In the house at the end of a snow-blanketed town, a hush had fallen over.

Two skulls peeked over the back of a worn red couch into the kitchen, eyes unblinking with frozen smiles. They watched their father.

His back was to them as he bent over the stove, humming and tapping his foot to a mental beat. His hands danced over utensils, pots and pans. His bony joints clicked against the metal.

Gaster had always been an excellent cook. After a grueling day at his lab, he could finally put himself out of the mind of a mathematician and straight into the psyche of an artisan. It was methodical, productive, and allowed for freedom that he just couldn't get at his work.

"Let's see here." He paused for a moment. In one pot, a thick tomato and vodka sauce was bubbling. In another, plain salted water had started roaring into a boil. It was ready. He craned his head around and smiled. "Sans?"

From behind the couch, the rounder and larger of the two skulls bobbed up. "Yeah?"

"Could you please fetch me that package of rigatte? First cabinet on the -"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know where that is!" the other skeleton piped up, and before Sans had even gotten off the couch had bounded up and thrown open the cabinet door.

Sans flopped his arms over the couch's back and mock-huffed. "Rude to interrupt, bro."

He knew that Papyrus had never meant any harm, not at his age. He loved everyone, and Sans was convinced that there wasn't a bad bone in his body.

"Rig-a-tte! RIG-a-TTE!" Papyrus chanted as he held the pasta box over his head and marched to his father's side. "RIG-A-TTE!"

Gaster let go his stirring spoon to take the box from Papyrus' outstretched hands. "Just a few more minutes, okay?" He grinned as he gently turned his son around and pressed his back to drive him to the living room.

"Kay!" Papyrus burst into a spring, took a long leap over the couch's arm and dived straight into his brother's side, giggling wildly.

Sans wasn't fazed, even if he had gotten some of the wind knocked out of him. He straightened himself back up and leaned over with wiggling fingers. "You're askin' for a tickle time, you little snot," he cackled. For an added touch, he let his right eye spark up with a little blue flame. He had been getting better at that, controlling it for seconds-long bursts.

As his boys began a chorus of shrieks and laughter, Gaster stirred the pasta and added a couple dashes of oregano to the sauce. He sipped at the tip of the spoon and let it roll over the backs of his teeth. "Hmm.." It wasn't his best, but it was good enough. A little plain for his personal liking, but his sons were still at the ages of preferring simpler tastes. He wished that he could have had time to buy vegetables on the way home.

The pasta was drained (cooked slightly, but not too al dente), and mixed into the sauce in under a minute. Gaster took off his apron before spooning out the dish into three proper portions at their small, circular table.

"Alright boys, wash up!" He loomed over the couch and clapped his hands with a sharp "tut tut!"

Sans and Papyrus raced each other to the kitchen sink, shared the same glob of slimy soap, and had themselves seated at the table in record time.

If skeletons could salivate, they surely would have as they both readied their forks and stabbed at the first tubular noodle they could. For a blissful handful of minutes, the family ate in silence.

Gaster straightened himself and dabbed a napkin to his teeth before clearing his throat. "Now, Sans?"

"Mmf?" Sans swallowed a mouthful.

"How would you describe this dish in a sentence, with creative adjectives?"

It was another 'vocabulary' lesson. Sans had to suppress a groan. It had only lately been obvious that his father had been trying to 'groom' him into some career involving food, a futile attempt to live vicariously through his son. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sans could eat like a fiend and have the heaviness to prove it? Hopefully not.

Sans glanced at Papyrus as he took another bite. The kid was just wolfing his plate down, completely oblivious.

His father was looking at him expectantly. Sans resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Uh… I'd say it's 'subtly tangy, with a rich and creamy overtone that compliments the traditional spicing'?" He had just pulled that right out of thin air, but he reckoned it'd be good enough.

Gaster nodded and clicked his teeth. "Very astute observation there, Sans, especially with your choice of 'tangy'. Vodka sauce is unique in that regard, not overpowering but complimentary. It only needs a little bit to add the flavor, but too much can sully the whole thing."

"Uh-huh. Cool." Sans tried driving the conversation away from food (for once). "How was work today?" he asked.

Gaster seemed disappointed in the subject change, but shrugged it off. "Oh, the usual preliminary tests for the CORE are still going strong. Nothing new there, but the lab's been starting to buzz with rumors."

"Rumors?" Sans was much more interested now. He set down his fork and leaned forward a little, eyes wide.

Papyrus, having scraped his plate bare, raised and waved his hand in the air. His twiggy legs kicked back and forth impatiently.

Gaster chuckled. "Yes, Pap?"

"I cleaned my plate! Can I be excused?" It was his constantly rehearsed question of the evening.

