Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Error decided he needed to get out of this universe, effective immediately.

Standing in Waterfall where he was, just beside the long since abandoned hotdog stand, he could see the unstable code begin to fold in on itself, a butterfly effect of one frantic string of numbers collapsing and causing another few to begin imploding. Like an excessively destructive swarm of locusts, the breaking, blinding white of destroyed code was travelling across waterfalls and spongy blue grass at a frightening rate. But even so, the waterfall just across from him still trickled steadily, and the echo flower persistently tinkled softly, the musical sound seeming strangely sad and eery compared to the dead silence that was the rest of the Underground.

He scoffed quietly, kicking at one of the iridescent, twinkling stones which had fallen out of the wall with his sandal. This universe was especially easy to destroy, and that had come back to bite him slightly. He’d wanted to stay here for longer, to examine the code and figure out what element was so flawed that he’d been able to erase nearly all of it in less than fifteen minutes, maybe impose it on other universes to make his job more efficient, but judging by the silent destruction surging through Waterfall less than thirty yards away that wasn’t going to happen. He supposed he should be grateful that nobody had detected him ripping this small timeline limb-from-limb yet, and that he’d faced barely any resistance from the local monsters. Other Undynes, Sanses and Asgores could sometimes be a pain in the coccyx to destroy, due to their trained battle style and occasionally buffed LV and EXP. But these ones had hardly given him any resistance, and his phalanges were mostly clean.

He felt slightly… off. Contrasting to his happiness that this mission had barely dented his magic reserves, this seemed slightly too easy. Sure, this AU was hardly popular, but shouldn’t Ink have showed up by now? Shouldn’t there be somebody here to stop him doing this? He felt strangely as if he’d fallen into a trap, the bait being an easy universe and the ‘trap’ being… whatever horrible thing the instigator of this planned to do to him.

But then again, good luck to anybody who tried to stop him now, he thought, barest hint of a yellow grin appearing on his face despite his internal dilemma. The code ravaging every chunk of this universe was barely ten yards away now, and rushing towards him, the glaring white mass swallowing every single memory made here and every trace of life, leaving behind a beautiful, peaceful…

…emptiness.

He sighed in satisfaction, but he didn’t hear it; there was nothing left in this place, no ability to speak, no sound at all, just mile upon mile of blank space. Deafening silence. He shouted profanities into the blankness, and cocked his head on one side, listening intently for any echo, any sign that he’d missed a spot. Formerly, he’d just pack up and leave after the job was finished, but apparently even if he left behind a tiny speck of code, something utterly inconsequential like a Cinna Bunny or an Echoflower, the entire universe could and certainly would be brought back in full working order by Ink and his posse of do-gooders, and all his hard work would be erased. But nothing here remained, everything was completely gone, and his job here was done.

With a quick, dismissive flick of his wrist, the portal was open to some random AU, and he stepped throug-

Oh.

Ink was crouching there, blank expression plastered across his face even as his eyelights landed on Error’s still form. There were bags like healing bruises underneath his sockets, and his body seemed guarded, and tense, as if he’d recently been attacked and he was still on-edge. His vials were in the wrong order, and some of them were so full they were overflowing, whereas others barely had more than a couple drops left. The evidence of this was scattered over his clothing, the golden bands of his overshirt practically disappearing under dried pink paint. The additional, neat square of brown fabric on his trousers that usually covered his lap and crotch had been brutally clawed off by something, and Error didn’t care to spend any more time to find out why Ink looked so dishevelled.

He raised his arm wordlessly, still one foot in the portal and one foot out, and sprinted away through the portal as fast as possible, not stopping until there were several metres of distance between him and Ink. He clenched his fist, and his magic surged, forming a blaster just behind him, opening its gaping voidlike maw and-

“Do I… know you?”

Error paused. That tone of voice was… strange coming from Ink, to say the least. But Ink was staring intently at him with a hesitant kind of awe, his large black sockets solemn and earnest, eyelights flickering so quickly from shape to shape that it was making Error dizzy to look at them. Ink’s mouth quirked up at the corner slightly, so that he was almost smiling at Error with those gleaming white teeth. A genuine, hopeful smile, miles away from those mocking, condescendingly pitying smirks and saddened grimaces that his mouth often made when they fought.

Error shook his head left and right like he could physically shake his thoughts away, frowning at himself. What did it matter if Ink was smiling at him? Who cared?

“s-stop play-acting-g, squid.” Error ground out, glaring as fiercely as he could. Ink didn’t seem to recognize the crude nickname, nor did he seem to register the hostility in Error’s posture and voice, because he straightened up silently and paced two steps closer, curiosity bleeding out of every little movement he made. Now Ink was in full range of the deadly Gaster Blaster hovering ominously behind Error, but the idiot didn’t seem to realize, still seemingly totally transfixed by Error’s face. It was starting to get a little nerve-wracking how keenly he was being watched.

“I… I feel like I do know you.” Ink reminisced, bringing his thumb and forefinger up to rub at his chin in thought, eyelights becoming question marks. His eyelights trailed up and down Error’s form again, lingering on the rampant glitches and bold ERROR signs spontaneously appearing across him. He seemed surprised by the bold, unapologetic brightness that occurred everywhere except the coal-blackness of his jacket and bones – but when he squinted at the long, raised tear-tracks that ran down his cheekbones, bright aquamarine in colour, he let out a gasp.

“Oh my god! You’re… you’re Error! That’s your name! Oh my- Error. Error!“ Ink said, completely impassioned with joy, little tears gathering in the corners of his scrunched-up sockets. He whooped loudly, practically jumping up and down on the spot, lithe little legs tucking up to do neat cannonball hops coupled with other little joyful movements. He kept saying Error’s name over and over, like it was a magic incantation, giggling delightedly.

 Error watched this bizarre display with a guarded expression, still wondering if this was just a plan to catch him off-guard and ambush him. Ink bounced about some more, feet barely touching the ground as he hummed a little tune that Error didn’t know the origins of. Eventually, as if he’d only just remembered that Error was here, he turned back around sheepishly, trotting towards Error. Error immediately stepped backwards, pulling a complicated web of blue string from underneath his sockets in blatantly hostile warning. Ink didn’t heed this, and started babbling again, smiling from ear-to-ear.

“Ohh, I’m so glad that I’ve remembered your name because that’s the only thing I do remember! Strange, isn’t it, because I just woke up here and my head hurt and somebody threw a bone at me! So, I ran away, and now you’re here and it’s fantastic because you must’ve been very close to me if you’re the only thing I actually remember!” Ink gabbled, not taking any notice of Error’s very confused expression.

“…close to you?” Error parroted incredulously, repressing the urge to laugh bitterly, and Ink nodded happily, walking closer again. Error was too dumbfounded to consider moving back from a possible attack, and now they were standing close enough that it might look to a passer-by like they were having a friendly conversation – if you could overlook the large, black-and-blue Gaster Blaster still poised to attack, pointed directly at where Ink was standing.

…And the fact that Error reckoned he probably looked like he was being told that there were fifteen more seasons of Undernovela he hadn’t watched.

“And I was wondering, you know, since we’re friends and all-“

“fr-fr-friends?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, thanks. Anyhow, Error, if you could explain to me what’s going on, it’d be greatly appreciated right now!” Ink chirped, skipping in line with Error so they were side by side, and promptly looping his arm through Error’s unused one, still fisted at his side.

The reaction was immediate; the chunks of glitches spiked up, warranted by Ink’s unexpected touch, and Error jolted away, tearing his arm from Ink’s grip and immediately, instinctively, immobilizing the limb that caused that. He exhaled heavily as the impossibly thin, silky blue strands wrapped around Ink’s hand-to-forearm area firmly, keeping his arm awkwardly hung in the air as if he was waving. Ink blinked, hurt flashing across his expression, and then confusion.

“don’t,” Error snarled, voice thick with anger. “d-don’t touch-ch-ch m-e.” His voice buzzed and grated, lined with a sort of static that made Ink look up at him like a kicked puppy, bony brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t kno-“ Ink started to talk again, seeming borderline frantic but with another curt flick of Error’s wrist more strings promptly captured Ink’s other limbs, winding up and down his femurs in the blink of an eye, keeping his ribs steadily unmoving, and multiple wrapped tightly around his thin, thickly tattooed cervical vertebrae. Ink blinks again, then winces as Error’s glitching hand formed a tight claw, forcing the strings around his neck to tighten again painfully.

The audacity of this stupid bastard to think he can just pretend he’s forgotten everything, touch him without the slightest warning, and then expect there to be no repercussions because he thinks Error actually believes him?

Ink struggled against the strings as they tightened again, drawing blood this time – tiny, oozing lines of ink-black blood stained his clothes where the threads had dug in, and from what Error could see from the scarf restricting his view, tiny flushed patches of varicoloured magic appear on his neck in a monster variation of a bruise. Error stands over him, free hand shaking with rage and buzzing ERROR signs.

“d-d-don’t play fuck-ing stupid-d-d. i know y-ou planned this. i know y…”

Error’s voice trails off as Ink made a pathetic, muffled little sound, prismatic tears dripping down his white cheekbones, mouth quivering and twitching anxiously. Error’s shock made his concentration falter, and he felt the looming presence of the Gaster blaster behind him dissipate, and the strings loosened drastically, so Ink was just being held in a loose blue spider’s web, allowing him to wriggle his arm out of the strings and wipe his face.

Error had never seen Ink cry before.

He’s seen Ink tremble with silent rage, sockets blazing with two deadly little targets for eyelights, completely locked onto him as a result of taking the red vial. He’d seen Ink fearful, shaking as he was cornered, wide sockets staring up at him in paralysed terror. He’d seen Ink sad, eyelights teardrops, earnestly mourning an AU he’d failed to protect. But no matter what happened, no matter how many blows they exchanged, no matter how bruised and battered Ink’s small body was, he refused to cry. He’d stick his chin up, look him straight in the sockets and glare defiantly, wiping the bloody black trails running from his mouth and nasal cavity with a wince, not willing to let Error defeat him emotionally.

But here he was, sobbing after Error had barely even touched him. He hiccupped and sniffled in a sorrowful fashion, staring reproachfully up at Error, a few stray tears dripping down his mandible and leaving tiny wet patches on the soft brown scarf still firmly in place around his neck. He frowned, the way you do when there’s a question on the crossword you can’t quite answer, or a maths problem you’re having trouble solving.

“I thought… you said we were friends…” Ink said quietly, voice quivering slightly, and he freed his other limbs from the slack blue lines slowly, twisting his legs in complicated patterns to untangle them. He suddenly looked so, so afraid, hands clasped near his chest in a childish fashion, sockets owlishly wide, displaying a large purple question mark and three smaller cyan teardrops in a circular loop.

“i never s-s-said that. you did.” Error huffed indignantly, but the previous anger that had coursed through his previous statements, the pure black rage that tainted every word had disappeared, and he was aware of it. But he didn’t have it in him to care at the moment.

His thoughts were coming at lightning speeds, ideas quickly being flattened by others, jumping from one messy half-formed plan to another, wondering about a thousand different ways to go about this situation.

Ink had forgotten everything.

Ink had always had the recollection skills of a goldfish at the best of times, going through intense memory lapses when he took too much paint, forgetting what he was doing, where he was, but never who he was. If you asked him what his job was while he was spewing up Ink on the floor of the “doodle-sphere” (a massive gallery of AUs, so cleverly named by Ink) he’d still be able to tell you he protected the multiverse and that he encouraged creators. He also never fully forgot people who he was well acquainted with, be it negatively or positively, because he’d never showed up to one of their many stand-offs and not known who he was fighting.

But now, it seemed, he’d completely forgotten everything about himself, the multiverse, and everything since. Ink wouldn’t put down his pride and cry just so Error would let his guard down.

“dream.” He muttered quietly, and Ink’s head tilted. There was a large cut across the back of his skull surrounded by dried, ink-black blood, Error noticed. Clearly, he hadn’t been the first person to find Ink.

“Sorry?” Ink asked confusedly, blinking. He seemed to have calmed down, though his face was still wet with tears. Error’s sockets widened slightly, and he stepped as close to Ink as he could without feeling fearful. His SOUL felt like it was beating faster than a frightened rabbit’s.

“dream. do you kno-ow who that is?” Error asked him urgently, watching his expression intently for any sign of recognition, any glimpses of awareness. Ink blinked twice, eyelights shifting into two large question marks, pink and green. He smiled uncertainly, as if he thought Error was joking about something he wasn’t in on.

“A dream is something that happens when you sleep. Not a person, surely. What kind of name is that?” Ink said incredulously, a nervous chuckle falling out of his mouth that Error barely registered over the chaos of his internal thoughts. He dug his phalanges into his palms, willing himself to stay calm.

“Do you know this “Dream” person?” Ink chirped curiously, putting the name in literal air quotes, tone akin to that of an enthralled student asking their teacher a question.

“d-do you know-w who core is. core frisk.” Error asked, ignoring him. He felt like he would’ve shaken him if he could touch him, but instead he settled for making direct eye contact, staring at him so intensely that Ink squirmed uncomfortably, inadvertently shaking off some of the loose blue strings still resting on his shoulders.

“Geez, interrogation much?” Ink laughed nervously again, one eyelight becoming an icy blue triangle. He frowned, though. “I don’t know them either, sorry. Core, though? What an odd name.” Ink mused, bringing one hand up to cup his chin, his puzzled expression punctuated by one eyelight turning green. Error just stared at him, processing.

“what about the omega timeline?” He blurted in a hushed voice, feeling his excitement skyrocket.

Ink was silent, brow furrowing slightly, a look of intense concentration crossing his face like a cloud coming over the sun. Error’s SOUL felt like it was going to explode.

This could be it! If Ink remembered this place, he could lead Error straight towards it, and then he’d easily be able to wipe out the entire population of those sad abominations. Like taking candy from a baby. And he’d easily be able to kill Ink and Core while he was at it, or at least drag them as close to death’s door as he could. After all these years, after so much time, the idea that he’d finally found this “safe haven” that Core Frisk ran made him dizzy.

And then? He’d just have to find the remnants. And by Asgore he was going to enjoy doing that.

“well?” He asked impatiently, crouching slightly to look Ink in the eyes. “say something-g-g!”

Ink gasped, the same noise he’d made when Error told him his name, and then-

-a portal split the ground under their feet and both of them fell gracelessly through it.

Chapter Text

The first thing Error noted about his new surroundings, blinking his sockets open blearily, was that they smelled awful.

He was being slowly swallowed by squishy stuff that was steadily caving under his weight, and he could feel revolting slime leaking down the back of his cervical vertebrae. He flung his arm out blindly, and his ulna hit cold, hard metal with a loud clang. He clung to the solid edge, manoeuvring his weight until he tipped right over it, flailing wildly before his struggling came to a prompt anti-climax and he hit the floor, which was thankfully more solid. He shuddered, once, twice, and he felt something warm drip down his arm from inside his sleeve, something that smelled horribly like one of those revolting MTT-Brand Starfaits that had melted. Tearing off his jacket, he scrubbed at the stain fruitlessly, cursing. You had to have a deal with the devil to get one of these out of your clothes.

He looked around. Tall, electric pink dumpsters towered over him, all imprinted with an unfortunately familiar robot face, and all vandalised with various scribbles from dissatisfied customers. The dumpsters were overflowing and oozing glitter, grease, and every other questionable ingredient that was shoved into the garbage from what was presumably a Mettaton-centric restaurant. There was a trash chute looming over the dumpsters, and Error quietly thanked the stars that he hadn’t received an onslaught of oozing pink food that was probably far out of date.

Then he remembered.

“ink-k?” He called, his voice sounding pathetically small. He tried again. “ink?”

There was a loud clang in the dumpster to his left, and then a muffled cry of pain. Then some more shuffling, a couple more horrible sounds of bone hitting cold metal. Finally, Ink’s head popped up from the garbage like a meerkat’s from the sand, eyelights bright when they landed on Error. There was a Glamburger patty oozing grease atop his skull, slowly sliding down the side of his cheekbone. Error winced, letting out a disgruntled noise, and Ink reached up to pick up the Glamburger with a finger and thumb, inspecting it.

“throw that-t-t thing in th-e trash.” Error ordered, turning his back on Ink and the dumpster as if that would make the smell any less pungent. Error rounded on him a second later when he heard chewing noises, sockets widening in disbelief.

“don’t eat it!” He yelled incredulously, and Ink nodded sheepishly, the giant burger patty hardly fitting in his mouth. He turned slowly, movement restricted by the garbage surrounding him up to the shoulders, and neatly spat his mouthful into one of the trash bags, before yanking himself up out of the dumpster by his elbows, swinging his legs over with a swish of his baggy trousers, and landing gracefully on the balls of his feet.

He beamed at Error. “Where are we?” He asked cheerfully, nearly moving to hook his arm through Error’s again, but probably thinking better of it last-second. Error glared at him for good measure, taking a step backwards.

“you took us here-e.” Error snapped, looking at him suspiciously. “you tell-ll me.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Ink said, blinking. Then he laughed. “I have honestly no idea. Maybe, uhm… we should go look around? Then we might know.”

Error hesitated, bringing a phalange up to his mouth to chew on the tip of it. That was… not a bad idea, coming from this idiot. But how could he trust that Ink wouldn’t run away? Trying to keep Ink patient and still by his side while he scouted would be like trying to carry water in his phalanges. His scatterbrain would see something vaguely interesting in five seconds and run off, and it’d be very hard to keep track of him again – especially if this was a surface universe, which, looking up at the clear blue sky, it appeared to be.

He heaved a sigh through his nasal ridge, then an idea came to mind. He’d used his strings on Ink before, but maybe this time he could use them in a less… obvious way?

“h-hey. squid.” He beckoned for Ink to come closer, which Ink did obediently, looking at him curiously, absolutely unafraid. Error supposed that this was what shepherds felt when their lambs trotted over happily to be slaughtered.

