Chapter Text
The sofa was empty when Edge first walked in from work, the television dark and silent. He took the time to hang up his coat and set his briefcase by his desk before calling up the stairs. “Stretch?”
No reply. It was not entirely a surprise. The past two days Stretch had been late coming home, working on some sort of project in the lab right up until dinnertime. He hadn’t mentioned what it was yet, but again, that was hardly unusual. For every project that he wanted to discuss in fine detail there was another that would be kept behind whatever mental embargo that Stretch put on it, until he’d worked his way past his own set of checkpoints enough to bring it up.
Strange that it didn’t seem to matter how important a project was, whether it was a secret one for Asgore or something ridiculous he was designing for the neighborhood children. Stretch had a certain goalpost that all his work needed to reach before he’d talk about it, some mental scale that needed to balance. It made Edge wonder how many were languishing down in his lab, exiled until such a time that they qualified.
Whatever it was, Edge was honestly looking forward to hearing about it. Not that he’d understand most of what he was told, but that hardly mattered. What he wanted was to see Stretch talking about it, the animated way he spoke with his hands, the flash of his grin and the bubbling excitement that always came when he’d made some sort of breakthrough.
He’d been tired but pleased all week so it must be going well. Perhaps today Edge would finally get to hear about the finer points. Until then, he took advantage of the empty house to turn on his preferred music station, contemplating dinner and perhaps dessert. There was a little time for him to come up with something.
It was easy to lose himself in the rhythm of cooking, chopping vegetables and setting a pot on to boil water for rice. Vegetable curry sounded delicious, it was a meal he made often since Stretch liked it as well, and it would come together quickly.
The heady aroma of spice filled the air and he breathed it in contentedly, soft magic filling his mouth. Lunch had been some time ago and he hadn’t had time to even grab a muffin, trying to keep up with both his own work and Janice’s. It was difficult to resist the urge to work through lunch as it was, the temptation lingering in the back of his thoughts, demanding that he not fall behind.
Learning to ignore that voice had taken him years and Edge wasn’t about to start obeying it now. Exhausting himself would do favors for no one and the other teams were more than happy to take on little extra work until Janice returned. He didn’t have to do everything on his own and time enough to eat his lunch was little enough to ask.
By the time the rice was done, fluffy and steaming, and the curry in a serving dish, it was nearly seven. Edge frowned at the clock, niggling concern starting to replace hunger. Stretch was never this late, even on his most distracted days.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text, letting Stretch know that dinner was ready, if he could please pull himself from his work long enough to eat it before it got cold. No reply; the flag beneath it stayed at delivered but never changed to read.
Food forgotten, Edge pulled up the tracking app. As he’d guessed, it said Stretch’s phone was down the road, at his brother’s house where his lab was still downstairs. When he’d moved in, the lab had remained since Stretch hadn’t wanted to go through the effort of dismantling everything to move it when he could shortcut the distance easily from their living room. It had its own entrance, a safety precaution against fumes, and Blue hadn’t minded, so there it stayed.
Not a problem, except if Edge wanted to visit the lab, he needed either a car or a jog.
He didn’t visit often.
With a sigh, Edge covered the serving bowls before he slipped on his boots and coat. He scooped up his keys on his way out the door, not that it was a far walk but he wanted to eat sooner than later. The drive was brief, and it was without a shred of guilt that he parked on the street rather than the driveway. As much as he liked Blue, if he caught sight of them, they’d be trapped for twenty minutes of chatting before they escaped. He was hungry, damn it, and manners could wait for another day.
The lab door was unlocked, and Edge added that to his mental list of complaints. There was a keypad for a reason, what was the point of a lock if anyone could wander downstairs at any time, whether or not they had good reason? Edge didn’t need a PhD to know that some of these experiments were delicate and one interruption could ruin weeks of work.
“Stretch?” he called as he made his way down the stairs, not wanting to startle him. The lack of reply was worrying, and he pushed aside the heavy plastic curtain in the open doorway, stepping into the lab proper.
Aside from the wild clutter of the desk which was a mess of papers and toys, a set of stuffed chickens sitting pertly in the middle, the worktables were all neatly organized, each one with a clipboard hanging on one end. Edge didn’t recognize any of the equipment or experiments, and didn’t care because Stretch wasn’t standing by any of them.
His phone was sitting on the last table and Edge started towards it automatically, only to freeze as he caught sight of a skeletal hand extending past the end of the table, fingers lax against the polished floor tiles.
