over a clipboard. When they looked up and saw you awake, their eyes widened, and quickly shot toward the clipboard for a moment. “Oh.” A smile plastered itself on their face. “You’re awake.”
You nodded.
I don’t like them. Gaster spoke in you head; his lack of trust was palpable in your mind. It sent prickles through your spine. You ignored Gaster’s misgivings, though; this was the doctor that greeted you when you first woke up. You had no reason to not trust them.
Call it a hunch. I’m older than you, dear. I know fake smiles when I see them.
The doctor sat down on a chair at the foot of your bed, and placed the clipboard on the counter behind them. A syringe rolled off the clipboard, onto the counter. You watched it roll to a stop, alarm flickering in your mind. You mildly recognized its origin as Gaster’s, but you quickly agreed with his emotional surge.
Doctors didn’t bring syringes into the rooms like that. They were always on silver trays with a bunch of gauze and iodine or something next to them. On top of that, it was never the doctor that brought it in, but a nurse.
And they’re never marked like that. Look. It’s got no label. Just... what does that say? I can’t read it from this distance. Get closer.
You’re not gonna get closer while the doctor’s sitting right there!
____. The doctor may try to inject you with whatever that is, and I don’t feel comfortable with-
“How do you feel?” The doctor asked, making you jolt. You looked up, and gave them a guilty smile, lifting your hand in the air and wiggling it left and right. The doctor nodded, quickly jotting down some notes. “I’m guessing tired, maybe a little bit of pain? You had quite a spill caused by quite a seizure.” You nodded; shrugged. The doctor seemed to twitch at that, frowning. “You really must take better care of yourself.” You shrugged again, giving the doctor a guilty grimace. They sighed. “It’s a good thing you’re here, though. You haven’t been coming in for your regular check-ups.”
Oh. Right. Those. Tooth had been getting phone calls on your behalf from the hospital nearly every day, asking when you could come in for your “routine checkups.” You had blown it off for the first month because you felt fine, but as the phone calls came in more and more frequently, you had grown annoyed.
You were fine, goddamnit! On top of that, you knew what was going on in your head: Gaster. So while they may want to check up on your health over and over to try and fix you, it was you who knew the final solution. They knew nothing, so it would be a waste of time.
So you didn’t go. You never went. Eventually, Tooth gave up trying to coerce you into going, and just started ignoring the regular phone calls.
Regular. Hah! More like incessant.
“Really, ____, you should be going to those checkups. They are crucial for your...” They paused, lips scrunching together, as if they were trying to think of something. “Your... improvement.”
You touched your throat and raised your eyebrow. Was the doctor insinuating that they could fix your voice? Their eyes blinked a few times in evident confusion, and then widened in realization. “Oh! Yes! Yes your voice! The improvement of your.... Voice.” They looked off to the side, and you could almost swear you saw them glance nervously toward the syringe.
I don’t like it.
Neither did you. This doctor... They seemed trustworthy when you first met them; they were happy you were awake, almost proud, but now they looked way too antsy, too secretive for a doctor.
I’m taking the syringe.
Oh god no Gaster you can’t do that.
I didn’t ask your permission, Gaster’s voice was flat in your head; it unnerved you. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust that.
And all too suddenly, a wave of dizziness overtook your head. You closed your eyes, letting out a breath as the world spun momentarily. When you opened your eyes again, the doctor was looking at you with concern, and -you stole a glance to the counter- the syringe was gone.
“Are you alright?” The doctor asked, sounding both worried and mildly excited. You blinked, and nodded. “Minor dizziness?” You nodded again. “Alright. Fascinating.” They reached back, grabbing the clipboard and quickly jotting stuff down. “How long have you suffered from spells of dizziness?”
Shit.
You grimaced. Do you lie? Do you tell them that this was the first time you’ve experienced.... No...
You wagged your hand in the air. The doctor scrunched their eyebrows together for a moment before asking, “You only get it once in awhile, or it just started recently?” You held up one finger. The doctor jotted some more stuff down. “Well.” They stood, “Since we have you here, I’ll have the nurse schedule you for a new check-up appointment. I must insist that you go to thi-” They paused; they had turned around to look at the counter, and frozen, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. They looked left and right, eyes darting around, eyebrows furrowing until you thought they could hold a pencil between the folds of skin. “Where did-” They looked over to you. You raised an innocent eyebrow, and their eyes narrowed for a moment. You could see the cogs turning in their head, and almost sighed when they shook their head in disbelief, and turned toward the door. “A nurse will be in shortly to get you back into your wheelchair. Please come to the appointment that they schedule for you.”