“hold-d out your hand.” Error directed, and Ink obliged, holding out one slender wrist, hand hanging limply. Error inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He could do this. He wasn’t even touching anyone. His hand still shook fiercely as he inched it closer to Ink’s, who stayed pliant and still, looking at him in mild confusion. He opened his mouth to say something.

“sh-ut up-p.” He hissed fiercely, and Ink’s mouth shut with a quiet click. He inhaled again, yanked his hand up to his sockets, phalanges digging into the lower rim, quickly winding round and round the tiny blue strings that formed on the tips of his fingers like spun sugar around a cotton candy wand. This was a practiced motion, one he’d perfected a long time ago, but it took him a while longer this time because his phalanges were trembling. He let his hand drop down next to Ink’s smaller one again, the strings following and forming a limp bond between his hand and his socket, and he quickly used said string to wrap around Ink’s gloved metacarpals, then around his own, and again in quick, complicated ties.

He did so until he was satisfied, peering down at his work. The strings forced their hands apart, but drew them together at the same time, leaving a few inches of space between their joined hands. It looked like a complex, ridiculous game of cat’s cradle between two people’s hands, and it jarred his middle phalange uncomfortably every time he turned his hand too sharply, but it would have to do.

Ink looked awed, staring down at where their hands connected. Error sighed, relieved to be free of the worry that he’d crash as soon as their hands got within that distance.

“tu-ug on the-e string if you-u need to tell me something-g. otherwise keep your m-m-mouth shut.” Error said curtly, and began to make his way out of the alley, Ink stumbling along behind him with a surprised yelp.

Error shielded his sockets with his free hand the moment the protection of the alley walls were gone, he and Ink standing in a gutter, both of them rendered temporarily blind while the sudden light of the sun shone down on them. Error had seen the sun before, of course he had, but that didn’t mean he was used to it after spending days in his anti-void. They were standing in a street where buildings were elbowing each other for space, getting taller and taller the more cramped they were, like some strange concrete canopy layer. The buildings were all decorated brightly, especially the one to their left which had a cartoon Mettaton smiling down at them from a large neon sign, and the large, round, lime-green kiosk that had an olive-coloured tortoise monster tottering around it.

But the most shocking thing, more so than the towering buildings and hot colours, was the monsters.

Of every size and variety, Boss Monsters and tiny Froggits strolling along in the same spaces, excited chatter and incoherent ribbiting filling the air above their heads. The street was tightly packed, shoulders brushing together, larger monsters striding ahead and smaller ones struggling not to get trampled in the rush. Some monsters looked amazed, gazing up at the shops with nervous anticipation, some monsters looked hurried, glancing down at their watches and sipping coffee in their work shirts, and some looked relaxed, as if they were just becoming part of the ongoing tidal wave of people for fun. There were monsters who were clearly derived from the original universe’s code, and some that had been clearly entirely new beings, things that Error didn’t recognise. But one thing he knew? None of these monsters looked like they were from the same universes.

Error’s head was reeling, and he took a tiny step back from the rush of people, feeling his legs buckle slightly. Ink turned to look at him, his expression of giddy ecstasy fading into one of concern.

“Error…?” He asked, brows drawn together. Error shook his head, taking two firm steps out into the street. He needed to get his bearings.

Immediately, Ink was pushing forwards into the mass of people confidently, Error tugging backwards on the strings that connected them desperately, staring at him wide-socketed. Ink tapped somebody on the shoulder. His mouth moved, but Error could barely hear him over the buzzing white noise in his skull. His skull seemed waterlogged, and everything felt muted, as if his skull had been pushed into a cushion. His hands felt cold.

“Error!”

Error blinked, staring up at Ink, who was looking down at him, one eyelight a concerned purple question mark, the other a shining blue exclamation point. He blinked, realising he was sitting down at the side of the alley again, and he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Ink, who took no notice. When had he been here? And why did Ink look so damn excited?

“Error, that dragon said we were in the Omega Timeline!”

CRASH.

An ERROR occurred. Troubleshooting…

Solution found!

Status: Reboot 68% complete. Loading…

Status: reboot 100% complete. System: ONLINE.

Error groaned, holding his skull in one hand as he begrudgingly opened his sockets, migraine pounding at the front of his temple, his whole body aching like he’d just ran a marathon. Reboots were always awful. His code, splitting into a frenzy of disorganised fragments, attempting to fix itself without ever quite knowing how, naturally had effects on how his body performed after one. He sluggishly heaved himself upright, watching his body flicker and glitch as he regained consciousness, wincing at the pain in his lower back. He’d been lying on tiles of some sort.

Roof tiles.

His body was jolted awake, as if somebody had dumped a bucket of freezing cold water over him. He’d crashed when Ink told him about the Omega Timeline. He was really here. The place he’d been trying to get to for so long was finally within his grasp, and he’d just crashed because of it. He placed both hands to his throbbing skull, staring down at the roof he was sitting on, only briefly noticing that the bright sky had now faded to a flash of a sunset.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Chirped Ink, bobbing up in his peripheral vision, and Error did a double take so violently that he nearly toppled off the roof. Instead, he scowled at Ink, who was crouched down across from him, mud splattered across the hems of his trousers.

“wh-at happened?” Error asked urgently, scooting slightly closer on his coccyx to look Ink in the sockets. Ink tried to return the serious stare, but dissolved into giggles, laughing so heartily he wasn’t coherent enough to speak. Error felt like shaking him, but he just sighed and sat until Ink regained himself, clearing his nonexistant throat.

“Well, uh..” Ink paused, coughing again. “We got out of the alley and you glitched wayyy more. Then I tried to talk to you, but you didn’t hear me, so I sat outside the alley again. Then I told you where we were, and I heard this screechy computer sound an’ there was this loading bar.” Ink recounted, and then sat back on his heels easily, looking at Error for the verdict.

“we’re i-i-in the omega timeline.” Error said slowly, and Ink nodded, the way you nod at a two-year-old spouting gibberish – or at a crazy person.

Error stared at the roof tiles, blinking his sockets. For all he’d dreamed of destroying this place, he’d never actually taken any time to wondering what it might be like. And the cities, stretching as far as the eye could see, seemed to be packed full of monsters, each street bustling with life, chock-full of innocent people and people who had killed and gained LV. He didn’t think that Core Frisk’s little timeline would be anything of a challenge to handle, but now, he could see very different scenarios playing out in his head.

Roll up, roll up! Come see the infamous Destroyer, being executed for his crimes against the multiverse! Watch and wonder as his skull gets separated from his cervical vertebrae! Clap and cheer as we snap his spine in half and pull his teeth out, one by one!

 Error scoffed at the conclusions his mind was jumping to, but he still shuddered, one hand coming up to rest on his neck, patting slightly unsurely to check it was still there. He knew he was imagining things, knew that these do-gooders would never resort to such a cruel form of punishment, and yet – he also knew that it wouldn’t be taken lightly if he attempted to destroy this place. There’d be imprisonment, humiliation, and stars-knows-what to pay if that little grey bastard caught him wrecking their precious little timeline. He furrowed his brow in concentration, desperately running through ideas, ways he could keep track of this place or come back to it somehow.

“Error?” Ink chirped, and Error scowled, glowering over at him. The fact that he had to put up with this asshole as well was just the cherry on top of the terrible-circumstances cake.

“shut it, will-ll you?” He said wearily, attempting a dignified turn, but then with some ominous tugging at his phalanges he realised they were still tied together, and he put his head in his hands with a frustrated groan, hating himself and Ink and the entire population of this stars-forsaken multiverse. He heard shuffling, and then a little thump off to his left, and he moved his face out of his hands to tell Ink to go away again, but-

- Ink was holding something out to him.

“what-t is that?” He asked, really hoping it was what he thought it was, trying to hide the hopefulness in his expression.

Ink grinned at him smugly, extending it further out towards him. Error snatched it and tore the shiny purple wrapping off with a scrunch of cellophane, gazing down at his favourite thing in the whole multiverse, and unceremoniously shoved half of it in his mouth, Ink watching him with a mixture of satisfaction and amusement at his eagerness – which quickly turned into a look of horror and disgust as his tongues enveloped the chocolate, peeking out between his yellow teeth. It never got old. Error made his tongues writhe a little more to disgust Ink further, and a memory popped into his head, demanding his attention.

“Here, Glitchy.”

A shiny bar of chocolate between the Creator’s phalanges was being offered to him. Error stared at him warily, and Ink smiled reassuringly back, which Error did not trust at all.

“Promise it’s not poisoned.” Ink added, offering it again, more insistently. Error stared at it, pondering telling Ink where he could shove his chocolate bar and then retreating into his beanbag like a turtle. He opted for an angry huff instead, sticking his nasal ridge in the air indignantly, closing his sockets in distaste. Ink sighed long-sufferingly, getting up from his crouched position on the floor, skeletal heels clacking along the floor with every step he took on the blank Anti-Void.

“Well, so much for keeping your enemies close and your friends closer.” Ink said with a cheerful lilt, jauntily swinging his brush to create a portal, the brush hairs dragging a slit through the air with a sharp swoosh, Ink humming merrily as he stepped through it. He looked back, just before the portal closed, dropping the rejected bar of chocolate on the ground with a wink and a thumbs-up.

Error watched Ink get swallowed up by the portal, resting his chin on the heel of his palm. He scoffed to nobody, staring at the chocolate bar lying lonely on the floor. He wrapped his strings around it idly, bringing it closer to him with a flick of his wrist. Then he ripped open the packaging, shelling the chocolate of its shiny purple wrapper, and he sniffed it cautiously, pressing it to his nasal ridge gently.

Then he licked it. The taste of sweet milk chocolate oozed over one of his tongues.

He looked around furtively, then crammed the whole thing in his mouth, using two of his tongues to push one end of it as far into his mouth as he could. Absolute bliss. He hummed happily, the quiet noises of his chewing filling the silent Anti-Void.

“HAH! Knew you’d take it!

Error jerked his head upwards at the sound of Ink’s voice, trying to let out an alarmed screech, but his mouth was still stoppered by chocolate. Ink grinned smugly from the portal directly above him, gripping the edges as he leaned down towards him upside-down, jutting his clavicle out proudly.

“You’ll like me one day, Glitchy! You will succumb to my awesome company and amazing friendship tactics!” Ink cackled victoriously; shit-eating grin stretched wide across his face. Before Error could fling a manifested bone attack at him, Ink was gone with another giggle, and Error was sitting there dumbly on his beanbag with a mouthful of melting chocolate.

…He swallowed the last of it, licking his teeth. No reason to waste good chocolate, after all.

“Error…?”

He blinked out of his daydream, staring across at Ink, who looked confused again. He balled up his fist and punched himself hard on the femur, the pain grounding him slightly, watching the glitches spike and buzz where his hand made contact. He shouldn’t even think about those times. Why the hell was he remembering things like that now?

“w-we’re leaving.” Error said abruptly, standing up and brushing himself off, and Ink followed suit in a far more lively fashion, falling into step beside him as they made their way across the roof tiles unsteadily, the sky having grown far darker, the last of the sun shining like hot, sparking coals on the far horizon.

Ink was unusually quiet and unquestioning, following him like a second shadow, his brow furrowed in concentration. Error was grateful for this, and they walked on in peaceful silence, awkwardly taking the fire-escape ladder down from the roof and finding themselves on a paved street dotted with trees and small shops, comfortingly quiet and deserted compared to the other street they’d been on hours ago. It smelt faintly of orange, matching the carrot-coloured glow that the dying sun cast dimly across the cobbled road. The only noise was Error’s sandals and Ink’s bare feet clicking against the ground in an uneven rhythm of bone and leather against cold hard stone.

They’d find someplace to rest until tomorrow. And then Error would know what to do. He was smart enough to crack this largely-populated puzzle of a timeline, he reassured himself. He just had to figure out what was going on here.

…As they traipsed down the street, he tried not to think about how stricken Ink’s face was when he handed him that chocolate.

That was a problem for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Glaring sunshine shone intrusively onto his sockets as Error groaned, rolling over onto his front and banging the front of his sternum uncomfortably against the wood that it encountered.

He hadn’t had a very good night’s sleep. For starters, his mind was so alive with worry it felt like an entirely separate entity, chugging out wild, irrational thoughts he hadn’t ever thought he could have. It’d been unsettling, but mostly annoying, as his plans and strategies for how he was going to approach this crumbled like unwieldy sandcastles, each one having enough holes and flaws to give him another migraine thinking about them.

 Shamefully, he’d eventually realised he was so bad at figuring out what to do because he’d relied on the same unfailing tactics for a very long time. Destroy, destroy, hide, wait, repeat. And now he was paying a heavy price for it. He wished privately, not for the first time, that he could be as cunning and calculated as Nightmare, who seemed to always know what to do during the brief periods of time they spent negotiating. Everything he did seemed planned. Whereas Error was now lying on a street bench with his hand still tied to his sworn nemesis in enemy territory, having no idea what he was dealing with and if he’d been detected yet.

Speaking of, he pitied anybody who’d ever slept in the same room as Ink now. Ink had to curl up awkwardly on the bench next to his, lying at the very end with his skull facing Error’s and his hand hanging off the end of the seat so that Error’s arm wouldn’t be tugged. He changed positions every five seconds, and when he’d eventually stopped wriggling, he chatted away obliviously, no matter how many times Error told him to shut up. Even when the idiot’s sockets were firmly shut and his breathing was slow and steady, he still muttered faintly to himself, tossing and turning in his sleep, tugging on the strings with each individual, miniscule movement until Error was very tempted to fling him into the nearest shop window and go back to the sacred quietness of his Anti-Void. It was a wonder he’d gotten any sleep at all.

The fact that they both actually needed to sleep was another thing that irked him immensely. They were both out-codes, misplacements, and glitches, although Error hated to admit it. The need for sleep was something they didn’t experience in their own personal Anti-Void and “Doodlesphere” (named by Ink, not him.) Error suspected it had something to do with code that was set in universes and not its inhabitants, making it so they only felt the urge to eat and sleep when they were in their set locations. Places where time didn’t concede presumably didn’t count.

But this infuriating Omega Timeline seemed to have evaded this somehow, because last evening when the sun finally faded from view, Error felt fatigue creeping up on him slowly, settling into his bones like an unwanted visitor settles into a couch. To him, before, “rest” had meant puzzling things over in silence, maybe lying down while he did it, but now he actually had to go to sleep if he wanted to think straight, which scared him. It made him oddly vulnerable to attack, but he then realised that anybody else trying to attack him here would also be similarly afflicted, which calmed him slightly.

Another tiresome side effect of this was that he also had to replenish his magic reserves. And for that he had to eat food. And for food he had to leave the sanctity of the park bench where he could pretend he was still tucked up cosily in his beanbag, eating or knitting or watching Undernovela.

Eventually, with much procrastination, he roused himself, his joints screaming in discomfort as he got up and stretched lopsidedly with his hand still tied to Ink’s, trying to encourage some feeling into his numb, but somehow still aching bones. This, in turn, stirred Ink from his slumber, who rolled lazily onto his back, eyelights hazy and unfocused, a thin thread of iridescent drool running from his mouth.

 His shirt had ridden up in his sleep, exposing the lowest ribs of his ribcage, and Error surprised himself by averting his eyes. It felt undeniably strange and flat-out wrong to be seeing Ink completely unguarded, barely free from sleep’s clutches. He shivered a little, causing the strings to shake Ink’s hand a little in turn, and Ink finally sat up and yawned, his sharp little wolfish fangs that were normally hidden glimmering dangerously in the light. “All the better to bite you with!” Ink had cackled when Error brought them up. He’d been joking, of course, but Error had steered far out of biting range from then on.

Ink made to move off the bench, chirping “G’morning!” only slightly sleepily, and splaying out every one of his small limbs on the bench like a starfish, as if he was trying to take up as much space as possible. Error’s amusement slowly spiralled into alarm as he noted Ink’s distressingly paintbrush-free back.

“hey-y, idiot. where’d-d you put the bru-ush?” Error asked, and Ink blinked at him stupidly from his sprawling position, clearly completely unaware of exactly why this was causing him distress.  Error groaned long-sufferingly, shoving his face into the palm of his free hand. He could already feel a headache coming on.

“brush? that stupid-d, ov-ersized stick y-ou always-s carry a-a-around?” Error repeated impatiently, momentarily stopping his facepalm. His tone was akin to that of a dog’s owner asking it where it had left its ball, and Ink frowned slightly, sticking his nasal ridge in the air.

“I don’t have a brush.” Ink said firmly, crossing his arms, and Error felt his socket twitch. He sighed, shut his sockets, took a very deep breath, and then turned around, snapping a “get up-p.” over his shoulder as he began to walk. He decided to drop it, for now. It wouldn’t be good if somebody recognised Ink, and his stupid brush was one of the glaringly characteristic things about him. As well as his changing eyelights, and the splatter of ink on his cheekbone, and his vials, and…

…Error inhaled again, dragging his hands down his face despairingly, and made a mental note to find them some other clothing.

“I’d brush it off if I were you, Error.” Ink said from behind him (Error ignored his lingering on the last word as if it was honey on his tongue), and Error turned, staring at Ink, who grinned at him with barely restrained humour.

Was that… a pun?

Ink made the worst puns ever before this had happened. The most generic, annoying, internet-searched, repetitive, bland puns in the entire Multiverse. Error suspected he had been trying to imitate the other Sanses who always had a full inventory of puns for every occasion, but he just didn’t have the skills, memory or comedic timing needed to make any of his puns funny. Ink was no better than the average Snowdrake. And now? He didn’t seem to be any better.

“C’mon, no need to bristle at me.” Ink said with a flourish, and then bursting into high peals of laughter at his own joke. Error scowled down at him, but this did nothing to stop the other skeleton’s tiny frame from shaking with mirth, his arms wrapped around his middle. Error tugged at the strings connecting them and Ink stumbled on, still giggling feebly, muttering under his breath.

“Sorry, I – heeheehee-! I don’t know what came over me just pen-!” Ink crowed, barely managing to get the sentence out between his nonstop laughter.