"Did you finish your homework?"

"Uh-huh! All of it! Promise!"

"Then you may." Gaster winked and cocked a thumb to stairs. "Hop to it!"

He and Sans watched as Papyrus leapt from his chair and scrambled up the stairs, cackling and whooping.

When they heard the door slam shut, Gaster got up and started gathering dishes. "I'll make a deal with you," he said, "if you help me wash up I can tell you as much as you like about what's going on at work. I gotta warn you though, it's not that exciting."

"Yes it is!" Sans gathered up the utensils and tossed them in the sink. "All that stuff you've said about the CORE, it sounds so interesting! And it's for such a… a big cause!" He couldn't comprehend the idea of being 'on the surface'. It was too abstract even for someone as science-minded as himself.

Gaster just shrugged. "It's a little less interesting when you understand how precise your numbers have to be. The king doesn't want us taking any chances with this, after all. It's already pressing the budget's limit with testing, let alone actually building it."

"And what about the rumors?" Sans cranked on the tap water and squirted strings of dish soap all over the plates. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater.

"Here, I can do the washing this time." Gaster squeezed his son's shoulder and handed him a rag. "You dry."

"But the rumors?"

Gaster pushed up his sleeves and started scrubbing. "They might as well just be unannounced facts at this point, but the gist of it is that everyone is predicting construction to start in the next few months." He handed a dripping plate off.

Sans took it. "Do you think so too?" he asked.

"Oh, I'd be surprised if it didn't."

"Does that…" Sans paused. He didn't want to sound whiny, so he tried to make come off as nonchalant. "Does that mean you'll be coming home earlier again? Maybe pick me and Paps up after school?" he asked. He looked at the floor.

Gaster didn't say anything for a few moments. He kept up his slow washing pace and handed up a couple of plates before sighing. "Sans, I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"I know this has been hard on you, taking on so much responsibility at once." Gaster scratched at his skull, brow furrowed. "Especially hard since you've only just been starting to get a better handle on your magic."

Sans winced at that. He still went through biweekly episodes of magic overload. His eye would burn for hours, anything that he looked at would fly in the air in some random direction, and he'd teleport all over the house without any rhyme or reason. He hated it when that happened, that loss of control. But when he could control it, it was a blessing. He couldn't imagine not being able to do what he could do.

He felt his eye flicker and shot a palm up to cover it. "It's no problem!" He forced a small laugh.

Gaster shook his head. He hadn't noticed the faint glow leaking through Sans' fingers. "You know as well as I do that taking care of your brother is a twenty four hour job, and you've got your school work on top of all that to keep up with!" A sudden thought jolted him. "I hope your grades haven't suffered…"

"N-No." Sans tried to get his eye to burn out. It dimmed down, but only slowly. "School has always been easy."

"Hmph." Gaster snorted. "You say that now, but you won't get away with coasting once you get into college. That's where the real challenge starts."

"If you say so, Dad." Feeling the energy finally ebb away, Sans let his hand down. "But, really! I like taking care of Paps. It's nice! He's not like other little kids!"

"You mean he's not a sociopath? Ha, that's true." With the dishes cleared, Gaster pulled the sink plug and dried off his hands and arms. The water guzzled down the drain as he rolled down his sleeves and knelt on one knee, to get at son's eye level.

"Dad?" Sans tilted his head.

"I'm really, really lucky you boys turned out so well..." Gaster sighed. "I wish you had known your mother. She would have handled you two so much better." He didn't sound teary, just earnest. The edges of his teeth poked up in a warm smile. "Lucky thing for me your souls were so good to begin with, eh?"

Sans didn't really know what to say to any of that. He shuffled his feet and started counting the stains on the linoleum. "Oh, well, thanks… Ahm. I try?" To be good? Heck if he knew.

Gaster coughed and glanced up at the wall clock. "Ah, it's past eight. Paps needs to get tucked in."

"I can do it!" Sans grinned and made a beeline for the stairs. "No worries, Dad! I promised to read to him anyway!"

Gaster watched as Sans ran up the stairs before moving to wipe down the stove. He had meant what he had said, even if he wasn't as sentimental as monsters tended to get.

Laying out the dishrag to dry, he went to the living room and grabbed his book off of the coffee table before settling down in his armchair. He cracked open the spine and leafed to his place.

After a couple dozen pages, he stopped and strained to hear Sans' faint voice from upstairs.

"Once upon a time, Mrs. Fluffy Bunny lived with all fifteen of her children down in the deep, deep forest…"

"Fifteen?!" Papyrus yelled. "But she only had ten yesterday!"

"She's a rabbit, Pap. It's her nature."

"Heh…" Gaster snorted.