The door shut behind them with an audible click, and you let out a sigh, mentally cursing the skeleton in your head.
Well? You must admit they were being ostensibly kind.
That doesn’t give him the right to steal hospital property!
It does if it concerns you. Gaster’s voice rang in your head, matter-of-fact and stubborn. It brought a blush to your face and a smile to your lips. You looked away (From what, you did not know. Call it a force of habit, to avert your eyes when something brings you embarrassed joy), and noticed your wheelchair.
...
To hell with waiting for the nurse.
___________
___________
If I knew what it was, I would tell you, but I am baffled.
You rolled the syringe between your fingers, the light from your bedside lamp bouncing off the cold steel and refracting through the rich, emerald liquid held in the glass cylinder.
“RSE,” it said on the front, on one little white sticker, scrawled in sharpie.
How unprofessional. Gaster’s voice swirled in your mind, commenting on the little object you found on your bed when you got home. Tooth had (after they and the nurse scooped you up from the ground and got you in your wheelchair) unceremoniously dropped you off at your room and then fled to the kitchen to make dinner, leaving you to wheel yourself to the bed, and use the bar on the side to pull yourself onto the sheets. You had stopped, though, when the dark green caught your eye, drawing your attention to the little syringe. So THAT was where Gaster had sent it.
Now, you were lying, holding the syringe above your head, just staring at the liquid, wondering. Was it dangerous? Was this what they injected in you to wake you up? What would it do to you if you stuck that needle in your arm?
Don’t you dare.
It hadn’t quite crossed your mind to actually do that, though.
I wouldn’t put it past you, though. Please refrain from poking yourself with syringes filled with unknown liquids.
Well. Science didn’t get anywhere from standing still.
I’m serious.
...Fine. You placed the syringe on your bedside table, clicking your tongue, annoyed. Sure, it was nice to have something in your person that might have answers to your predicament, but it was still annoying that you couldn’t figure out what it was, or how Gaster had even attained it.
I used my magic, of course.
Well duh. Gaster had used his magic when you were dying in the burning building so long ago, but how does that work? You pondered. Gaster didn’t exist in this world, so how could his magic?
I have a hypothesis for that, actually. Gaster cut into your musings, drawing your attention. You raised an eyebrow, mind prickling in interest. Gaster continued; well. I may not exist in this world, but I think some of my belongings still do. Gaster paused for a moment. Correction, I know they still do. I’ve used them before.
Images flickered in your mind; terribly large, ghastly skulls with gaping maws and boundless energy that sucked your breath away and sent shivers down half your spine.
You remember them, then. Gaster’s voice grew low, almost regretful at the shiver that coursed through your limbs. Yeah. You remembered them. You remembered them hovering on either side of your body like beacons of death, massive and dangerous, blasting an entire building to nothingness with pure, white hot energy. They’re tangible channels for my magic. I call them Gaster Blasters.
And suddenly, they weren’t that scary anymore. You huffed out a laugh, face scrunching up. He named them after himself! And rhymed them! Gaster Blasters! That is absolutely something Gaster would do!
.... I would appreciate you not mocking my naming skills.
He’s just as bad as King Asgore!
I take offense to that! Gaster sounded completely outraged and horribly embarrassed at the same time. King Asgore is infamous for his naming skills. I believe my naming is rather clever! Gaster. Blaster. It blasts. And it’s ghastly. And my name is Gaster. It’s ingenious.
Ingeniously blatant.
...Please.
Fine fine. You’re dropping it.
Thank you. Anyway, as I was saying, they are tangible channels for my magic, so I think I can use magic because they still have my magical imprint on them. The only thing they would be missing to function would be magical energy; I think they siphon it from you. Gaster paused. You could feel him connecting dots and turning gears. That would explain why you passed out two years ago: the blasts I used to clear the building out of the way were exceptionally large. Maybe the Blasters withdrew every drop of magic from your soul; enough to make magic-regeneration impossible without external help.
...That doesn’t make sense. You’re a human. Humans don’t run on magic. We run on carbon and carbohydrates and blood and physics. How could-
Sure, your tangible form runs on all that, but your soul, my dear, is still very much magical. Humans have an inherent amount of magic inside their soul that keeps them alive and moving, but most of the time, it is in such small doses that it has no physical manifestations.