“i- you-“  Error could barely form words in his disbelief. “you were ma-king p-puns about-t brushes, earlier.”

Ink wheezed incoherently, rainbow tears forming in the corners of his sockets, eyelights flashing into vibrant yellow stars, and Error sighed. He tugged on the strings warningly, but Ink didn’t budge an inch, and he growled despairingly, all the things they had to do today flashing in his mind. He was too tired and hungry to deal with this.

“you-u are causing me s-so much paint.” Error mumbled under his breath, grinding his teeth together.

Ink had sharp hearing. He shrieked delightedly and Error threw up his hands exasperatedly, or well – tried to. One was still connected to Ink’s slender wrist, and he felt dangerously close to another reboot as he debated – not for the first and certainly not for the last time today – going back to the comforting quiet of his void and ditching this idiot in some universe where he’d get severely maimed. 

…Wow. He should probably find some breakfast.

Error scanned their surroundings briefly, and to his dismay most of the shops still had their shutters firmly down over their display windows. It must be early in this timeline, and it made a little sense to him that his anxious body had woken up far earlier than normal due to sheer worrying. The thought made him grimace. The street was vaguely resemblant of Snowdin in some places, having a recognisable street stall and a greasy diner looking place – plus a hotel. And yet, strangely, it was also reminiscent of the technology in Hotland and the waterlogged-ness of Waterfall, but some of the cosy little semi-detached houses, nudging each other for space on the street, reminded him of the Ruins, in which Toriel lived in most timelines. It made sense that a timeline made up of all the refugees of the universes that had been corrupted or destroyed seemed to hold aspects of many different places, all at once.

It was almost overwhelming, the sights and smells of so many different, large areas packed into this cosy little street, but Error shook it off, waiting for his glitches to simmer down again before he took a few tentative steps again, suddenly wary of people seeing him, but the street still remained so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He set off quietly, and not two seconds later he felt Ink tug on the strings that connected them insistently. He turned around.

“wh-what?”

“I’m hungry.” Ink whined petulantly, blowing out his cheekbones, and Error let out a quiet snort of contempt.

“i-i don’t care-e.” Truth was, Error felt the exact same way, but there was no way he was going to let Ink know that now. He felt like somehow, oddly, by denying Ink the knowledge that he was actually looking for food right now, he was getting his own back. Just a little bit.

Error made it barely another two yards before Ink tugged on the strings again, tugging harder when he didn’t turn around immediately, and Error growled low in his non-existent throat, glaring back at Ink over his shoulder.

“wh-at now-w-w?” He snapped, glitching voice giving away his impatience, and Ink wavered a little before opening his mouth again.

“Can I go back to the dumpsters and eat the burger I found?” Ink asked sincerely, and Error rolled his eyelights, unsure whether to feel disgusted at the fact that he wanted to eat that or disgusted at the fact that he seemed to like Mettaton centric food. Which was always 90% sugar, 5% salt, 4% glitter glue and 1% everything else. Truly the worst type of food in the entire Multiverse.

“no.” Error said vehemently, shaking his head. “you don’t-t want to. trust me. b-besides, we have oth-er things to do.” 

“Oh.” Ink said, nodding eagerly. His features set determinedly, and he tipped his chin up importantly, as if he had just been told a very important secret. “Lead the way, Error!” He chirped enthusiastically, and Error rolled his eyelights so hard he was surprised they didn’t get lost in the back of his skull. He trudged on another few feet, and, yet again, his phalanges encountered an infuriatingly familiar yanking feeling.

“ink-k, i swear to asgore-e…” He warned softly, angrily, and Ink nodded frantically, holding his free hand up in surrender.

“I just have two more questions. Then m’ done. Promise.” He said quickly, and Error sighed deeply, which Ink took as his cue to ask.

“What exactly are we doing?”

There was a quiet ‘thunk’ as Error’s temple hit the middle of his palm.

“Oh, and does it involve food?”

__________________________________________________________________

Only after wandering around the street fruitlessly with Ink prattling away in his earhole for what must’ve been at least an hour did Error grow desperate enough to check the alleys – and consequently, dumpsters. He chose one that was round the back of a clean-looking café and took a breath before walking in.

This one at least didn’t have Mettaton posters everywhere, at least. It was plastered with random miscellaneous phone numbers and food adverts that were half-peeled off the old brick wall, and a couple – comfortingly smaller - dumpsters that seemed overflowing with relatively new-ish leftovers. Ink ran his many-hued tongue over his teeth at the sight, but obediently trotted along behind Error, phalanges twitching at his sides. Error, on the other hand, wrinkled his nasal ridge, and gingerly sidestepped all the greasy puddles and unwanted patches of moss between the cracks of the paved floor, the glitches on his ankles and feet buzzing angrily.

Ink was obviously hungrier than he was, and Error took a moment to wonder what happened to the magic food Ink absorbed. Usually some of it went to the SOUL, but if Ink didn’t have one, then did it all go to his magic reserves? Or did he just like consuming it for the energy kick? Whatever it was, he was definitely similarly afflicted by this stupid, universal “need-to-eat” code. Ink drummed his heels on the ground impatiently, but the second Error reached out, his phalanges clanging against the metal, he heard a deafening squawk of “DAMNED RACCOONS!” from inside of the café, and he froze, as did Ink, as a door he didn’t know existed slammed open, revealing…

An angry-looking chicken monster. But now she looked confused.

She looked ruffled with sleep, as if she had just woken up, her feathers slightly rumpled and out-of-pace. There was a vibrant red crest on top of her head that stuck up sharply, and though her body was vaguely anthropomorphic, her eyes were still beady little slits, and her head was still very small in comparison to her broad shoulders, heaving bosom and motherly figure. She was dressed in soft-looking navy pajamas with the slogan “Wake me up or you’re a chicken” emblazoned in white across the chest, and her wings stuck out oddly from her clothing, the ends of her wings planted firmly on her wide hips as she stared them down. He could vaguely see her crimson-brown tail swinging behind her. She smelt vaguely of a well-used kitchen.

Error felt… oddly intimidated, despite this monster being around the same height as Ink, give or take. The hen cocked her head, eyes narrowing.

“Were you two diggin’ through my garbage?” She asked sternly in a rough country accent, and before Error could lie, Ink suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her, looking up at her earnestly.

“I’m so sorry, but me and my friend were very hungry and we don’t have any money to buy anything! So, we thought we’d take some stuff that might be unwanted, we truly didn’t mean to cause any harm. Please forgive us!” Ink pleaded beseechingly, looking up at the chicken monster with wide, mournful sockets, and she looked back down at him, seemingly amused by his antics.

“You’ve got a quick tongue, little ‘un. I’ll grant you that. Get up off that floor now, you’re getting your trousers all filthy.” She admonished, and Ink scrambled to his feet obediently, earning a beakful of a smile in return. The chicken monster turned on her heel, beckoning them to follow, and laughing screechily at their confused faces.

“You two look like you’ve seen a ghost! C’mon in now. I assure you, my cookin’s a lot better than what you’ll find in there.” She chuckled, before placing a sun-shaped doorstopper in the doorway and walking off into it, leaving the door wide open for them to follow.

Ink started off towards the well-lit doorway without hesitation, and Error pulled him back sharply via the string, glaring at him.

“are-e you out-t-t of your mi-nd-d?” He hissed lowly, voice gurgling slightly with static. “what if-f she recognises us?”

“She hasn’t yet!” Ink argued (far too loudly), looking between Error and the doorway. “And she seems nice! Maybe we should-“

“ssh! keep y-your voice down.” Error whisper-shouted. “we can’t-t risk it.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” Ink retorted, though thankfully much quieter than before. “We’ll just eat and then leave! And besides, we don’t have any money, do we? Where else are we going to get food?”

Error dithered helplessly. There was a wonderful aroma starting to leak through the doorway, and he was running out of options and ideas for where else they could find food. And he cursed himself for not realising that while Ink was naïve, he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to think that they’d be rummaging through litter for scraps if they had a lot of gold – or any gold at all. Ink saw him wavering, and put on the same face he’d used for the chicken lady, curving his hands like a puppy dog’s.

“Please, Error. Let’s go in. Pleaaaase.” Ink said, blinking his sockets like he was batting invisible eyelashes, and Error’s cheekbones flushed with embarrassment as he turned abruptly away from Ink’s begging, sighing defeatedly.

“fine. five minutes.” He grunted, but at Ink’s delighted whoop he narrowed his sockets. “but-t only on two conditions. one: if-f she recognises y-you or me, we leave. no questions asked. and tw-wo: if she asks-s you questions, make something-g up or avoid them. you’re good at that.”

Ink hummed disinterestedly, peering at just-below his sockets instead of meeting them normally. “I didn’t know you could do that.” He murmured, squinting slightly, and Error raised a brow.

“d-do what?” He asked, bemused.

“Change colour. You turned blue.” Ink replied easily, his left eyelight Error’s own shade of magic, and Error buried his face in his scarf, feeling his cheekbones heat even more at Ink’s notice. He stepped forward, hastily changing the subject.

“let’s go in. remember-r what i told you?” At Ink’s blank expression he sighed heavily, stepping towards the doorway. “improvise.” He told Ink simply, who nodded wisely, and within three bounds he was at the door, Error trudging along behind him.

They found themselves standing behind the wooden counter of a well-lit little café, the usual pattering of Ink’s bare feet soft and silent on the thick, light-yellow carpet. There was several blackboards strung up on the wall like paintings with average things like “Today’s Special” and “Soup of the day” written in elegant, looping chalk. It smelled warm and sweet, like nutmeg, starkly different from the acidic smell of the alley, and Error sniffed appreciatively. There was a neat little till a couple metres away from them, and little glass display cases of various tarts and pastries, studded with cherries or strawberries that shone like jewels under the soft lights on the ceiling, or coated in a fine layer of icing sugar, like frost covering grass in the morning. Ink’s eyelights nearly tripled in size as he looked at them, spinning into large yellow stars, resembling a cat on catnip, and Error snickered softly.

 Error noted the empty tables and chairs with little vases holding sprigs of thyme or… rosemary? He’d never been able to differentiate herbs that well. That confirmed that there was nobody else here to see them, with the shutters still down at the front windows, and Error let himself relax – just slightly. He still felt ready to bolt, but not as fight-or-flight as he was a minute ago. It was a nice little café, he had to grimly admit. But things could still go wrong.

He whipped around as he heard a thud behind him, glitches spiking alarmingly, but it was just the chicken monster setting down a jug of what smelled hopefully like coffee on the countertop next to the till, and unfolding two high chairs that he hadn’t noticed before. She placed them side by side on the other side of the counter, and looked at them expectantly.

Ink hopped onto one of the chairs happily, and Error followed much more warily, sitting down in the chair with a slump. The chicken peered at them both, but thankfully no recognition flashed across her features, and she tactfully didn’t bring up Error’s omnipresent glitching and flickering, nor did she mention the fact that their hands were still tied together, and their strung hands were hanging awkwardly off of the seats next to them, but still not touching. She set two small cups down on the counter and poured them both, and Error nodded awkwardly.

“I don’t know how the Council lets you poor little waifs and strays wander around like lost little chickies half the time!” The hen clucked sympathetically, staring at them as if they were rapidly shrinking into two starving monster children as she spoke. Error frowned, but Ink played up to it for all he was worth, lowering his head and trying his best to look mournful. Error glared at him, but Ink just shot him a discreet wink and went back to his woe-is-me look.

“What’s the Council?” Ink asked curiously, taking a sip of his drink, cupping it with both hands. Error took a long slug of coffee, and, freshly invigorated, yanked Ink’s phalanges by the strings as hard as he could under the table, and Ink let out a strangled yelp, looking at him with a wounded look. Error gave him his best “you know what you did” look. 

The chicken monster looked at him pityingly, seemingly not hearing Ink’s pained noise. “Honestly, you’re so fresh-faced you don’t even know what the Council is? For shame! They call this place a safe haven yet it’s run like a dump half the time. They’re supposed to give you a place to live!” Despite her outraged tone, she seemed to almost enjoy critiquing this “Council”.  Error stopped trying to practically inhale his cup of coffee and listened more attentively, letting his thoughts drift back to what he knew about the Omega Timeline. He could use some more information.

“The Council’s run by Core. S’ short for Core Frisk. Nice little chickie, but for all their knowledge they’re still a little kid, bless ‘em. I won’t blame them for the state of things, but honestly, they should at least be housing people.” She clucked again dissaprovingly, before her beak twitched and she bustled back into the kitchen she’d come from, calling “Two ticks!” over her shoulder.

Error glared over at Ink, who pulled a look of wide-eyed innocence. Error drained the last of his coffee quickly and set it down on the counter, before shoving his head in his hands and letting out a grumble of fear, frustration, and fatigue, although the caffeine was doing a good job of keeping the latter at bay.

“I like it here.” Ink said brightly, feet swinging and fingers tapping slightly more quickly now he’d had his own share of coffee.

“w-well, savour it while you can, because-e we’re not staying.” Error said, but with a little less bite than before. Maybe it would help their case if Ink was friendly and chatty? The chicken monster seemed to have already taken a shine to him. Ink had always had that effect on people.

“Here you are, chicks! Two lovely breakfasts! How’s that?” The hen lady was suddenly in front of them again, making both of them startle as two plates were put down in front of them, and Error inhaled sharply, gazing at the perfect, fluffy stacks of pancakes drizzled generously with syrup. Ink looked awed, and whispered his thanks in a worshipful tone, making the chicken opposite laugh again, though she looked pleased with the reaction she’d elicited, feathers puffing out proudly.

“Best pancakes in this whole damn timeline.” She claimed, and Ink nodded, clearly dazed, though Error was hardly any different. “And you certainly need fed! Look at the size of you!” She nodded towards Ink’s stick-thin wrists, and Ink shook his head.

“I’m a skeleton monster.” Ink pointed out, grinning, clearly forgetting all about looking sad. “And I’ve always been a little on the skinny side.”

“Skeleton or no skeleton, you need to eat up.” The chicken said firmly, and placed two sets of knives and forks in front of them both with a clatter. The room was quiet save for the clatter of cutlery on the plates and appreciative chewing for the next two minutes, and Error hummed quietly after he was finished. He didn’t like the fact that he had to eat in the first place, but he’d forgotten the bliss of being totally energised and ready. Ink looked similarly very happy, but when took hold of the plate as if intending to lick it Error placed his palm flat on the middle of it, shooting Ink a disapproving look.

“Oh! All of this, and I still don’t know your names!” The chicken monster exclaimed, stacking both of their plates and sticking them off to the side neatly, and then turning to look at them, her black eyes inquisitive. Ink opened his mouth to speak and Error frantically coughed, trying to think fast.

“ahem. u-uhm. i’m… demo, and this is rocky-y.” Error replied hastily, and then internally kicked himself, wincing. Demo? Rocky? She’d see straight through it, surely. He eyed Ink out of the corner of his socket, and realised another problem with this. He widened his sockets meaningfully at Ink.

play along. please.

Ink’s own sockets widened, and he blinked rapidly, so many times his eyelights erupted in a kaleidoscope of colour, spinning from question marks to exclamation points and then stars in a matter of ten seconds. Then he nodded earnestly, looking back at the chicken monster.

“Yes, I’m Rocky. Nice to meet you.” Ink echoed politely, and Error exhaled silently, shoulders slumping in relief. The chicken monster nodded, thankfully unquestioning, and held out her hand grandly.

“I’m Juniper, but you can call me Junie.” She said with a flourish, and Ink shook her outstretched feathers with his hand, phalanges sinking into the softness. Ink suddenly gasped as she pulled the offered wing away, a muted, quiet sound that “Junie” didn’t hear, but Error definitely did.

It was eerily similar to the sound he’d made when he recognised Error.

 The chicken monster turned around, eyeing the clock above the door to the alleyway, and by the time she’d turned back around Ink looked relatively more normal, though his sockets were still blown wide.

“Right, chicks, I have to get this place ready before opening! Demo, was it?” She beckoned him to hold out his free hand, which he did, keeping it at arm’s length from touching her. She rummaged in a miscellaneous drawer for a minute, before triumphantly drawing out a handful of the easily recognisable golden coins and dropping them into Error’s palm with a clink. Error instinctively closed his phalanges over the cold, hard metal, mumbling a quiet “thank you.”

Junie waved dismissively, looking slightly wretched.

“It’s hardly a fortune, but it should cover some more food, and you shouldn’t have to rummage through people’s bins again!” She hooted with laughter at her own joke, chest heaving, before she sobered again, staring at them both like they were disobedient, unruly children.

“Now.” She said sternly, shooting them both slightly softer, concerned looks. “You two look after yourselves, alright? If you’re looking for a place to stay, I’d just go to the station. You can’t miss it, it’s just down from here. Don’t do anything irresponsible, and feel free to come back anytime. You must let me know how you’re doing at some point.”

Ink nodded, eyelights hazy and unfocused, and Error mumbled another thanks before standing up from his chair, hurrying along to the doorway with Ink staggering up behind him.

“Stay safe!” Juniper called after them, and Error slammed the door out into the alleyway, staring down at Ink intently.

“I remember her too!” Ink blurted, spitting the words out as soon as the door swung shut as if they were fire on his tongue. “I’ve been here before! I went here and I had those pancakes! I had someone with me too… they… they were…”

Ink’s bony brows furrowed as he squeezed his sockets shut, letting out another noise of frustration. “I don’t know who it was. I… I can’t remember.” He said helplessly, dropping defeatedly to his knees with a soft thump and burying his face in his hands despairingly.

Error waited for his next outburst.

It didn’t come.

He watched, awkwardly, as Ink stayed motionless on the ground, face still pressed into his hands as if he was trying to escape into them. Error blinked, unsure of what to do. Ink had been so chipper up until this point, and was rarely ever sad before all of this happened. Error certainly hadn’t had to actually deal with it before, that was certain. He debated just telling him to get up and then moved on, but there was a certain rigidness in the way Ink was hunched over that told him he would be wasting his time. The sky felt mockingly bright and cloudless above them, and Error resisted the urge to glare upwards at it. Focus.