“Rus?” Edge gasped, moving so quickly he stumbled over his own feet, falling with abnormal gracelessness to his knees where Stretch was sprawled out on the floor, pale and still. His sockets were closed, a thin line of marrow running from his nasal aperture was dried to maroon which meant he’d been here a while, he’d been lying here while Edge was chopping fucking vegetables, he-
Enough. Panic wasn’t going to help in the slightest and Edge pushed it aside, drawing on inner calm. Stretch wasn’t dust which meant he was alive.
A Check sent a quiver through that fragile calm, shaking him to his core. Stretch’s HP was into the decimals and his magic was vanishingly low. Edge wasn’t incapable of healing but no how much training he’d gone through, he was still terrible at it. It wasn’t an innate skill of his and with Stretch’s HP so low, it was possible trying would do more harm than good.
Any mental stability was slipping away and Edge knelt for too long, frozen in indecision, until he remembered where he was.
His fingers were shaking, he noticed distantly, pulling up his contact list and finding a number that was close to the top. It rang once, twice, and then a familiar voice answered.
Edge didn’t bother with a greeting. “Blue, I need you to come downstairs to your brother’s lab, right now, it’s an emergency—”
The phone hadn’t even disconnected when the familiar pop of teleportation came from behind him. Blue was moving before Edge could say a word, a low moan escaping him as he caught sight of his brother’s still form. Sans was at his heels, the source of his quick shortcut, and he stood back, his eye lights dim and shocked even as Blue laid his hands on his brother’s rib cage.
His hands flared, brilliant with magic and Stretch convulsed, his cry garbled and pained as healing was forced directly into his soul. His heels drummed against the floor, sneakers squeaking as he strained, arching up hard enough that his joints popped. Whether it was into his brother’s touch or a simple reflex, Edge didn’t know. He could only stand back, unable to touch for risk of that magic flowing into him instead of the intended target, his own sockets narrowed as he watched Stretch’s HP crawl back upward.
There were a few dark spots of marrow staining the front of Stretch’s sweatshirt, perfect round droplets, and Edge couldn’t stop himself from wondering vaguely if it would wash out.
Behind him, Sans was moving, and Edge glanced at him unwillingly, watching him study the worktable. There was a machine of some sort on it and that was what had Sans’s attention, softly glowing dials that Sans was looking over. He caught Edge watching him, the corners of his permanent smile curled tight and upset.
“he’s been using the magic distiller?” Sans asked sharply.
“I think so,” Edge admitted. He wasn’t certain on the name, but he knew what the machine was. Stretch had been working on a way to stabilize healing magic into a carrier, like an ointment or an oil, but that was an ongoing project Sans was supposed to have been working on with him, for Asgore. “He said it was safe.”
Sans’s expression revealed nothing, but Edge was accustomed to a much higher grade of deception.
“He lied,” Edge said flatly.
The hesitation was brief, and revealing, Sans’s eye lights flickering to the floor where Blue was starting to sweat, trickles running down the sides of his face as the glow in his hands wavered. Stretch was so terribly still again, the normal warm tint of his bones paled to starkness.
“wouldn’t say that,” Sans said, too carefully, too slow.
“Would I?”
Another hesitation but it seemed he’d reached the limits of Sans’s willingness to prevaricate. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “probably.”
A low whimper interrupted whatever he might have said, and later Edge would think that was for the best, the words hovering on the border of being spoken had been harsh, cold. Sans would have borne his undeserved anger without a complaint and he likely would have forgiven it, the circumstances being what they were. But he wouldn’t have forgotten it.
Still kneeling on the floor, Blue was panting, his own eye lights dimmed from their normal cheery stars. “That’s all I can manage,” Blue said wearily. “He’s out of danger but we need to get him to the hospital.”
Tired as he obviously was, Blue automatically started to pick him up and Edge reached out to stop him. “I’ve got him.”
Blue’s smile was weakly grateful. “I know, you take good care of him.”
“Not good enough,” Edge replied curtly. He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t care to hear Blue trying to make excuses for any of them. Instead, he carefully lifted Stretch’s slight weight from the floor, shoving his own anguish at his stillness down, burying it beneath necessity. In his arms, Stretch was completely limp, utter deadweight that was difficult to negotiate past the stairs. Once he reached the sidewalk, Edge was forced to allow Blue to fish his keys from his pocket, Sans taking the passenger side as Edge lifted Stretch into the backseat.
With trembling gentleness, he settled Stretch in his lap, his eye lights focused on his still, silent form, Checking as often as he dared, taking what comfort he could in his unwavering HP, even with it being two points lower than his max. It was enough, he would be all right, Edge told himself. He was going to be fine, just fine, he’d recover from this, he would.
And as soon as he did, Edge was going to kill him.
-tbc-