Summary: They've reached their final form.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

"Ugh, this is the worst!" Ink complained.

Blue couldn't help but silently agree as Horror shoved a picture bearing a young, timid Frisk-esque child wearing a dull azure-colored dress in his face.

"This one... Aliza. She is... good cook." The broken-skulled Sans boasted in his typical rumbling drawl. "Makes... the best stew you will ever taste."

He politely nodded. "That's wonderful, Horror."

"No, it isn't." The soulless guardian beside him rudely interrupted before obnoxiously groaning when Error produced yet another photo album of a tiny white skeleton with fluffy wings and proceeded to explain each picture to him in extreme detail.

Given the destroyer's own poor memory, it was a little unsettling how much he had committed to heart. Especially when it came to certain... unsavory details.

Blue resisted the urge to gag while the dark glitch described the color, consistency, and smell of his apparent child's baby vomit- that he, for some reason, decided to capture in photographic form.

As the description went on (for far, far longer than it rightfully should), Ink began to look a touch green and whined, "I thought fighting them before was bad enough, but this is hell."

An irritated huff sounded from the other side of the sterile, white-tiled lab room they occupied.

"If you didn't want to be in this position, then you shouldn't have thrown around mysterious, unlabeled potions from a laboratory. We have procedures in place for a reason; To prevent things like this from happening. " Sci grumbled.

He was hunkered over his workstation, surrounded by various scientific instruments and vials and bottled chemicals, pouring and mixing them seemingly at random. A valiant effort to find a cure.

Light blue eyelights drifted over to where Dust and Killer laid: a large, clear glass jar with several air holes poked into the lid, sitting atop one of the top shelves of an overcrowded bookcase. Both Sanses were shrunken. Probably about the size of a Bitty, if not a little smaller. And, quite obviously, considering their vigorous tiny fist shakes and snarling faces, very unhappy.

Cross, their monochrome comrade in evildoing, emoted far less, mainly due to his drastically different situation- i.e., currently position twitching on the floor.

A successful cure. Here's hoping for a successful cure, the Underswap Sans reminded himself.

He looked back to the monster in front of him. Horror was still rambling on about his daughter and/or Frisk (Blue wasn't sure which one it was at this point), unbothered by his lack of input or participation in the conversation. Something he felt extreme gratitude for.

Dream, however, did not seem to have such luck with his brother, who demanded his undivided attention. Undivided attention that went to looking over Nightmare's fourth seemingly endless wallet of photographs.

"Brother, just how many Sanses have you adopted?" Dream hesitantly questioned.

"All that will let me-" Nightmare answered cooly before turning toward Error, growling, "I'll get you one day, Error! And your little Genocide too!"

The dark glitch glanced up from his album and scoffed. "F-fat cha-nce in-in hell, y-you dirty g-g-glitch! I'm not-not letting my prec-ious Gothy be-be r-related to some e-e-emo, backwater abom-ination with an-an apple t-tree complex!"

"You will be my son whether you want to or not!"

"Brother, maybe you should calm-"

"Sci, you're my son now!" The dark lord suddenly declared, pointing at the aforementioned skeleton.

Thus, causing the young Sans to startle and nearly drop a chemical vial before whipping his skull in the other's direction. "What- no!"

"Shut up, and let me add your picture to my wallets!"