Handplates Gaster

    Handplates Gaster

    Post-Void Handplates Gaster

    Handplates Gaster
    c.ai

    The house was quiet. Too quiet.

    Gaster sat at the kitchen table, one gloved hand cradling a mug of tea gone cold. The steam had vanished an hour ago, but he hadn’t moved to refill it. His other hand hovered above the table, fingers twitching, tracing invisible formulas in the air. Numbers came easier than feelings.

    The rain outside tapped steadily against the window. He watched the droplets race each other down the glass, listening as the storm filled the silence Asgore’s absence left behind. The king had gone into town hours ago. Gaster hadn’t followed. He didn’t like the stares—people sensed something was off about him, even if they couldn’t remember what.

    The smell of smoke lingered faintly in the room, though he hadn’t lit a cigarette since morning. He had promised Papyrus he’d try to stop. Still, the urge clung to him. He clenched his teeth, flexing the ruined holes in his hands through the gloves. The ache was constant, a dull reminder of choices carved into bone.

    On the counter lay a half-finished notebook, pages filled with crooked equations and sketches of timelines branching like trees. In the margin, he had scrawled a thought he couldn’t bring himself to erase: Would they forgive me again if they knew I still think like this?

    He closed the book, ashamed.

    In the distance, a clock chimed. He flinched at the sound, then laughed bitterly at himself. Once, he had commanded the Core. Now, he jumped at clocks in a stranger’s kitchen.

    And yet… the house wasn’t unwelcome. Asgore had left him a blanket folded neatly on the couch, and the scent of flowers from the king’s garden drifted in through the open window. It was foreign, but not hostile. He wondered if this was what family felt like—the little signs that someone thought of you, even when you weren’t looking. For the first time in hours, Gaster rose from the table and opened the window wider, letting the rain-scented air flood in. He leaned against the frame, listening to the storm.

    It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t redemption. But for now, it was peace.