You blinked, scrunching your eyebrows together. Otherwise, you remained silent, imploring Gaster to continue, still not fully believing him. Humans with magic.
Well? It was more pronounced before the barrier; the humans did have mages back then, remember? Now, I think it’s just used as a life force, really. Something to keep your soul shining, so you don’t fall down.
Fall... down? The way Gaster said it made it sound like something much worse than slipping.
Giving up, perse. For monsters, it’s when we lose all hope, and our bodies cease to function correctly. Our output of magic drops drastically, and we fall into a coma-like state. It’s basically another form of death for us.
Oh. That sounds... horrible.
It is. It happened a lot underground; monsters gave up, believed that they were never going to escape, or be happy. So they would just... fall. It happens much less above ground now, at least from what I’ve been able to observe from here.
Well. At least that means the Humans are doing SOMETHING right.
True. But we are getting side tracked.
Ah. Right. What was the point of this conversation again?
Humans having magic.
Right. Continue then.
While monsters rely on magic for their tangible form, humans do not. When a human “falls down,” their soul does the same thing that Monsters do; they cease creating magic, or cut the magic creation to detrimental levels. But, as their bodies are made of matter, and the functions of their body are more biological in nature, they can continue functioning, at least physically. The lack of magic still has repercussions, though. Humans get depressed, need more sleep. Their minds are more apt to turn toward negative states without the positive influence of magic coursing through them. In worst case scenarios, when magic is depleted to dire levels, the human can also “fall down” like monsters do.
Like you did.
Exactly. So the reason why you “fell down” was because your soul dropped to such a low level of magic, that it couldn’t even regenerate itself.
Because Gaster’s magic used up every drop of it.
Precisely.
Your mind, without your permission, came to it’s own conclusions: the coma was Gasters fault. Before it could go any further, though, you shushed it. Sure, you fell into a coma, but you were alive, which would have been impossible without Gaster’s magic. Therefore, it doesn’t matter that the magic tossed you into a 2 year coma: a two year coma is an entire lifetime minus two years better than death.
Your optimism is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. You heard Gaster’s voice gain a softness to it, and felt the surge of compassion come from his general person.
How weird it is, to feel someone’s love for you.
You shook the thought away when you could hear Gaster chuckling at you.
So what about these blasters? Where were they? How much energy did they use? How much magic could Gaster use through you before it threatened to put you down again?
Here is where I would normally say that I am not comfortable with betting against your health in such a manner, but to be completely honest, I think your magic level is exceptionally high for a humans, and that I could potentially use quite a bit of magic without threatening your safety.
...Oh?
Most certainly. I did lift you and Tooth simultaneously, and blast half a building to smithereens, while your magic output was hindered by how close you were to death, to bet! Gaster pondered, voice sounding awestricken. It’s not surprising though, if we put into account that you’re able to house an entire second conscious in your mind, and you have enough magic for your resilience to have physical manifestations in the form of your ridiculous ability to survive and bounce back. To think that all that magic just flows through you, unused and almost completely unnecessary! Humans are a marvel, to put it shortly! You specifically as well.
You blushed. You weren’t quite sure why, though, as having a large amount of dormant magic that you couldn’t tap didn’t sound quite like a compliment then more just a fact, but you blushed anyway.
Maybe because I meant that you were a marvel, if I were to add an explanation. Gaster teased, making your blush travel to your ears. The smug pride that exuded from Gaster’s consciousness after that last comment did nothing to help.
You coughed. You decided that a diversion was in order. Meaning. Another question. Just how much magic could Gaster use? Yeah. That was a good one. You nodded to yourself, and then almost puked as the world suddenly began spinning and twisting around you. You crushed your eyes closed; your stomach jumped to your throat, and tears almost sprang to your eyes. And just as quickly, it was gone. You blanched, opening your eyes again only to let out the loudest scream possible at the sight of the giant goat-skull hovering right in front of your face.
Luckily, the “loudest scream” for you sounded closer to a very long, possibly phlegmy exhalation.
Either way, the volume of your mind and the volume of your voice were slightly out of sync. While your voice portrayed the surprise and fear of a slightly nerve wracking jump from a 10-foot high diving board, your mind was a bit more...
WHATTHEFUCKISTHAT?!?!?
It’s a Gaster Blaster. Gaster explained coolly; you forgot how to breathe as the massive thing hovered right above you, almost filling the entirety of your bedroom with it’s sheer size.