…Tentatively, he sat down a safe distance away from Ink, basketing his legs awkwardly. His eyelights flicked to the floor.

“…w-what do you remember?” Error asked quietly, and Ink raised his head out of his hands, sharp phalange-tips resting on his chin as he stared across at Error silently. For a dreadful few seconds, Error thought he’d said something somehow catastrophically insensitive until Ink spoke again.

“Colours.”

“c-c-colours?” He parroted uncertainly, and Ink nodded solemnly, moving to cross his legs like Error had done.

“All sorts of colours. Blue, green, yellow, red, purple, pink, all over me. It felt wonderful. Don’t know what happened after that, though.” Ink said, slightly dreamily, and Error nodded slowly, confused. Colours? Had the Protector finally lost what was left of his mind?

“The blue wasn’t your colour though, it was more… bright. Your blue is like, uhm, lavender?” Ink cupped his chin, looking at him intently with his head cocked on one side.

“Nah, like light cerulean. Or ultramarine.” Ink mused, and Error snorted incredulously, raising a brow. Trust Ink to wonder exactly what shade of blue his magic was.

“y’know what colour your top is?” Error asked, and Ink shook his head. Error’s grin widened.

“mud-d brown.” Ink puffed out his cheekbones, folding his arms across his chest in protest.

“I came up with some pretty-sounding colours for your strings and you go ahead and call my colour mud?” Ink said, placing a hand on his forehead in mock-offense. Error shrugged, and Ink sat up straighter, glaring determinedly at him.

“Your jacket is burnt-toast black.”

“says-s the guy with a mould-coloured shirt on.”

“Yeah, well, you-“

Neither of them noticed that they’d started to walk out of the alleyway, and with the weight of the G in his pocket, and the tug of the strings on his phalanges, Error felt a tiny flicker of HOPE in his chest.

Chapter Text

Dream was miserable.

And when Dream felt miserable, he took to target practice.

It was his way of coping. Drawing the glowing blue arrow over the string, aiming carefully, tightening his grip on the riser, squinting in focus until the bold red middle of the target in front of him became clear. Pulling back the bowstring just far enough and then leasing it, the sharp tip of the arrow making a quiet thunk as it pierced the target perfectly in the centre. He drew another arrow from his quiver, pulling his bow back a little closer to his face and inhaling the familiar scent of apple-tree wood. Pacing sideways, keeping his eyelights trained on the blood-red target and firing again.

Haventale was a place he visited often – mostly because it was a universe his brother would never be able to follow him into. As such, he had a neat ring of targets set up in his chosen location, (a small, snowless clearing in the middle of one of Snowdin’s many forests) side-by-side, allowing him to pace slowly round them and shoot into each one. He never missed, of course, so target practice wasn’t actually necessary, but it soothed him to be on his feet and have a bow in his hands all the same. He supposed it had always been a comfort to him – even as a babybones, he used to sleep curled up under the great tree, still clutching his toy bow in his sticky phalanges. Growing up in that village, it was no surprise that he’d slept better when he had something to defend himself with on hand – even if the damage it could actually do to any attackers was pitiful at best.

He frowned. He came here to switch his mind off, not think about the village, and he leased another arrow, before jerking at the sound of wood splintering as an arrow he’d already shot into that target snapped, the most recent arrow breaking cleanly through the nock and making the shaft split in two as the head of the new arrow embedded itself in the head of the previous one neatly. He exhaled raggedly, moving up to retrieve the ruined arrow, before startling again at the sound of a robotic monotone.

“Dream.”

He whipped around wildly, hand tightening on the grip of his bow before realising it was Core, looking up at him solemnly with those big black eyes. He slumped, and allowed himself to relax again, letting out a weary exhale as Core blinked up at him with a badly-disguised look of concern. The last thing he wanted to do was to explain his turmoil to somebody who looked – and sounded – about nine years old. Dream knew that Core was far older and far wiser than they looked, but it still made him uncomfortable to think of ranting his problems away to this childlike entity. Besides, Core was probably dealing with enough right now.

“Sorry. My nerves are a little shot.” He said apologetically, sheathing his bow on his back again and pressing one of his palms to his left socket, letting out a groan under his breath before removing his hand and rearranging his features into a bright, friendly, Guardian-of-positivity smile down at Core, who raised an eyebrow, making their way over to a nearby tree stump and sitting down on it, observing him placidly. They were always utterly unaffected by Dream’s positive aura, their conversations mostly kept sharp, brief and to the point.

They rested their chin on their palms, tucking their skinny legs up and looking up at Dream. “You… you can feel all of the positivity in the multiverse, correct?” They asked without further formalities, their shiny bob of muted grey hair falling over their face when they ducked their head, as if embarrassed to ask such a question.

Dream nodded. “Well, not to the extent that you are always everywhere in the multiverse, no. But if I concentrate… I can briefly feel it. A lot of everyday activities that bring people endorphins are harder to detect than extreme ecstasy and euphoria.” He tilted his head. He and Core had known each other for a very long time, surely they knew that already? “Why do you ask?” He inquired, crouching down in the short grass and draping his arms over his knees, assuming the childish position he used to use when he was looking for fallen apples that had been lost to the undergrowth.

Core hesitated, nibbling their lip, their tell for when they were unsure about something. Dream was good at spotting those. “I… I used to see everything. Everything.” They emphasised, their expression grave, and Dream nodded, panic rising in his own body. What did Core mean? Had they lost their omnipresence? He stared at them, but reassured himself that if their omnipresence had disappeared they might well not exist, and even if it had and they were still here they’d probably be panicking a lot more. They still looked disturbed, though, their owlish black eyes squinting as they spoke, as if they were at an eye appointment and trying to make out blurred letters.

Core was silent for a moment longer, the only sounds present being the gentle rattle of Dream’s arrows in his quiver as he shifted, and the quiet rustling of the trees around them, the eery whispering of leaves brushing together somehow putting Dream even more on edge.

“…I… I think something’s happened to Ink. Something bad.” Core confessed urgently, their tone suddenly a lot more distressed, and Dream rose his head a little in concern, meeting their eyes, Core’s oversized monotone jumper flapping in the breeze.

“I can’t see him anywhere. Believe me, I’ve checked.” Core said, their composure starting to crumble, and Dream suddenly remembered their hasty banter between universes, the way Ink would visit the Omega Timeline just to see Core, their joint laughter over terrible puns, the way Core would grin at Ink in a way they rarely grinned at anybody. His brow furrowed in sympathy. He hadn’t understood before, but now he realised Ink must’ve meant far more to Core than a strong fighter they could rely on to protect the Omega Timeline. They were strangely like awkward, unconventional siblings, and Ink’s warm, happy-go-lucky personality complimented Core’s professional, cold, straight-to-the-point demeanour in a way that few others’ did. Of course Core  was upset.

“Core, I-“ But Core cut him off again, shaking their head.

“I… I don’t know why this is happening to me. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.” They said through gritted teeth, hugging their knees. “It’s like a blind spot in my vision- like there’s something I’m constantly not seeing, and that thing must be Ink, I just can’t-“ And after that they fell silent, their eyes shining with unshed tears of frustration, their knuckles white from gripping onto their knees so tightly.

Dream got it. He really, really did. But as much as he’d like to empathise, there was another thing troubling him, and he looked to the side.

“I’ve experienced something like that before.” He began, and Core wiped their eyes on their sleeve, sniffing slightly, before looking back up at him, their face carefully schooled into a neutral expression again. “Usually, it’s when universes lock themselves into such a deep loop of misery that I simply can’t access them anymore. My br- Nightmare thrives off these deadlocked universes. Most of the time the atmosphere is so negative because he’s shaped it to be like that in the first place.” He explained, frowning again, his tongue unconsciously peeking out from between his teeth as he concentrated, trying to come up with some reasonable explanation to why Core hadn’t been able to see Ink recently, but it was like trying to cup water in his phalanges. He wasn’t the one that knew about code and universe generation and the inner workings of the multiverse, that was always left up to Ink.

Core’s face softened, and in one swift motion they hopped off the tree stump, crouching in front of Dream, and Dream frowned in confusion, before Core’s tiny, snow-white hand reached out and cupped his cheekbone. It came away glistening with golden wetness, and it was only then Dream realised he’d been crying. He knuckled his eyes desperately, mumbling apologies, and Core gently prised his hands away, staring into his eyes solemnly.

“We will get him back.” Five simple words, yet they were said with such ferocity and determination that Dream felt fat tears rolling down his cheekbones again, and Core frisk wrapped their slender arms around him, clinging to him in a fierce hug. Dream’s embarrassment over relying on them for comfort was completely overruled by how good it felt to be hugged, to be reassured. He was two heads taller than Core, but he suddenly felt very small in their hold, as if he was shrinking into that unsure, curious child he used to be, the one who cried when he tripped over a tree root and laughed in delight at the simplest things. Core didn’t smell of anything, but their jumper was surprisingly soft and he had soon soaked the shoulder of it in his tears, muttering apologetically when they released him and he saw the wet mark they’d made.

“Perhaps you should be the Guardian instead of me.” Dream tried to joke, but his voice was rough and husky from crying and he still sounded pretty pathetic. He sniffled again, unceremoniously wiping his streaming nasal ridge on his sleeve, and Core took a handkerchief from the pocket of their shorts and began to wipe his face with it gently, but Dream batted them off, glaring.

“I’m not a child.” He said, trying to be scornful, but Core’s lips quirked up in a rare smile that had Dream giggling hopelessly too, both of them slightly delirious from the rapid change of sobbing their hearts out to laughing like schoolchildren. Dream realised he’d never heard Core laugh before, and he listened intently throughout his own mirth, observing how Core’s voice grew high and tinkly. It was a nice laugh, he decided. If Core laughed more often, he might be able to understand them a little better.

“It’s alright to miss him, Dream.” Core said gently, their expression slightly reproachful as they came down from their laughing fit, and Dream nodded bashfully, slightly ashamed at being so hypocritical. When Ink and Blue were down, he was always preaching for them to feel a healthy spectrum of emotions and feel the negative as well as the positive, but now that something bad was happening to him he was trying to blot it out as much as possible by burying himself in tasks and responsibilities.

“I’ll help find him.” Dream said firmly, looking Core dead in the eyes. “I’ll do whatever can be done.”

Core nodded, their expression neutral once more, promptly business-like now that the conversation had grown sombre again. They stood up, brushing grass off their knees, and Dream did the same, looking down at them with a newfound desire to go and search as soon as possible, his hands clasped behind his back to avoid fidgeting impatiently. Core’s face grew distant, and Dream knew they were focusing on another situation at the same time, before their attention seemed to snap back to him, eyes wide with realisation. They beckoned him to lean down, and began to talk in hushed, furtive tones.

“So, here’s the plan…”

“Where’re we going?” Ink asked merrily, his sockets bright with enthusiasm again as Error led him down the cobbled street, the sunshine from the mid-morning sun making him shield his sockets with his phalanges, grunting in discomfort. You’d have thought that spending years and years of time locked up in a big white void would have desensitised him to bright, blinding light, but apparently the sky in the Omega Timeline was another monster entirely. He felt a pang of something similar to homesickness as he looked up at the bright, fluffy clouds, longing for the familiar emptiness of his Anti-Void.

“the station-n. don’t you remember?” Error asked annoyedly, stopping to reach into his pocket and fumble until he found his well-loved glasses and the tiny roll of shiny transparent tape that he kept there as well. Having no ears and needing glasses was… a bit of an inconvenience, to say the least, meaning he had to quite literally attach them to his skull every time. He tried to avoid wearing them as much as possible, which had lead to him losing quite a few battles, but it wasn’t as if he would’ve won them anyway had he stopped entirely to put his glasses on.

Now though, as he taped the temples of his glasses to his zygomatic arch and peered outwards, they were helping considerably. He pressed the bridge of the glasses up into the space between his eyesockets and blinked a couple times, before tugging on the strings between him and Ink and walking forward. Ink stayed still, and he turned his head irritably, glaring back at him. Ink looked surprised, staring up at his face, and- oh. Of course, Ink had never seen his glasses before, but why was he acting so strange about them?

“what?” Error asked, and Ink’s eyelights cycled through a few different colours as he blinked.

“You have glasses? Do you have trouble seeing? How many fingers am I holding up right now?” Ink blurted rapidly, brandishing four slender phalanges at him, and Error rolled his eyelights, scoffing.

“o-of course i can see now, idiot, i literally ju-st put my glasses on. and i’m short-sighted anyways.” He added, and Ink nodded, though his eyesockets were still gleaming. Error was starting to grow impatient after having to explain every new thing to Ink, but it was pretty hilarious watching his eyes light up after every single titbit of information was given to him, listening hungrily as if he wanted to know everything. It made a little bit of pride burst in his chest – i told you i’d get the better of you one day, squid, and look at you now, he thought.

This line of thought was abruptly interrupted as soon as Ink opened his mouth again. “You look cuter with glasses on.” He said absently, smiling, his eyelights flicking to where the tape attached his glasses to the side of his skull, and Error blinked at him incredulously, before his glitches increased tenfold and his face burned in embarrassment, glaring down at him in hopes that it might stave off the angry blue flush across his face, folding his arms across his chest.

 Ink hadn’t meant anything by it, he knew that – he’d seen Ink peck Blue and Dream on the cheekbones in a friendly fashion, and he’d also seen him drape himself over both of them dramatically. Most of the time, he was too far away to figure out what the sickeningly named “Star Sanses” were saying, but judging from the way Ink would sling an arm around Blue’s neck or lid his sockets at Dream, followed by bursts of stifled laughter, he was used to flirting with them jokingly, or just complimenting them in a throwaway manner. Ink had never done it to him before. Obviously. They weren’t friends, and the closest to conversations they’d had was biting battle-banter and cursing threats, mixed in with occasional jabs about the other.

So, when Ink cocked his head at him, grinned, and told him with wandering eyelights that he looked “cuter with glasses on,” it completely took his guard down. That was why his cheekbones were flushed. That was why his soul thudded. It had taken him by surprise.

“i-“ Error began, but cut himself off abruptly by veering away from Ink’s gloved hand in shock, which had reached up to try and…. touch his glasses, and he let out a wordless shout of fear anger that was layered with static and extremely pixelated, his glitches gurgling and crackling in protest like a fire that had been given one too many pieces of wood.

“don’t fucking touch me.” He hissed, his voice breaking through its prison of static and glitching for once so that there was no mistaking his words, his intent crystal clear as he turned away from Ink and started walking down the street again, not bothering to wait for Ink’s reaction as his sandals clattered noisily on the cobbles, his fist so tightly clenched in the strings joining them that it was probably painful for Ink. Good.

Ink scuttled along after him meekly, looking up at him with a woeful expression, his eyesockets wide with worry. His hands were pinned to his sides, as if he was afraid they might accidentally reach out and touch Error again without his permission. This just made Error even more pissed off at the fact that he was looking at him with that sickly innocence, like a pathetic little kicked puppy, and he kicked at the ground as he walked, not caring that he was scuffing the edges of his sandals and getting them dusty.

He had almost forgotten that Ink was so annoying, somehow. That he didn’t ever listen. He’d nod and shake his head as if he was taking in what you were saying, but his mind was always elsewhere.

“I’m sorry.” Ink piped up, looking up at him hopefully. “I didn’t- I just wanted to see what-“

“i-i don’t care. shut your-r mouth before i use my strings-s-s to ke-ep it shut for you. permanently.” Error warned, his tone clipped, and Ink’s mouth abruptly snapped shut, his entire form seeming to droop. Error felt a tiny, miniscule, barely-there pang of guilt before he quickly squashed it underneath the pile of irritating things Ink had done to piss him off. That took care of it nicely.

They walked on in awkward silence for a while longer – well, Ink walked and Error stalked across the street so savagely that his feet bashed against the stone – and Error tried to recall what Juniper had said, his brow furrowing. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, just go to the station. It’s just down from here, you can’t miss it.” Error kicked himself mentally for not asking for more information – to this very moment, he still had no idea how big the Omega Timeline was, but the fact that there was even a station in the first place implied that it was at least big enough to need public transport. Ink’s portal had dropped them into dumpsters, then onto a street filled with shops, and then – a rooftop. He hadn’t bothered to memorize any of it, and he groaned quietly, causing Ink to look up at him in alarm. He knew there was no use asking Ink if he’d remembered it; unless Ink had some sort of instinctive memory about this place, then there really wasn’t any point.

By the time they reached the end of the street, the sun was nearing the middle of the bright blue sky, causing Error to wonder just how much inspiration Core had taken from the surface timelines to have a day and night cycle this realistic. It was still a little overwhelming to him – he’d been in thousands of timelines since the Anti-Void, of course, but he’d never really been focused on appreciating what they were like, more focusing on the destruction aspect and not particularly bothering to observe. However, the Omega Timeline mimicked a real, human-esque city so well it was almost frightening, and Error realised he’d never properly been in a place like this before. Tiny villages in Snowdin paled in comparison to the tall, imposing buildings of all different purposes, and Error found himself stopping and starting as he walked, observing what kind of businesses they had here. Everything was pretty much accounted for – clothes shops, supermarkets, offices, this place seemed to have the lot.

And now they were at some sort of fork in the path – there was one large, modern blue building with “STATION” in big, bold white lettering on the front, with two sets of revolving doors and a steady crowd of monsters approaching it. Error sighed in relief; at least this part was simple. He just had to get them to a place where Error could figure out how to destroy this entire abomination of a timeline, and then it would be smooth sailing.

“Error.” Ink said suddenly, tugging the strings, and when Error turned back to glare at him again, he was surprised to see Ink’s bicoloured eyelights flitting about nervously, his brow furrowed. Error tilted his head and followed Ink’s gaze.