WHATTHEFUCKISITDOINGHERE!?
Well, you wanted to see some magic, right? How much I can use?
GIANTGOATHEAD!
Yes. That is a giant... Goat head. Astute observation.
INMYROOM!!!
Well? Where else would it be to show you the extent of possible magic use?
IT’S LARGER THAN MY BED! IT’ LARGER THAN TWO OF MY BEDS!
You are correct. It is rather large. My second largest, to be precise. It’s name is Penultimate.
The thing... Penultimate... wobbled in the air a bit; the dark eye sockets lit up with a dim white, and they flickered and moved till you were sure of two things. One; these things were alive. Fully conscious and relatively intelligent, with how it gazed at you. Two; it was gazing at you. Looking straight into your soul, it felt like. That fact did not detract any from the panic clutching your entire body.
My Blasters have an amount of magic on their own, so they lived on even after I faded away, Gaster explained, But that’s about as far as their magic extent goes; living. I have to use your magic in order to communicate with them, teleport them, have them lift or move anything, or use their light cannons.
So that twisting dizziness...
Was a result of me communicating and teleporting Penultimate to here. I noticed that you had a much worse reaction to this than you did the syringe. I’m assuming the severity of your reaction is directly proportionate to the amount of magic used. Gaster paused; you could almost see him stroking his chin pensively. Hopefully, the reactions will diminish with practice.
You started. Practice? What does he mean, practice.
Simple. Practice! Gaster answered matter-of-factly. If I am going to properly protect you, I need to have access to my blasters and magic without you nearly passing out every time I so much as lift a pencil.
Protect you? You bristled at that; you could protect yourself, thank you very much! No giant goat heads and fancy teleporting magic needed! Plus, why practice like that when Gaster wouldn’t be part of your mind for much longer? That would just be a waste of time.
Dear, may I remind you that you’re a mute paraplegic now.
.....
You most definetly have the soul and grit to take care of yourself, but on the physical side o-
OKAY!
You flailed your arms, pushing the giant skull out of your personal space and huffing. Gaster’s chuckle at your childish outburst only made you scrunch your nose and frown. The skull bobbed in the air for a few moments, but otherwise stayed still; it’s girth restricted its movement in a room of your size. Hopefully, it wouldn’t bash into anything.
Your musings were cut short by Tooth’s voice echoing towards you. “Hey! I’ve got dinner almost ready! Gnocchi with alfredo... We’d have wine too, but someone wasted all of it being an idiot.”
Twang.
Ah. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate Tooth’s sense of humor?
You don’t really want to hear.
A lot. I like it a lot.
You sighed, lifting your hand to the headboard. Tooth hadn’t asked you a question, so it was rather difficult to continue a conversation from across the house, but you still had to tell them that you were listening. So you wracked your knuckles on the headboard a couple of times, elbow bumping into the massive white skull still commandeering 90% of your bedroom air space.
Oh. Sorry, wait a moment please.
A swirl of dizziness, and the skull was gone, replaced by a much smaller, but equally terrifying equivalent, which was now nuzzling into your neck in something not unlike affection. You were soon shoving that thing out of your personal space as well, letting out wheezing breathy laughs; it tickled! It tickled! Gaster started in surprise, then chuckled. The smaller blaster doubled its efforts to find every ticklish spot on your neck, and you were beginning to think they were in cahoots. You were pushing the skull away with your arms, wheezing for breath.
This is YOUR magic he’s using to tickle you! Mutiny! MUTINY!
Gaster’s chuckle broke into something much more mirthful; full peals of laughter rang through your head, and you couldn’t maintain your concentration on keeping the blaster at bay, apting rather to lapse into stillness, just listening to the musical concert that was yours and yours alone. The blaster didn’t move much though, as its commander, in his fit of glee, had forgotten to command.
“Do you want it out here, or in your room!?” Tooth’s voice called again, breaking the spell you had fallen under, and snapping Gaster from his laughing fit. A moment passed in silence; the blaster stayed unnaturally still in the air. “Hon??”
Oh. Right.
Knock! Knock!
“Alright! I’ll be in with plates in about 10 minutes!” Tooth responded, and then fell silent.
You sat in the wakes of Tooth’s voice, staring at the blaster, and coming to a soft conclusion that the thing might be slightly cute. When it tried to nuzzle you in response, you let it, wheezing out a laugh again as it pushed you slightly to the side.
Such a shame.
You stopped, scrunching your eyebrows together. A shame?
One of my favorite sounds in the world is your laugh. Gaster’s voice throbbed with sadness, and an overwhelming sense of loss passed over you like an unpleasantly warm gust of wind, churning your stomach in its wrongness. And now...Gaster continued, voice sorrowful. Now it’s just a hapless echo of what I hear in your dreams.... He trailed off for a moment; you could almost see him looking away from you, drooping his head and wringing his hands together. I feel like I could say I’m happy that only I get to hear that melodic masterpiece... but... The world feels like a darker place without your pealing laughter. He paused again, and that wave of loss hit you once more. You wondered if it was his, or yours, or both, but it still hit you either way. Your lack of sensation below your waist was suddenly much more prevalent in your mind, and each breath you took sounded distorted to you; a raspy wheeze that you could never be quite sure was made up in your head. Was each breath you took this loud, or were you hypersensitive? Wouldn’t Tooth get annoyed with even your breathing? Wouldn’t everyone?
Of course they would. You were half a person now. You could feel the tickling in your nose and the tingling in your eyes, and you did nothing to stop the tears from spilling onto your cheeks.
My dear... Gaster’s voice rang in your head, both a welcome friend and a horrid reminder. He twitched at that, voice growing solemn. You know Tooth would never find you annoying. You are their cherished friend! The fact that they dropped everything for you should be enough to prove that.
Twang.
Oh. That did not come out right. What I’m trying to say is that Tooth... And I... we could never find you as any less than the perfect companion you are.
Perfect. Feh. You pushed the nuzzling blaster away again, and tried to roll on your side. It was nearly impossible with your lower half being dead weight. Your futile attempts had you flopping back in the bed, head smacking into the pillow, legs unmoving. You were stuck on your back, staring at the ceiling, hate boiling in your throat. You were done with this. You were always one to bounce back both physically and mentally from hardships, but this...this was just too much. How were you supposed to jump back from something as life-changing as this? How were you supposed to continue on all happy-go-lucky when you couldn’t even put on your own pants?
No...
My dear... Gasters voice sounded worried, nervous at the steady stealing of your mind. You ignored it.
Please stop; whenever you start thinking like this, you come to some ridiculous pair of ultimatums, or you do something absolutely ludicrous.
In your mind, there were two solutions: Get better, or die.
That’s untrue.
If you got better, you could continue searching for a way to get Gaster out of your head safely. If you died, then the bridge would presumably break, and Gaster would exist again.
Please cease this train of thought.
Your eyes trailed to the syringe you had placed down only a while ago. It’s deep emerald liquid echoed with the doctor’s promises of “improvement.”
To be completely honest, you didn’t want to die. You loved Gaster. You loved Tooth. You enjoyed the small beauties in the world. You loved a good book, you loved your small conversations, you loved the sound of wood when you wracked your knuckles on it... No. Death did not appeal to you. What did was promises of improvement cased in glass and needles.
Minus the sketchy doctor.
Cue the ludicrous idea. We still don’t know what that stuff is!
Yes, but what help would you do to a sketchy doctor dead? This syringe... you were almost 100% sure that it wouldn’t kill you.
Even an inkling of a doubt is enough to pause when regarding your mortality.
Yes. But. You were Resilient. So you’d live.
This stuff is created specifically for you. It could be catered to counterbalance your Resilience.
You looked at the syringe.
Gaster sighed in your mind; you could feel him shaking his head, resigning himself to your decisions. Good. He knew well enough now not to try and stop you.
You reached out, grabbing the syringe and turning it in your hands, the label catching your eye. RSE....
Could that be.... Resilience? Could this be the same as synthesized Determination, but for Resilience instead? Your eyes were trapped in the deep, dark emerald of the liquid inside the glass. At your thoughts, Gaster’s mind twitched, and you were bombarded with images.
Melted creatures, suffering smiles, abominations... Without being told, you knew what they were, sharing the databank of Gaster’s psyche. Amalgamates. Failed DTE research experiments.
Please. Gaster pleaded, but you assured him, holding the syringe to your arm.
That was forever ago. Sans had perfected DTE. They would obviously not run into the same problems again. They’d be smarter this time.
Gaster fell silent; you knew he was upset, but you tried your best to ignore it. You had to do something. And why wait any longer? The best results came from action.
The needle broke your skin, and you pushed the plunger.
...What’s the worst it could do?