Monsters were unabashedly staring at them. Some of them were walking away, but still glanced at them over their shoulders, one kid was pointing at them while their exasperated guardian tried to pull them towards the station and failed miserably, some people had raised eyebrows or shocked faces, and there was a general ring of space around them where nobody was walking. There was whispered murmurs and unease, and as soon as Error heard the word “Ink” being muttered loud enough for them to hear he knew they had to get out of there.

Tugging on the strings, he pulled Ink towards the revolving doors, who followed hurriedly with a clatter of feet, evidently not liking the stares either. The revolving doors shuddered to a halt as soon as they got in, though, and Error let out an incoherent noise of frustration, kicking at the bottom of the door with a growl. It started moving again in a matter of seconds, but any attention they’d had before had now doubled due to all the commotion, and Error was very sure it wouldn’t end well for him either of them if they were caught.

The station’s inside was big, and spacious too – Error was almost certain that the entirety of the Ruins in a normal timeline would’ve fit inside here twice over. The floor that they found themselves on was snowy white and pristine, even though there was a good amount of people milling about or rushing in and out, and Error was confused by this at first – until he saw the little flashes of water sloshing and blurs of yellow between people’s feet, and realised there must be a whole team of Woshua working to keep the floor clean, unseen. The other reason the white was so bright was that the station’s ceiling was curved so that there was an oval-shaped hole in the middle, so that the sun was positioned just above it in the sky, making him wince and look away, shielding his sockets with his free hand again. Then, there was a sudden voice that made Error jolt, booming out across some sort of speaker.

“Hello citizens of the Omega Timeline! We hope you are having a good time at the central station! Unfortunately, the train to New Snowdin has been delayed due to a minor issue with the train, and there may be a longer wait than usual. We apologise for this and remind you that if you see any sort of suspicious activity, please report it to the nearest Royal Guard officer and it will be swiftly dealt with. Thank you!”

He didn’t recognise the voice, but the idea that they were practically telling people to keep their guard up made him anxious. True, there was the chance that this was a precaution to keep everybody safe and was said every day, but the fact that they were saying it while he and Ink were standing at the entrance made him feel spotlighted, as if he had “intruder” written all over his face. Nobody here was giving them a second glance, and yet he felt like they were being actively watched, somehow. Ink was tugging on the strings imploringly, his sockets wide with longing at the prospect of this new location and more things to remember, but Error hardly felt it as his eyelights darted about desperately, looking for some way to shield themselves from potential prying eyes. There was a row of large, neat, square-shaped entrances to their right, and above these were different titles stating what facilities they were, which Error mentally ran through in his head.

bathroom… customer support… ticket booth… lost and found…

…wait, lost and found!

With a mental pat-on-the-back for being such a genius, Error marched across towards the doorway and, dragging a weakly protesting Ink along behind him, slipped out of the main station.

*

“Error!”

“..w-w-what now?”

“It smells weird in here.”

“deal with i-it. you don’t even have a nose-e.”

“Yes, but I have standards!”

Ink wrinkled his nasal ridge in distaste, giving the black hoodie that Error had given him a disgusted glance, turning it over to examine it in his hands. He looked back up at Error, as if to check if he was joking, but Error just kept a straight face and stared right back at him, so Ink sighed and begrudgingly… started to take his scarf off? Error’s sockets widened as Ink started shrugging his brown overshirt off too.

“you don’t…j- just put it on-n over them-m!” Error yelped hastily, and Ink raised a bony brow before shrugging again and putting the black garment on, though Error had to release the strings momentarily so he could get both arms through the sleeves.

Error had hoped that Ink would look awful in this, but to his annoyance Ink effortlessly managed to make what was basically a sheet of black material with a hood and sleeves stylish-looking. The bagginess of the sleeves emphasised the slenderness of Ink’s wrists, and the dark colour made his bones look even brighter than ever, the hood falling over his face and casting a light shadow over it, his neck looking even more fragile against the pitch-blackness of the material.

Ink held out the hem of the hoodie, grinning, his discomfort over the smell forgotten. “It’s like a dress!” He said, waltzing around the enclosed area of the lost-and-found, sockets shut, and Error had to grind his teeth together to keep from laughing, distracting himself by looking at the massive pile of clothes. Ink would be fine in just the hoodie – his most defining features were safely covered under the black folds of material. Now time to find something for him. The lost-and-found comprised of a small, white-walled room and a wall-length mirror, one bored-looking deer monster who was on their phone with the tip of their hoof the whole brief time Ink had tried to converse with them, and a large, unglorified pile of clothes that stank to high heaven. Error recognised scarves, battle-bodies, red velvet dresses with tiny, neat little stitches, and of course the standard blue hoodie and white t-shirt. But there were much more types of clothing here, and it almost outnumbered the amount of clothing that came from people coming from original timelines, leading him to again wonder just how many monsters were residing in this massive timeline.

He tentatively reached out and touched the pile, skimming his fingers over soft and rough, scratchy and smooth, but eventually settled on a large, light-blue turtleneck that was a similar colour to his magic and a limp jacket grey from washing that looked disconcertingly like it had come from a Horrorverse, spattered with dust and mysterious red stains that may or may not have been ketchup. Still, both fitted him, and the hood was easy to draw up over his face in case he needed to hide it.

But still, he thought, giving himself a furtive glance in the mirror – his face was too recognisable. He couldn’t do anything about the dilated eyelights, except maybe put his glasses on, and his nasal ridge and mouth were a no-go too, same with his glitches and ERROR signs. But maybe… maybe he could do something about the bright, bold tear tracks that marred his cheeks?

Error eyed Ink, who started guiltily, eyelights flashing yellow as he hastily dropped the clothes that he’d picked up from the pile behind his back. Error sighed, and motioned for Ink to pull up the hoodie, miming picking up the hem of his sweater. Ink tilted his head.

“Why?” He asked, sockets glimmering mischievously, and Error sighed, tapping his cheekbone with his free hand meaningfully. Ink shivered, clearly remembering the incident with the strings, and lifted up the hoodie obediently to reveal his vials – or what were left of them. Error frowned, squinting at the explosion of colour across the normally grey sash, and looked back up at Ink, who didn’t look at all surprised by the state of his shirt.

“Tried to drink them, but they didn’t taste nice. I spilt a little though.” Ink said casually, as if they weren’t talking about the only thing that allowed Ink to have a resemblance of feelings, and Error stared at him – making a mental note to remind Ink of this and this only - before sighing and scanning his sash again. His paints were all brightly coloured, and if he smeared any of them on his cheekbones he’d probably stick out like a sore thumb even more than he was now. But there was a small holder at the end of his sash, nearly covered by his scarf, which held pencils, pens, and charcoal.

“h-hold still.” Error said, and Ink looked like he was going to ask why again before Error reached toward him cautiously, and Ink’s mouth shut with a click. He shut his eyes and grabbed the charcoal as fast as he could, shuddering despite the layers of clothing between his hand and Ink’s body, his glitches spiralling furiously for a moment before calming down again surprisingly quickly. He stared at his arm in slight awe, before snapping out of it and walking back over to the mirror again, Ink trotting behind him with a dazed expression on his face.

He raised the black stub to his face, and, wincing at the gritty feeling, rubbed it experimentally over his cheekbone. He grinned – part of the blue line was now totally gone. He plastered some more of the stuff across his zygomatic, smearing it in liberally until the bright blue lines were totally buried under a dark layer of what felt like black sand. He was careful not to get any in his sockets or mouth. He didn’t think imitating Ink when he threw up his namesake would be a very pleasant experience, and also it might catch the attention of the deer who had thankfully been glued to their phone and had absolutely no idea what was going on.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked different.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

For once, he was grateful for when Ink started clamouring for a turn with the charcoal, and he took the opportunity to give himself another long look, his phalanges coming up to gently brush the layer of dust on his cheeks. He’d always had the tear tracks, for as long as he could remember, so why…?

Why did it feel so familiar…?

“Error?” Ink was looking up at him, the ink splotch on his face elongated and sharpened from the charcoal so that it looked like a giant spike in the corner of his cheekbone, but Error couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Ink’s eyelights flickered, his expression shifting in concern, and Error finally registered it, realising that he must look a sight if Ink was pitying him. He inhaled a ribcage-ful of air.

“…l-let’s go catch a train.”

Chapter Text

Nobody gave Ink nor Error a second glance after they left the safety of the deserted lost and found. It made Error suspicious of himself, questioning whether the “stares” of other monsters had been hallucinations created by his anxious mind, some sort of visual threat to explain the incessant amount of stress his body had been under to his confused magic. But the way Ink had reacted told him otherwise, and he dismissed the thought. Perhaps it really was their clothes that made them the most identifiable. It made sense, in a timeline where different versions of monsters were forced to dress differently so as not to be confused for others who looked exactly like them.

Error privately thanked the stars above that Ink had so many defining characteristics that he’d never be confused for another Sans. He was shorter, slenderer, and was currently dressed in a cloak-like hoodie that he was fingering uncertainly, his eyelights flickering blue momentarily before he seemed to distract himself with the station again, the whirling inside his sockets calming to a tranquil green and a bright sugary shade of pink as he looked around eagerly. Error frowned – he’d made sure the hoodie would at least vaguely fit Ink, and it didn’t look like it would pinch or constrict him in any places, being several sizes too big. So why did the shorter skeleton look pained?

Error decided to leave it at Ink being fussy about the smell, colour or texture and decided to do what Ink was doing, looking around until he could determine any sort of plan for what to do next. Several metres away from the hustle and bustle of the entrance there were rows of metal seats, mostly occupied by tutting monsters looking at their watches or anxious teenagers clutching at backpacks and suitcases. On the overhanging ceiling which loomed over the cold-looking chairs were several large, black screens which flashed with information intermittently, the text bright orange and looking similar to code, but Error knew it was something else from the sparsity and the neat layout. Despite having his glasses on, he could only see some of the words as they popped up rapidly, and he squinted hard, narrowing his sockets, noting that there seemed to be something beyond the screens as well, figuring that it must be the actual platforms and trains themselves.

“That’s the passenger information displays.” Ink said, suddenly standing close enough to Error that he jolted slightly from the sound of his voice, but not so close that Error felt threatened. Error nodded, as if he’d known all along whilst privately wondering how Ink knew that, and Ink arched a brow at him perceptively, but didn’t say anything. Error started towards the seats, before realising that he would presumably need a ticket for this train, even if he did figure out where he was going. Which should probably be his priority right now. He knew there had to be a way of figuring this out in such a large station, but he turned to Ink instead, catching his attention.

“d-do you know where we are right now?” Error asked, his tone probing and direct, and Ink tilted his skull at him curiously, squinting his sockets a little.

“In the Omega Timeline. Why d’you ask?” Ink replied with a grin, and Error considered threatening him again momentarily before he brushed the idea away. That wouldn’t get him anywhere, and the idiot would just become all the more stubborn.

“i-inside of the omega-a timeline.” Error clarified, though the twinkling in Ink’s eyelights told him that Ink probably already knew exactly what he was asking. Ink straightened up and gave him a forlorn shake of his head, looking almost regretful and slightly unsure of himself, like not knowing his exact whereabouts bothered him.

“th-there must be a map around here-e somewhere…” Error muttered, and Ink nodded, sockets brightening once more. Error knew that the smartest thing to do here would be to just ask any passing monster where they were, but he still felt paranoid at the thought of somebody recognising them. He extended his hands again, glancing down at himself, and watched the glitches buzz around his body. Then he sighed.

“ink.” Ink’s head swivelled.

“Uh-huh?”
“g-go ask the first person you-u see wh-ere we are, a-a-and then c-come straight back-k.” Error instructed, making the strings limp as cooked spaghetti so that they fell in coils down Ink’s arm uselessly, freeing him.

“Wh-“

“ink, i s-s-swear to asgore, if-f you ask me-e why one more time-e-e-“

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving!” Ink said hastily, skirting around Error and taking a cautious few steps, looking like a squirrel hopping along the floor, before looking back at Error briefly. For a second, Error actually thought Ink looked like he wished Error was going with him. Then Ink turned around and was off like a shot, practically running towards the nearest person he saw and tapping them on the shoulder. Error watched tensely, ready to pull Ink back if necessary, but Ink just gave them a jaunty wave and charged back to Error with a spring in his step.

“They said we’re near Newest Ruins.” Said Ink, blinking. “Said that the next train out of here’s leaving in half an hour.”

Error gave a barely-perceptible nod in response, frowning. He still had no clue where they actually wanted to go, and with another loud sigh he fisted his hand in the strings and stalked off back towards the entrance, back towards the doorway with “customer support” written above it.

There was again, thankfully, not many people around, just a bored-looking Catty variant who had several silver piercings in her left ear and lots of different badges stuck to the front of her dungarees, and the small room buzzed with the energy of a fan which was turned on full blast. The desk was littered with monster candy wrappers and junk food boxes, and there was a small glass pane separating the monster sitting at the desk from the people on the other side. A sticker, brightly emblazoned with “Ask me anything!” next to a yellow smiley face was plastered right above the Catty’s head, which was a slightly hilarious contrast to the tired slouch the cat monster’s expression seemed to be stuck in.

Error decided to do the talking this time. He didn’t want Ink to give anything away, and he’d already risked quite a bit sending him off to talk to somebody unsupervised. He tapped on the glass with his distal phalange, and the Catty cleared her throat wearily before giving him a grin that very quickly soured into an exhausted grimace.

“…Can I help you?” She drawled in a slow monotone and Error let himself relax, just a tiny bit. She hadn’t recognised them, at least not yet, and that was a good sign. Error gave Ink a warning glance. don’t say anything stupid. Ink gave him a look back, which probably translated to I wasn’t going to. When Error glanced back to the Catty, her brows were raised, sending a message of her own. You gonna just stand there?

“h-how do you get-t-t on a train?” He asked, wincing at how unnatural his voice sounded. Error had gotten used to how alien his sentences became when they left his teeth, but the Catty’s yellow eyes widened for a moment before her expression became tiredly unreadable again, much to his relief.

“Trains ‘r free. Council insists that we shouldn’t be charging monsters just to get around.” Said the Catty, her tail swaying idly behind her as she leant back in the chair with a yawn. “Where d’you wanna go?”

“the c-centre. o-of the omega timeline.” Error said, clarifying his statement hastily, and the Catty gave him a strange look, squinting at him. He hoped that that question hadn’t made him come off as a total lunatic, but the Catty just sighed and turned to the ancient computer that was on sleep mode on the desk behind her, glancing back at them.

“You’ll need to get a train to Newest Snowdin and then walk up through Newest Hotland to get there, and even then they can’t guarantee you access.” The Catty droned, her blunt claws tapping loudly on the keyboard as she squinted at the screen, which had several . “Next train’s gonna be pretty busy, but you and the kid should be able to get on there.”

“Kid? I-“ Ink started to say indignantly, but Error cut him off with a smile so fake it may as well have not existed, his sockets scrunched.

“w-we should go now.” Error said abruptly, not bothering to thank the Catty for her help as he almost frogmarched Ink out of the room, the oversized-ness of the station a welcome change from the slight damp of the customer support room.

Ink glared up at him, eyelights sparking with irritation. “Can you believe that? Kid! I- I don’t even look like a kid!” He grumbled, hands planted on his hips, the baggy black fabric of his hoodie bunching together where his fingers were. Error held back his laughter at Ink’s pouting, carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression. Height was always a bit of a sore spot for him.

“r-right, tell me that-t-t next time you get exci-ted over a college au.” Error replied, deadpan, and Ink’s eyelights shifted to large symmetrical question marks, his skull tilting.

“College AU? What’s that?” Ink asked, and Error froze.

“n-nothing important.” Error said quickly, avoiding Ink’s gaze. The last thing he needed right now was for Ink to remember anything related to those awful abominations. He shuddered at the thought, trying to focus on what they were doing instead.

The steady stream of people coming from the doors to the station had slowed to a trickle. The rows of metallic seats were now chock-full, the sound of laughter and chatter and low voices becoming a steady hum in the air above them. Error glanced up at the large black screens again, noting all the names that flashed up in luminous text. Newest Hotland, Newest Snowdin, Newest Waterfall were the most common factors.

Did… was their idea of creating a new timeline really just putting “Newest” in front of the words for the different places in the original timelines? Error should’ve felt surprised, but he just recalled the whole “New Home” incident and shook his head in an exasperated way, realising that coming up with uncreative names was practically tradition now.

 Error realised that standing around in stock silence might draw on more attention than he was expecting, so he urged Ink forwards again with a slightly gentler tug this time, a heavy feeling beginning to settle itself in his soul. There was a significant number of monsters waiting, and just the thought of him crowding himself into a small metal tube with them was enough to make his bones itch uncomfortably. The sense of unease heightened as Ink’s eyesockets lit up like a kid’s on Gyftmas morning, his eyelights travelling over each body in the crowd hungrily, taking in different shapes, voices, universes with relish. Even without his memories Ink seemed to be totally at ease here, practically leaning forward and tugging on the strings like an excited puppy straining at its leash.

To Error, everything already felt like too much.

“h-hey. squid.” Ink made an inquisitive “mm” noise in response, his eyes still intently focused on the crowd, eyelights flickering into a spring-green oval and a pale crescent moon.

“d-do any of those names ring any bells?” He asked, gesturing, and Ink looked up toward the screens, his sockets narrowed in focus. But his face didn’t light up, nor did he let out the telltale gasp that Error was starting to expect he did every time he remembered something, and Error sighed, shaking his head dismissively. He could figure it out for himself, once they got on the train.

Ink went back to studying the crowd beadily, and Error wondered if this was some attempt at recreation of Ink’s studying code to see if it was broken or not. Maybe Ink instinctually wanted to scope out new areas even if he didn’t remember why he wanted to do it. He had a faraway look in his eye, and Error watched as his right hand came up, as if to grab something from his shoulder, before he froze and abruptly dropped his hand again, a foolish look crossing his face even though he hadn’t known Error was watching.

Ink had been reaching for his brush for some reason. But why? Unless Error was mistaken, there were no bugs or breaks in the code around them, and Ink didn’t even know he had a brush. Was Ink so used to having it that even when the brush and his memory of it were gone he still felt the need to keep hold of it?

Error decided it was the latter, but just to be safe he sharpened his gaze, letting the drone of chatter around him become useless white noise as he attempted to look at the code. The colourful strings of numbers and letters appeared for a second in his vision, but danced away as quickly as they’d came, leaving stinging traces in his vision as he growled in frustration. Damn it, he was rusty. He tried again, and the code stayed up, the silhouettes of the abominations monsters around him coated in the code that gave them life and soul, their external features blurred and irrelevant as he looked over them, checking for things unusual or out of place.

And then he saw it. Jagged, uneven fractures of code that were moving, ERROR signs rampant over the usual neat scripts, the code re-running itself over and over again as it tried to restart itself unsuccessfully, 404 messages running rampant across the entire thing. It was broken code, no doubt about it. And the only reason he recognised it was because he’d only ever seen it on himself, before.

He lost his focus as dread rose in the pit of his soul, the code flickering away and the noise coming back somehow stronger than before, overwhelming him as he stared at the source of the glitching, his sockets wide.

He’d thought he was the only one.

He’d thought he was the only one who’d ever been trapped in the void for so long that his code started to collapse in on itself, causing his body to distort and change, a sad mockery of what he used to be, what he used to look like. He hadn’t ever considered that there was another person who might have experienced the same one-in-a-thousand error, yet hadn’t chosen the same path Error had.

“There it is!”

Error had never had a soul attack before, but now he definitely felt like he could empathise with those who had as he turned his head to the source of the noise with wide sockets, his soul thudding hard against his ribcage as he saw the source of the noise just a couple feet away from him, their loud, booming voice causing the crowd’s lively chatter to fade away into faint murmurs of unease and confusion.

It looked like a Royal Guard variant. Definitely from a Felled timeline, though, as their once-smooth plates of iron armour were covered in spikes and grates, material that would definitely tear and rupture the skin or fur of any monster who came into direct contact with it. The sword within their hilt was also studded with bright red jewels which gleamed, bloodlike, under the dimming afternoon sun through the hole in the ceiling. You could always tell with these types where they’d came from, because in many universes red symbolised power, meaning that most of these monsters didn’t own a single article of clothing that wasn’t drowned in crimson. The air around them faintly crackled with charged magic, showing that they were ready to attack any moment. The scent of heat and dust came off them pungently, and in Error’s peripheral vision he saw Ink’s nasal ridge wrinkle.

But Error slumped with relief when he noticed that the Guard’s imposing red glove was not pointed at them. He immediately straightened back up when he saw who it was pointed at.

The other monster with the broken code stood with wide eyes, their fur standing on end. They looked like they might have been a Toriel, once. Now her robes were a bright yellow that felt jarring and unnatural to look at, the pristine, white fluffy paws and face that usually looked so kind and motherly were pitch-black and matted, and one of her horns were broken off at the tip, a swarm of glitches constantly surrounding the obviously unhealed area. The rune on the chest of her robes was buried beneath constant patching and re-sewing, and her glitches afflicted her so badly that some of her body was near impossible to see under a wave of errors, with the accompanying thick foam of white static.

It was the look in her eyes that made Error’s soul clench painfully. The wild, unsure, animalistic fear that he’d seen on himself when he escaped the void.

The Guard advanced forward, roughly pushing away people who hadn’t already skittered away. His hands fisted in the front of the Toriel’s robes, and jerked her upwards, their similar height and stature doing nothing to prevent him from grabbing her. The Toriel’s pupils dilated into tiny dots, her eyes fixed on where the Guard’s hands met her shirt, his gloves buried beneath a pixelated blanket of ERROR signs as she put her hands over his and pulled desperately trying to get him off. The Guard laughed, a cruel, mocking note in his voice as one of his hands left the front of her robes to grip the bejewelled hilt of his sword.

“You think that a filthy mistake like you has any place here?” The Guard snarled, his sword a horrible scrape of metal on metal that cut through the air when he unsheathed it, the long silver blade bloodstained and blunted with dust. “I’m going to do you a favour and end your pathetic existence right now. I won’t let your kind ruin this timeline as well.”

The crowd watched silently as he raised the sword, as did the Toriel in his grip. She did not fight or struggle, just watched with wide eyes, her mouth open in a silent scream, and Error pleaded her to do something inside his head. fight back, goddamnit, why aren’t you incinerating him?

“Hey!” A very unfortunately familiar voice piped up.

Oh no.

Ink was standing beside the Royal Guard somehow, his tiny stature making him look ridiculous next to the armed knight. His hands were on his hips again, spine straight, his bare feet planted firmly apart on the ground, taking his usual battle stance. Error looked down at his arm, his mouth going slack with shock when he realised the strings had been neatly cut in half. He wouldn’t be able to pull him back now without revealing to all the spectators who he was.

“g-get back, ink!” Error hissed as quietly as he could, but Ink just turned around quickly and gave him a grin and a thumbs-up, and Error vowed not for the first time to figure out a way of killing a soulless person.

Ink looked ridiculous; his scarf and green suspenders hung down his back and peeked out from under his hoodie, and he had to keep tossing his head so that the hood wouldn’t cover his face, but he levelled the Guard with a firm stare, his eyelights consisting off a green triangle and a red exclamation point; not quite the usual red target symbols Error was used to seeing, but still enough to let bystanders visually know that Ink meant business.

The Guard paused, his sword gleaming in the air above the Toriel’s head, his helmet down tilting towards Ink. He let out a laugh that held a note of surprise evident in it. He clearly hadn’t expected anybody to butt in on his public execution, let alone a small badly-dressed skeleton.

“And whose child is this?” The Guard sneered, lowering the sword and releasing the Toriel, but not before throwing another warning growl over his shoulder. Ink did look like a child compared to the armoured knight towering over him, what showed of his limbs sticklike and small. What chance did he stand if he didn’t have his brush on him?

“Why- I’m not a child!” Ink retorted, hands balling into fists at his sides, and the Royal Guard snorted derisively as he put his sword back into its sheath.

“Only a child would try and stop me from doing the greater good and eradicating another filthy glitch from the multiverse.” The Guard spat vehemently, his foot landing on the floor with a clank as he ground his heel into the ground to punctuate his sentence, as if he was physically stomping out an ERROR right then and there. Error felt uneasy. Where had he heard those words before?

Ink flinched at his tone, but quickly regained himself. “And only a coward picks fights with somebody who can’t fight back.” He replied hotly, eyelights flaring bright, and the Guard gave an incredulous laugh, the sound seeming to echo around the almost-silence of their surroundings, the winglike protrusions on his helmet glittering as he tilted his helmet in mock-confusion.

“Yes, because that stinking glitch was so defensele-“ The Guard broke off as he looked behind him.

The Toriel was gone.

The Guard gave a great roar of rage and flew at Ink, his sword forgotten as he tackled Ink’s smaller body down, knocking all the air out of his ribcage and winding him, a yell escaping Ink’s teeth as his spine made contact with floor first.

 Distantly, Error heard himself and others calling out, he heard screams, yells, but it was all a blur as Ink and the Guard rolled on the ground, neither of them using any magic, his blunt phalanges doing near nothing as the Guard landed a punch on the flat of his ribcage, his hoodie serving little defence against the iron. Ink yelped loudly, and with deceptive strength his wiry limbs somehow managed to shove the much larger Guard off of him, his pelvis planted firm of the knight’s great chest as he pummelled his helmet with hard little fists, leaving faint imprints in the silvery metal. The Guard kicked and clawed beneath him, unseating him, and his gloved hands closed around Ink’s vulnerable neck, his breath heavy and distorted through the visor of his helmet.

A cracking sound cut through the air as Ink let out another high wail of pain, his phalanges on top of the Guard’s thick gloves as he tried desperately to tug them off, a lone trickle of black blood streaming from his nasal ridge as he kicked and struggled at the Guard’s back, his thrashing growing weaker as Error caught sight of his neck. There was a harsh splinter that sprawled over his cervical vertebrae, and it only grew deeper as the knight pressed his thumb to where his windpipe would be, the bone creaking under the intense pressure as Ink coughed and spluttered, before raising his hand, his eyelights flickering as his brow furrowed in concentration.

A large, recognisable black Gaster Blaster took shape behind the tangle of flying fists and shouted curses, the inky magic shaping and solidifying quickly, and without further ado a blast of black magic formed behind its formidable set of teeth and fired directly into the Guard’s back, sending him sprawling across the floor and knocking into many members of the crowd, a high chorus of yelps and alarmed shouts accompanying the movement. Ink heaved himself up, ink dripping from his teeth and nose, and glanced over at Error. Just then the speaker sounded again:

“The train to Newest Snowdin will be departing now! Please go to the platform immediately if you wish to board the train.”

“th3 train-n-n.” Error barked quickly, and Ink nodded, on the same wavelength, his eyelights dim as he held out his arm, allowing Error to retie their hands hastily and furtively before they both took off running towards the area beyond the wall of black screens, Ink’s gait staggered to a fast limp as he kept one hand on his neck, as if afraid that it would come apart at any moment. They kept their pace through the white arches and pillars which held the screens and the wall up, multiple numbered platforms laid out before them, most empty. The train tracks glowed with blue magic, and distantly Error wondered how many monsters it must take to do so many trains per day. There must have been a lot of volunteers.

The train was in sight along the luminous white platform, Ink dripping his namesake onto the floor as he went, and Error could feel the glitches beginning to cloud his vision, but he didn’t dare stop now, not when a crowd had just watched Ink brawling with a citizen of the Omega Timeline in the middle of the station, and fear began to set in as Error realised just how badly they’d screwed up, his sockets widening.

Ink had just showed himself up in front of at least thirty different monsters – hell, maybe even more than that. He’d used an attack that Ink was well-known for using and gotten himself injured into the bargain. If Core hadn’t had an idea of where they were before, they certainly would know. Word would get back to them. If they weren’t careful they’d be found so quickly they wouldn’t even have time to get off the train before they were restrained and taken back to the “Council”. What chance did they have of making it to the core now?

Error was far too preoccupied with making it to the train to come up with a resolution. It was a sleek, bullet-shaped, navy affair, but he didn’t bother himself with any more details than that as he watched the electric doors begin to close, the nearest carriage shutting far more quickly than he was expecting, his glitches becoming almost painful in his panic as he watched his one escape route slip away from him right before his eyes.

An inky line solidified into a firm black wall between the closing doors, and Ink panted as he stopped in front of the doors, holding his hand out and coaxing the ink back into his palm, before practically throwing himself through the thin slat in the doors, his hands leaving black phalange-prints on the handle. Error followed suit, not bothering to question how Ink had remembered how to use his magic, almost dragging himself in and jarring his spine uncomfortably as he squeezed through the gap, pressing back against the doors as soon as they finally closed.

Space and possible contact wasn’t a problem anymore. Every single monster on the carriage was edging away from them both with slight disgust and wide eyes, the train chatter going silent as both skeletons panted and heaved, filling their ribcages with unneeded air, Error’s soul still thumping hard enough to make him feel dizzy. He could only imagine what he looked like right now, covered in ERROR signs, sweaty, and out of breath, but that was the least of his concerns right now.

He rounded on Ink, past caring that they were being openly gawked at right now. “w-what the fuck was that?”

Ink blinked at him, his eyelights whirling into different shapes as he held up his hands defensively, his sockets wide in a facsimile of innocence. He opened his mouth to retort, hiccupped, then promptly threw up ink on himself, the floor, the train doors, and the front of Error’s shirt, his eyesockets blank as warm, sticky ink seeped through Error’s shirt into the front of his ribcage.

Error’s loud cry of disgust was cut off swiftly by his long-awaited reboot.

*

The shadows of the bright white railway coalesced, sculpting and moulding itself until it formed a relatively skeleton-like creature which watched with a hooded eyesocket, unnoticed by the horrified members of the crowd as he drank in the fear, the horror, the panicked confusion of the monsters there. His form became more and more stable as the hushed whispering grew among the people there, all previous brightness and mirth evaporating in favour of many different forms of fear, spread across different monsters of all shapes and sizes.

He had felt the negativity spike. And he’d known that he wouldn’t be able to keep a tangible form for long off of such a quick, easily forgotten incident. Reassurance would come. Help would appear. And positivity would rear its annoyingly insistent head again, putting his brother back in control and leaving him to retreat back into the shadows.

But the temporary power was not what had drawn him here. No, he was here because of something far more beneficial to him in the long term. He watched as the two panting, twisting, exhausted monsters stepped inside of the train, which jerked and then began to chug dutifully off, hiding the unlikely pair from sight. For now.

There was only one reason Error had to be in this timeline. His grin grew just thinking about it. The destroyer, so aptly named, could only be here to terrorize and take. Only somebody as powerful and reckless would try such a thing, and Nightmare could only imagine what this peaceful haven of a timeline could become. He pictured this entire station as a bloodbath, covered in cyan blue strings as people shrieked and ran, he saw dust spatter across the floor as countless monsters lost their lives at the multicoloured hands of the manic skeleton.

Nightmare licked his teeth at the thought, even as he felt his presence here waning, his form becoming less and less corporeal. He knew that, whatever the destroyer was planning, he would be there to witness it.

Chapter Text

Error and Ink had argued for the entirety of the train ride. Honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised Error at this point that Ink was still an idiot, with or without memories.

“i t-t-told you to get back, and you ignored me!” Error snapped, his socket twitching as Ink scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as he waited for whatever useless retort/excuse/counter Ink came up with next.

“Well, excuse me for saving somebody’s life,” Ink said, eyelights flashing pale yellow as he tapped his chest animatedly, eyesockets narrowed and cheekbones flushed faintly with orange-tinted magic. The shadows under his eyesockets only seemed to be worsening, and his eyelights seemed a lot more desaturated, his usual bright, sunny orangey-yellow faded to a sickly lemon colour. “I thought you’d be happy that I did it!”

“why-!“ Error exploded, before realising the volume of his own voice and quieting it a little, even though it would do virtually nothing to ward off the suspicious glances they were gathering. “why did you-u think i’d be over the mo-on to watch-ch you show your-r ass in front of all those people-e, idiot?”

Ink lowered his voice as well so that Error had to lean down and forward to hear him, though he still kept a very careful distance between him and Ink. “Cause, y’know. She looked like you. I thought you might know her, or something.”

Error blinked, before scowling again. “j-just because we went-t through the same-e-e hell doesn’t-t mean we know e-each other.” He said firmly, and Ink hesitated before nodding, his eyelights softening a little. He shifted his gaze away from Error’s, blinking hard, and Error frowned.

“What… what happened? To you? And that monster?” Ink blurted in a low whisper, looking up and down Error’s form before meeting his eyes again, and Error’s sockets widened. Of course, Ink didn’t know. He’d forgotten that, like everything else.

“d-doesn’t matter.” Error replied hurriedly. “how did you-u-u do the thing w-with the ink?” He asked, by way of distraction, (also partly because he wanted to know) and Ink shrugged, shaking his skull nonchalantly.

“I just kind of remembered how.” Ink said, gesturing vaguely. He clearly was much more interested in Error’s pending answer to his previous question, so Error just huffed and looked out of the small, square window and into the dark tunnel they were currently travelling through because he could feel Ink’s prying eyes on him, and he didn’t feel like having a trip down memory lane quite this moment.

Their journey had been smooth so far. The train had chugged on listlessly for a while before dipping down and underground, which irritated Error. He’d wanted to see more things, more monsters, get a better idea of this place, but there was very little he could do other than stand, hold onto the handles provided and tell Ink to shut up or he’d deepen that crack in his neck. He’d never been on a train before, and while there was no violently unexpected rocking or bumps, the smell was abhorrible. Like the gungiest of Undyne’s dungeons in Horrortale. Error wondered how Core Frisk had entire teams of monsters working to keep the trains going but was unable to provide a single Woshua to make the train smell less like Mettaton’s armpit.

The people who were staring at them before had subsided to an occasional nervous glance and whispering, which wasn’t much of a relief. Error was hyperaware of every shift away from them and every time some stupid kid started bawling from being in the same platform as them both. Error was used to sparking unease in people, but some people kept looking at Ink and shuddering, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

 The small gash in his neck was oozing inky blood and bone marrow visibly despite the thick folds of the hoodie obstructing the wound, and though Ink didn’t seem to be in any great physical pain he winced every time he turned his head too sharply. Error wished he knew anything about healing, but most Sanses had blue magic and little else. Error had learnt to destroy, not to repair, and monsters with high LV tended to have a higher pain tolerance anyway. His method of “healing” himself was retreating back to the Anti-Void and refraining from touching the afflicted area for several hours to several days, depending on how bad it was, and then returning. Sometimes he ate to speed up the process.

Food! That was it. He’d surely be able to get something in this Newest Snowdin place, right? And he had gold. He’d get Ink something to eat and it would all patch over.

Absently, he wondered if Ink was capable of healing magic, though he’d never seen him do it himself. He’d put it down as one of Ink’s freakish abilities that he could just regenerate lost or broken bones like some sort of lizard, but come to think of it, there was no way that was actually how Ink did it. The magic cost for that would probably drain Ink for days. No, Ink probably used his brush to patch over wounds and cracks. That made much more sense. Error eyed Ink again, who was fingering the cut with an expression of morbid interest, and then widening his sockets in alarm when his finger came back covered in sticky ink. Error himself was slightly frightened by this, too, but reassured himself that Ink wasn’t swooning or passing out and, annoyingly enough, could still speak clearly. He couldn’t be seriously hurt.

Though he did look drained. And tired. Error probably looked like that himself, come to think of it. He desperately hoped that food would do the trick.

For all his sudden weariness, Ink gasped when the train travelled upwards and above ground, the black window suddenly revealing something that may have started out as a Snowdin village, but was now an entire snowscape. Thick white flakes of snow fell in flurries towards the ground, which made Error’s mouth hang open in shock before he snapped it closed hastily. Begrudgingly, even though he was set to ruin this place, he had to admit that somehow replicating Surface timeline weather was impressive. And kind of beautiful, too. Snowdin was snowy, sure, but there weren’t any real sheets of snow that came down like this. Just water vapour from Waterfall that eventually hardened into icy crystals in the sleepy, frigid town. But this was something else entirely.

The village(?) they were passing rapidly had lots of chestnut-brown thatched cottages, looking remarkably like gingerbread houses with all of the snow on the roof and the cozy-looking glow that beckoned from the frosted glass windows. There were also tall, strong wooden support beams holding up most of these, but they were hard to see under all the snow that had piled up around the houses, which would’ve surely barricaded most people into their homes had there not been these structures in the first place. The houses were split by a long, frozen lake which had a fence around it, and there was a family of rabbit monsters doing elegant loops around it effortlessly, which made Ink press his face against the glass with a noise of excitement, blocking Error’s view.

“m-move, ink!” Error said impatiently, and Ink reluctantly moved back, though he glanced up at Error with a look of pure wonder, his eyelights shining.

“Do you think I could do that?” Ink asked, spreading his arms and attempting to imitate the figure-skating rabbits he’d just seen, adopting a serene expression, and careened straight into one of the poles that were meant for holding onto when the train stopped. This time Error couldn’t hold in his surprised snort of laughter as Ink blinked slightly dizzily before getting up again, laughing too as he rubbed his forehead with his untied hand. Error noticed that Ink had gotten a good bit farther away from him than he used to be able to go, and realised he must have made the strings longer in his haste at the station. Huh.

He decided not to shorten them. He still only trusted Ink as far as he could throw him, which was probably quite far with the help of his strings and that no matter the size skeleton monsters were always very light, but anyway.

He returned to looking out the window, his eyelights flicking over places he recognised, and places he did not. There were several different versions of the original Snowed Inn, some bigger and some much smaller than before, and similarly there were multiple different Grillby’s and Librarby’s variations, even one place where it was a combination of the two. Error supposed that a lot of Snowdin residents of Genocide timelines would have to take their previous professions somewhere, and this must be the place they came to do it. All the dividing into separate parts resemblant to the original timeline instead of making new places made a lot more sense to Error now. Core Frisk wanted to replicate people’s homes to make them feel more at ease here, probably. And it would’ve been easier to replicate the original code than try and start anew.

The train juddered to a halt – Error stumbled, being too caught up in his own thoughts to notice it - outside of a small concrete platform complete with a wooden shelter, a sign that proclaimed “Welcome to Snowdin!” and a small slope so that passengers could step off of the train safely. The doors opened, neatly sliding to press against the outer sides of the train, and people began to file out slowly, Error only realising that he should probably move to get out as well when Ink tugged on the strings imploringly, looking towards the exit.

The cold air nipped at Error’s exposed feet slightly, but nothing more than that as he moved aside to let other people pass, standing and looking up at the sky for a moment as he felt the chill of the dull concrete sink into the bottoms of his sandals. Ink’s eyelights crossed as he tried to look at a snowflake that had fallen onto his nasal ridge. The atmospheric noise of monsters chatting in the background became a constant as more and more people exited the train.

…Food. He was going to get food, he reminded himself, shaking his head to snap himself out of his daze. He’d never actually spent time in Snowdin, not really, since…

He fisted his free hand in the fabric of his trousers to ground himself, and walked on at the very edge of the concrete to avoid any contact whatsoever, dragging a chattering Ink along behind him as he stepped down the ramp and into the snow, wincing at the feeling of the frozen grit on his bare bones. His feet were quickly sinking into the thick blanket of white, and the snow already came up to the lowest part of his femur, and he shivered at the sensation. He really should find a more practical choice of shoes.

Ink’s bones were making clanking noises, his teeth chattering quietly as he trembled at the cold air, hugging himself and rocking back and forth on his heels before stepping forward like Error had done, and looking down at himself in dismay. The snow came up to his hipbones, and he had to claw furiously at it to make more leg room for himself, which only allowed him to waddle another few centimetres before stopping again. He looked up at Error helplessly, and Error fought the urge to laugh again.

“h-here.” Error said, motioning. “get behind me.”

Ink did as he was instructed, wading through the snow to walk behind Error, his clothes turning dark where the snow had wetted them. Error took another couple of steps, and Ink, getting the gist, stepped in the path Error had cleared by walking, hopping and placing his slightly smaller feet in the prints Error had left, grinning. His hoodie was already covered in several flecks of snow, and Error regrettably realised that they might have to go on the scrounge for another choice of clothing, but he put that concern away for later. He had enough to think about right now.

“You make a good snowplough.” Ink commented cheerfully, and Error marvelled at the fact that Ink could still say stupid things even though he was walking barefoot through some freezing cold snow.

“y-you make a good inkwell.” Replied Error, eyeing the ink that was still dripping off of the artist’s clothes, chin, and neck, shuddering at the memory of the same substance coating his sweater. He’d never had Ink throw up the disgusting sticky stuff on him before, and he hadn’t savoured the experience. It was just as well he’d left his old clothes in the Lost and Found, otherwise-

Error’s sockets widened. He’d left his original clothes in the Lost and Found.

What kind of stupid, idiotic mistake was that? Now any hopes that he hadn’t been detected yet had been well and truly dashed. They’d track the train, and they’d come after him, and it wouldn’t be at all hard to find a skeleton with rampant ERROR signs and coal-black bones in the crowd. He stuck out like a sore thumb, even if he had smeared off the tear tracks and found new clothes. Who was he kidding? He’d never had to do this before. Never had to pretend to be somebody else because half of his abilities lay in his reputation, in the fact that people took one look at him and went running for the hills, scattering like a group of deer.

“fuck.” He cursed under his breath, before yanking Ink forward so fiercely that the heels of his feet momentarily left the ground, and Ink let out a confused yelp before speedwalking after Error, staring up at him. Error shook his head in lieu of an explanation; he didn’t have time. Now that they knew they were here it was only a matter of hours before they were discovered if they stayed put. And Error refused to have endured a whole day and a half listening to this memoryless idiot’s incessant chatter just to be captured and punished for something he hadn’t even done yet.

Oh, god. They weren’t getting anywhere in the thick sheet of snow that was covering damn near everything. Error was starting to find it a lot less beautiful when the stupid white slop was soaking his clothes, setting chills into his bones and making his ribs clank together, making a sound that was grinding its way into his earholes until he wanted to scream. Ink was even worse, having such little protection from the frigid air that his ribs sounded like an out-of-tune xylophone, reverberating in his chest cavity.

Sparing a glance at Ink was a mistake. The dark hollows under his sockets were plum-coloured now, and his eyelights looked almost as white as their surroundings. Error didn’t know much about how Ink’s physical appearance correlated with his well-being, but his peaky, almost blank expression was miles away from the normal healthy vibrance of his eyelights and the knife-edge sharpness of his permanent smirk had faded to a grimace. His phalanges were tight around his sides, hugging himself like he was trying to keep the frost from penetrating his clothing – and failing miserably.

Error fought miserably with himself in his skull as his relentless pace slowed to a lighter, more hesitant one. He knew if they stopped for too long, they’d be caught. But he’d never seen Ink like this before, and it frightened him. He wanted to shout at him, yell at him to get his act together and stop acting like a spooked Whimsun, but his teeth felt locked together every time he tried to summon the will to do so. So, he kept trudging on, feeling the weight on his phalanges grow heavier and heavier, and he knew Ink was growing weaker based on how much he was relying on Error to tug him along. He didn’t dare to look back again – he was worried his resolve would break.

Error looked up at the sky, shivering. He couldn’t tell what time it was, the thick flurries of sleet falling down so quickly that everything around it greyed, no hint of the sun in sight. He supposed now would’ve been a good time to have a phone, but phones were exploitable. Easily manipulated. An original-timeline Alphys could’ve gotten them by now if they’d had them.

He skittered to a halt suddenly, realising he’d been so lost in his own worried thoughts that his sandal had slid out onto a sudden patch of ice. It cracked slightly under the very little strain, and he reared back. He knew all about what kind of ice was safe to skate on, and what kind would have you trapped under a lethal barrier between you and dry land.

“BROTHER!”

Papyrus was stood in the middle of the rink, his sockets wide with pride, the soft curves of his not-quite-adult teeth upturned in a victorious grin, his tiny, delicate hands planted at his sides. The scarlet blur of his scarf whipped wildly in the wind, a rose petal against a white pillow, and the babybones tipped his skull up proudly, adopting his “Royal Guard” pose. His skates were firm on the ice, and the ice did not give out. It didn’t break or crack under his brother’s tiny, barely five pounds weight.

“LOOK, BROTHER! I’M DOING IT!”

He felt himself clap his hands as he watched Papyrus turn merry circles around the glacial patch, smoothly and steadily, not wavering or falling. He cheered until Papyrus’s cheeks were flushed orange with excitement and satisfaction. He leaned over daringly, stretching his leg out, and his brother clapped until his phalanges stung despite the barrier of his gloves.

Papyrus was trembling with sheer joy. He looped around neatly, and his brother opened his arms, waiting for him to skate back over-

He went the wrong way.

Up, up, up the glossy sheet of ice, until the light shone onto the cracks and made them deadly obvious to everybody who wasn’t Papyrus. The ice was too thin. The water was too cold.

He shortcutted over to the rocks, blindly reaching out, pawing at thin air and grabbing Papyrus’s scarf. The momentum yanked the babybones’ feet out from beneath him, and he crashed headfirst into the ice, leaving his brother with a handful of crimson fabric as he stared at the break in the ice, the water barely even rippling as if his baby brother hadn’t just crashed down, down, down, into the depths of the cold, dark lake.

The crash was real.

Error stared at the ice, his ribcage rising and falling impossibly fast. There was a break in the ice, big enough for somebody’s head and shoulder’s to fall through. He was standing on the ice, and the strings were severed again.

He didn’t even think to move himself onto solid ground; he crouched, yanked his strings out, and plunged his fist into the murky water, his magic scanning, searching, pleading with the pitch-black depths of the lake for a sign of life to wrap his strings around safely. Nothing answered for a beat.

Then another one.

Then a faint flicker of not a soul, but life, sounded in there, a weak, desperate plea for help that Error answered immediately, constricting the source of the distressed magic signal and lifting it up, heavied by the frozen water. It felt like agonizing years, waiting, the usual quick, neat strings of his magic slowing down to a watery trudge in the lake, causing the bones of his forearm to creak with effort. But he couldn’t mess up. He couldn’t fail, not again.

The river wasn’t safe for a monster his age.

Finally, a dripping wet bundle of fabric and bone broke the surface, and Error didn’t hesitate before throwing the limp body onto the ground, following himself soon after. He used the strings to turn the weakly coughing skeleton over, before reaching down and-

He retracted his hand with a wince. He couldn’t touch. He growled at himself, glaring down at his arm. He reached out again. And again, but every time he tried, he was repelled by himself, his own phalanges twitching away just short of touching the damp black fabric. Finally, he secured his own phalanges around his right arm like a handcuff and forced it down, but when his yellow phalange-tips brushed the other’s heaving ribcage, white-hot fear shot through him.

He jerked away, staring at his hand, at the tiny black-and-white bundle that was gasping pathetically for air beside him. His sockets stung, and he scrubbed at them furiously with his stiff, frigid phalanges, trying to calm his breathing.

Five things he could see.

He wasn’t aware of how it popped into his panic-stricken mind, but he tried. Snow, the lake, the sky, his hands. The tiny bundle of black material he could see only a few feet away from him, looking like a drowned kitten washed up on the side of the frozen bank of the river.

Five things he could hear. His own laboured breathing. The wind brushing past him, tickling his bones with the cold. The grit of the snow as he shifted in place. The sound of snow grazing the floor before dancing on to another destination, carrying high in the air. The short, ragged gasps of something else that was splayed on the ground across from him.

Error inhaled sharply, getting to his feet. He was here, in the Omega Timeline – and Ink had just fallen through the ice on the river. He made his shaking legs stumble over to where Ink lay, and he crouched down unsteadily, too close for comfort but needing to see the scope of the damage. Ink’s sockets were pitch black, and for one horrible, disarming moment Error thought that he’d actually fallen down – but one quick look to his chest reassured him that the artist was still hanging in there – if barely. His strings were draped in useless blue fronds around Ink’s limbs, and Error could see the murky-grey lines on his clothes and bones of where his strings had dug in in Error’s horrified haste. Error swore before looking back at Ink’s neck, where the gash was still steadily oozing. Error reached out. But his hand flat-out refused to go any further than within a few inches in range of contact.

“ink.” Error croaked, his voice pathetically hoarse and small. “i-ink.” He tried again, louder this time. No response.

 “g3t up, squid-d-d.” He snarled, suddenly red-hot with anger. He was afraid. And then that fear was turning into something a lot uglier, and he felt his magic coalesce into the all-too-infamous dragon’s skull behind him, hovering ominously.

“get-t up before-e i blast a hole in your-r-r-r stupid skull. Y0u hear me, bastard-d? i’ve done it bef-ore, i’ll fucking do it again, so stand up and s-s-s-stop…” Error felt his voice trail off before he heard it. “…stop acting like-e this.” He finished, and he felt the jaws of the massive blaster behind him snap shut with a clack of bone on bone that rang through the air, leaving a coiling snake of defeat and humiliation to settle itself into the pit of Error’s soul, hissing gleefully. He stared down at Ink. Blank sockets, low HP, nothing in his inventory to help. Error knew if he walked away right now Ink wouldn’t stop him. Nobody would stop him.

And nobody would come for Ink until it was far too late.

Error didn’t move for a long time. He stayed there; his femurs pressed against his fibulae whilst he knelt, unable to take his eyes off of Ink. He couldn’t ignore it any longer – the feeling he’d strived so hard to avoid, had taken so many precautions to stop from happening, had sacrificed almost everything to keep from feeling again – it was overwhelming him.

Helplessness.

He couldn’t touch Ink. Couldn’t heal him, couldn’t even get close to him without feeling like another panic attack was going to press him into the snow until he just gave up and stayed there – which was sounding pretty tempting right now.

He felt his Gaster Blaster brush against his arm. It still hadn’t de-summoned, for some reason. The contact didn’t feel too invasive to him; after all, it was his own magic. But he still twitched away from its muzzle, glaring at it. It was facing Ink, the same as he was, and its jaws were slightly open.

And Error had an idea.

He tentatively opened the jaws of his blaster again – which automatically prompted a large beam of magic to begin to form, and Error slammed the jaws shut frantically, causing the blast to go off inside of its maw and let out a muted boom, which still rang over the snow like a gunshot. Error froze, looking around. He waited a full ten seconds before allowing himself to un-tense slightly, sighing. What was he thinking? Gaster Blasters were intended to be used for attacking only, he knew that. It was explicitly stated in some universes.

But he had to try. Gritting his teeth, he fisted his phalanges in his trousers and focused, thinking i don’t want to hurt ink over and over again in his head, forcing his doubt out so that it was his only intention, and he incrementally increased the distance between the Gaster Blaster’s jaws again, only this time free of the piercing white light that came with using such a high concentration of magic. Error shut his eyes, repeating the same words in his skull, inching the jaws apart bit by bit. He was gripping his trousers so tightly that he could feel the muffled scrape of his phalanges against his femurs, but he wasn’t complaining. If it meant he could pull this off, if it meant he could keep moving, then he’d take a few scratches to the thigh.

Only after several more moments did he crack open his left socket – and exhaled, letting out a small, weak laugh of accomplishment as the massive Gaster Blaster’s mouth stretched wide, a cavernous space between the sharp bone-fangs that protruded from the bone that made up its “gums”. He glanced down at Ink, knowing it would be an easy fit. But actually getting Ink into the blaster was another matter.

He lowered his palm to the icy ground, shivering, and the dragon skull dipped obediently, following his movement. He jerked his hand forward, and the Gaster Blaster floated a few inches closer to Ink’s still form, teeth grazing the black folds of Ink’s hoodie with a rustle of fabric.  Error narrowed his eyesockets in concentration.

He tipped the blaster up suddenly, and, thankfully, Ink’s body followed the laws of gravity. Ink ragdolled to the back of the Gaster Blaster’s mouth, his small form fitting easily into the cavity where the beam of magic generated, and Error hurriedly peered down into its maw to make sure Ink hadn’t impaled himself on any of the teeth. Ink looked fine, apart from the obvious wounds he’d seen before, but he tried to ignore the uneasiness that rose in him like smoke suffocating clean air, beginning to tilt the blaster so that Ink’s limbs weren’t mangled when the jaws snapped shut.

Ink’s head lolled forwards, chin resting on his clavicle, arms splayed out mildly awkwardly, and Error noticed with some relief that his sockets had closed at some time during all of this. Staring at the once-vibrant, owlish sockets which had become as hollow and haunting as death incarnate’s, had made Error feel… wrong, somehow. Like he was getting front-row tickets to something he was never meant to see in the first place.

Error sighed heavily, tilting the blaster back down, and looking back at the frozen lake one last time before turning on his heel and stepping – more like wading, actually – into the femur-high snow on the ground, making sure that the Blaster hovered low behind him so as not to draw anybody’s attention.

He’d seen all of the houses and cottages on the way here, by the train. Surely, if he kept trudging on even though his clothes were starting to feel heavier and damper than ever before, then he’d find someplace to rest. He brought the G out of his inventory, looking at it worriedly. It might’ve been enough to get them both fed, but it’d never be enough to get a room for the night. No self-respecting monster would accept pittance like this for a warm, clean place to stay. He could’ve played the sympathy card again, like back in that place he now knew was called “Newest Ruins”, but his poster child for people taking pity on them was currently passed out in the back of a giant dragon skull, so that plan had a couple flaws in it.

He ground his teeth together in annoyance, clenching his fists until the hard metal of the gold coins pressed into his palms so deeply it started to hurt, but the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the chill of the air. Skeletons weren’t very sensitive to the elements, but when it was cold like this it didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t have flesh or nerve endings. It felt like icicles scraping over his skull when a sudden, unexpected gust of wind whipped past him, making him stagger as well as it made him squint, the flurries of snow intensifying rapidly. He looked back at his Gaster Blaster longingly, even though he knew he wouldn’t fit in there as easily as Ink would. And besides, he had to keep walking.

One foot in front of the other, dragging himself along, forcing his tired, frozen legs into action. you can destroy this shitty frozen wasteland later, He promised himself. you just have to keep going.

And then he saw it.

One tiny flicker of yellow light across from where he was stood in the snow, the unmistakeable glow of something warm beyond the frosted glass panes – a fire? Whatever it was, he made a move to advance toward it, cursing at how the snow turned to slush around him and weighed him down further, but he kept wading forwards, freshly invigorated by the promise of somewhere to stay for the night. Details like how he was going to get in or whether he’d even be able to go in in the first place were trivial at this point in time. Finding a safe place for them to rest was his top priority, now.

As he neared the source of the light, the rest of the building slowly revealed itself to him, brick by brick, cobble by cobble. It was a tall, stately-looking building which looked to be a vague echo of the Snowed Inn, but far grander. There were little additions and turrets sloping off from each side of the building, as if during the architecture they’d been indecisive about the amount of rooms they’d have here. The roof was barely visible under a thick sheet of snow, but from what Error could see, it certainly wasn’t a poky little thatched one. Error felt his hopes draining away from him when he saw the entryway, a set of double doors with elaborate, nonspecific carvings set into the rich wood, but the windows were clear.

From what he could see, the reception absolutely bustled with people, workers and commuters alike, tails and claws and slime brushing against each other as the roomful of people chatted busily, everybody looking purposeful, like they all had a very specific place in mind where they were going. Even through the door, the heady stench of expensive cigarettes and perfume was strong, and Error could only imagine what it was like inside, shuddering a little.

He imagined going in there and leaking snow all over the ruby-red carpet off his clothes, having his shoulders bumping everybody else’s. He imagined having to explain why there was an incapacitated monster in his dormant attack trailing behind him, and then being told he had not nearly enough money to book a room and getting laughed out.

Error quickly ducked out of the view of the window, staying close to the wall of the hotel as he looked around desperately for another place, any other place than this. But aside from a lone lamppost situated a couple metres away, there was nothing else in sight, and the sun was slowly sinking lower in the sky, its dying rays casting a rose-pink light across the snow as it went. They wouldn’t get far in total darkness. Error’s ability to sense nearby code only went so far, and if this place was as deserted as it seemed to be, there wouldn’t be many other monsters hanging around anyways.

He'd just have to find another way in.

Clenching his jaw, he walked round to the side of the building, dragging the blaster by the muzzle – the side that had drawn him here in the first place with the light from the window. There were several more lining the walls, as could be expected for a hotel, and Error squinted hard, fumbling in his pocket for his glasses so he could get a better look.

There was one window on the top floor that looked slightly ajar. Error looked around, scouting to see if anybody was watching. Most of the windows had their curtains drawn cosily or else the rooms were vacant, but it still didn’t change Error’s paranoia, which was having a lengthy argument with the heavy numbness in his bones, making him groan into his hands, trying to decide what to do.

He glanced back at the Gaster Blaster. One of Ink’s hands hung limply from between the serrated maw, and Error sighed, remembering the fight, remembering the horrible wailing cry Ink had made when a crack spiralled across the tender bones of his throat.

He gritted his teeth, and pulled a generous amount of string from his sockets, beckoning the floating dragon skull behind him over and tying his hands to the top of it for security, hitching one leg up over the top awkwardly and moving to sit atop it, a familiar position he’d taken whenever he wanted to get somewhere fast. He inhaled, and then sent the blaster up.

Thankfully, the Gaster Blaster hovered up without question, and as soon as the tip of its jaw touched the windowsill Error untangled the strings and let himself sprawl into the room, cracking one socket open and praying that this one was unoccupied.

He waited one beat. Then another.

Finally, he sighed and stood up, brushing snow off himself and looking around. Despite the clearly upgraded furnishing in the reception down below, this room hadn’t changed a bit from the original Snowed Inn design. Same bright, cheery, warm orange-and-yellow furniture, same heart-stamped doormat, same small, rickety bed. The tall lamp in the corner cast a glow across the room, making everything seem even more cozy than before. Error felt mildly relieved that at least, despite the bizarre strangeness of what seemed to be the entirety of this stars-forsaken timeline, there were at least a few things that had remained the same.

He turned his attention back to the blaster, re-focusing. Ink. He needed to check on Ink.

He gently guided the blaster on top of the bed, before de-summoning it with a flick of his wrist, leaving Ink splayed out against the sheets, his bones stark-white against the gentle orange, his sockets still shut. Error’s gaze darted over him nervously, avoiding looking at the inky mess of his neck, hovering awkwardly over him at his side. He wasn’t a healing monster. He didn’t know how to help people. In fact, the last time he’d tried to play nurse was-

Never mind. He needed to think. Food did have healing properties, right? He looked around the room. There were no shelves or cupboards in sight, but the bedside table looked promising. He rifled through the neat stack of books, papers, and his phalanges hit cellophane. He grinned, extracting it carefully, as though it was the last bar of spicy chocolate from Underfell.

Monster candies, around a dozen small ones in the clear plastic packet. There was a sticky note attached to it, written in tall, fluid cursive: “Complimentary snacks for our esteemed guests!” and in smaller writing: “If you eat all of them, we charge an extra 5G.”

Error approached the bedside once more, opening the packet. He rolled one of the wrapped sweets between his phalanges, listening to the gentle crinkling noise as he looked down at the smaller unconscious skeleton. How long was Ink going to be out for? He couldn’t eat anything if he was knocked out. Judging from the small scratches and gash in his neck, choking on something that Error was trying to ram down his throat was not something that would cure either of those ailments – and besides, Error added mentally, with quite some frustration, you can’t touch him, can you?

“wake up.” Error tried, hoarsely, and he coughed into his arm, trying to expel the scratchiness his voice had acquired from disuse, making it barely intelligible. After clearing his throat, he tried again.

“earth to-o-o squid boy, w-wake up.” He said, louder this time.

He sighed, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Ink’s still form, feeling his glitches buzz irritably. Why did the stupid bastard have to go and – quite literally – step on thin ice? If Ink listened, if Ink did what he told him to, none of this would’ve happened-

Ink’s arm moved.

Error blinked down at him, before realising that he’d dropped the packet of monster candies onto his side in his frustration, not having heard the minute rustling noise it’d made. He peered over at Ink’s expression.

Slowly, utterly unlike how Ink had woken up this very morning, life came back to him. His sockets fought their way half-open, and his legs drew up as he attempted to sit up, one of his hands immediately coming up to rest on his neck protectively with a wince, the other gripping the duvet beneath him in an effort to support himself as he shuffled backwards, his spine brushing the headboard with a quiet bump.

His eyelights flicked over to where Error was, and for a moment Error had the sudden fear that somehow Ink remembered everything somehow, that the fall into freezing water had knocked something in his skull back into the correct place again. But after a pregnant pause, Ink blinked again, his eyelights swirling into a question mark and a large yellow dot.

“Error?” Ink asked uncertainly, the smallest of frowns creasing his features. He stared up at Error like he was afraid he wasn’t real, or something. Yet another one of the strange traits Ink had picked up since his severe bout of amnesia that made Error distinctly uncomfortable, for some bizarre reason.

“y-y-you fell th-through the ice.” Error explained bluntly before pointing to the packet of monster candy down at Ink’s side, glancing towards it for extra emphasis. “eat that.”

Ink’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, before shutting a final time as he picked up the bag of monster candy, his eyelights flicking over to the label. A tiny grin formed on his face.

“We’re esteemed guests?” He snorted incredulously, looking up at Error. Error glared at him defensively, and Ink looked back down at the smaller writing, sockets squinting slightly.

“5G is basically all of the money we have-“

“sh-shut up and eat the damn candies.”

For once, Ink nodded and unwrapped one, popping the little lilac sweet into his mouth and chewing. The sweet scent of boiled sugar filled the room, and Error considered the candy he had left in his hand, realising he hadn’t eaten since this morning. He promptly devoured it, the almost nostalgic taste lingering on his tongues, leaving them in silence save for the sound of companionable chewing, Ink quickly making his way through the bag. Error kept an eye on his wrists and neck, and he saw the shallower cuts beginning to fade, but his cervical vertebrae remained distinctly ominous, if a little smaller than before.

Ink held out the bag to him once there were about three left, but Error shook his head. The more Ink ate, the better, and Error had hardly a scratch on him right now. He’d live.

Ink shrugged, mumbling something that sounded like “Suit yourself,” and shoved the last three into his mouth unceremoniously, leaving him with blown-out hamster cheekbones, and Error caught his grin behind one of his hands, averting his eyelights. Although he had noticed that the splotch on Ink’s cheekbone was now its normal size, having lost most of its charcoal addition underwater. Ink also still looked distinctly damp, and Error realised he was too. He eyed the layers of blankets and duvets on the bed, wondering if he could use any as a towel, when Ink spoke again.

“I feel weird.”

Error raised a bony eyebrow, tilting his skull. “w-w-weird how?”

Ink ran a finger across his chest, dragging his elongated phalange across the damp black material of his hoodie, as if considering something. “I don’t… feel sore anymore, but…” He trailed off, his fingers restlessly tapping on his chest, like a smoker searching an empty cigarette box.

Error’s eyesockets widened. Ink wanted his paint. That was why his eyelights still looked dull.

Error’s realisation only brought him more questions, however. He knew almost nothing about what paint Ink drank regularly, how much he needed to drink, which paints meant which emotions and whether or not this was a regular occurrence. He’d never seen Ink so subdued before, and he figured it was his body automatically trying to ration out the emotions he had left, dulling his reactions and movements to conserve the paint that was still in his system. Ink’s vomiting incident on the train probably hadn’t helped either, given that Error was pretty sure that ink was 50% random magic and 50% paint he’d already drank.

He brought a hand to his forehead, trying to think. Ink was always upbeat, right? And… happiness was generally represented by the brighter spectrum of the colour wheel.

“take-e off your hoodie.” Error said, and Ink jolted, but didn’t question it, actually seeming quite relieved to be rid of the sopping black folds of it now. The usual sight of white undershirt and golden bands looping around his chest and shoulders greeted Error, and once Ink wriggled out of the rest, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed, his gloves and sleeves too.

Error knew the response to this would probably be negative, but he tried asking anyways. “d-do you know which paints-s to drink?”

Ink gave him a puzzled look, frowning, eyelights flicking into deep blue and cyan question marks. “…Trust me, they don’t taste nice.” He assured Error gravely, and Error snorted through his nasal ridge, before getting back to the task at hand.

“th-that’s not my problem.” Error replied snippily, before again pointing to the top of his sash, to the first, olive-yellow vial, next to the stub of charcoal and the pencils. The splatter of paint was the worst there, as if that had been the first one Ink had gone for in his previous attempt to drink them. “t-try drinking that one.”

Ink stuck his tongue out at Error, but complied huffily, unhooking the shining glass tube with practiced, almost instinctual ease that had Error wondering what else he remembered how to do. He popped the heart-shaped cork, raised it to his mouth and tipped his head back, drinking the tiniest sip of the paint with a look of disgust before hastily capping it and putting it back, retching. He caught Error’s scrutinising look.

“Y’know, I don’t feel any better…” He remarked, and Error sighed wearily.

“t-try the next one.” He demanded, and Ink let out an exasperated groan, reaching for the next vial. He repeated the process, and then frowned, his eyesockets widening.

“i-ink?” Error asked. Ink didn’t respond, his eyesockets going dark and devoid of his eyelights, his smile stretching eerily wide over his face. Error snapped his fingers in front of him, looking at him concernedly. “snap-p out of it, squid.”

A low sound started in Ink’s throat, and he cocked his head at Error, blank eyesockets owlish and deep, deep black, the sound turning into an almost maniacal giggling as he leaned towards Error a fraction.

“Errorrr…” He cooed between chuckles, in a haunting, sing-song tone, and Error took a step backwards, away from Ink, his soul thudding. What the hell had Ink just drank? Why was he acting like this?

Ink took one step off the bed, advancing towards Error slowly, playfully, his heels dragging on the carpet, his arms up at his sides as if he was reaching for the skeleton in front of him, phalanges curved into little claws. His chuckling grew into smaller, drawling laughs, his skull still tilted mockingly, and he leaned towards Error again, bent over slightly.

“You…” Ink began, sockets seeming cavernous in his face as he regarded him, his voice lowering to a mocking whisper. Error felt his soul thud against his ribcage.

…

“…are so dumb.”

Error blinked, and Ink’s eyelights were back, his grin returning to a cocky, shit-eating smirk, and at Error’s expression Ink went into peals of laughter, throwing himself back on the bed and clutching his nonexistant stomach, his shoulders shaking with how hard he was laughing. Error regained himself quickly, glaring daggers, which did nothing to dissuade the shorter skeleton’s mirth.

“th-that wasn’t funny.” Error barked, which only made Ink laugh harder, drumming his heels on the side of the bed as he wheezed. Eventually he attempted to sit up, still chuckling helplessly, before redirecting his focus to Error, his eyelights a merry yellow and pink, his cheeks faintly flushed rainbow. once an annoying bastard, always an annoying bastard, Error thought.

“Were you worried about me, Error?” Ink cooed between giggles, raising his brow-bones condescendingly at him, and Error could feel his eyelights disappearing as his glitches increased, stepping back towards the bed.

“y-y0u are drinking-g-g all of those-e vials.”

“…Oh, shit-“

Chapter Text

Error awoke the next morning to the sound of chalk.

He grumbled, digging his face into the sheet and pillow he had commandeered on the floor. Last night he’d left Ink with the mattress and blanket, and he’d taken the duvet and the pillow and holed up on the floor, which at the very least felt better than the agonising scrape of his bones against a bench on his first night here. Speaking of which, Ink had only gotten worse since last night – in terms of sleeping, that was. Tossing and turning, murmuring incoherently and getting up in the middle of the night while still unconscious were just some of the many strange things that had happened, not to mention Ink’s initial reluctance to go to sleep in the first place as well.

He blinked his sockets blearily open and sat up against the wall, propping the pillow up behind him as he stared over at the wall, his sleep-addled mind taking a moment to realise just what he was looking at – then his sockets widened.

Ink had dragged the bedside table away from the bed and was standing on it on his tiptoes to reach the ceiling, the tiny nub of charcoal between his phalanges only barely visible between the slats of his blackened hand. On the wall were several incredibly detailed sketches, half-drawn, abstract, ghost drawings of some things that Error vaguely recognised seeing earlier in their journey, as if Ink had tried to recount things he’d seen and become too distracted to concentrate on finishing some of the sketches. Ink was absolutely covered in the stuff he’d used to scrawl this all on the wall, dark black smudges on his cheek bones, forehead, neck, and probably other places too, somehow.

Error blinked again after the initial period of him processing this information ended, and he sat up straight, staring at Ink.

“w-w-what are you doing?” He asked, and Ink’s skull whipped around, forgetting the sketch he was currently working on, bounding over to sit beside Error’s make-shift bed as he almost shook with joy, eyelights fading into every colour under the sun between his rapid blinking, grinning hugely.

“I remembered! I like to draw! I like to… make things!” Ink told Error excitedly, hands twitching like he wanted to hold Error’s own hands in his excitement, but was thinking better of it. “I woke up, and it was just this huge rush of…” Ink thumped his fist against his side as he tried to think of the word. “…Motivation? Yeah, that’s it. So I drew on the label on the candy bag, and then I drew on your clothes, and then-“

“wait a s-s-second. you drew on my…?” Error held up a hand for Ink to stop, to which of course Ink took no notice, babbling on and on while Error tried to make Ink’s sentences compute in his tired mind, tuning Ink’s cheerful voice out. He still had his clothes on, but he’d taken the jacket off to dry, which must’ve meant Ink had drawn on that instead. He sighed in relief, glad that Ink hadn’t been giving him a moustache while he slept at least.

“…so now I remember four things!” Ink was saying now, counting out on his phalanges as he spoke. “I like drawing, I like pancakes, I went to that café with someone, and you’re my friend.” He recounted, beaming, saying the four simple things with such honest sincerity that it made something twinge in Error’s chest. Ink seemed so genuinely happy, just to know those things about himself, practically glowing with joy.

…Error looked past Ink to the affected wall, giving it a once-over again before sighing. There was no way they’d have time to get such thick charcoal out of the wall anytime soon, and by the sound of it, they’d be leaving abruptly anyways. He could hear voices on either side of the room, and he didn’t like the idea of somebody bursting in on a seemingly unreserved room and finding two skeletons squatting.

Error groaned, letting himself fall back against his pile of duvet and pillows on the floor, the idea of facing the day ahead not a particularly tempting one at this point in time. Fortunately (unfortunately) for him, he had the world’s most annoying alarm clock at his side.

“Are you going back to sleep again?”
“Error, is there any more of those candies?”

“…Do you reckon the hand sanitiser in the bedside-table drawer tastes nice?”

Error sat up straight again at that last one. Thankfully the bottle of hand sanitiser had not made it out of the drawer or anywhere near Ink’s mouth. “n-n-no. don’t eat it-t.” Error grunted, before rolling over face-down again, hoping Ink would give him at least two seconds of silence to process things. Error heard the creaking of springs, and then another, and he realised Ink was probably now occupied with using the poor mattress as a trampoline.

Error raked a hand over his sockets to try and force some tiredness out of them. He, again, regretted not asking for more information at the station, or at least picking up a damn map or something so he could tell how big this place was. He could still thankfully remember the Catty’s words, though, which gave him at least a sliver of information. If there was a Newest Snowdin and Newest Ruins, then it wouldn’t be amiss to say there was probably also a Newest Hotland and a Newest Waterfall. He just had to discover which one would lead him to the Core.

He turned his gaze to the snow which was still falling thick and fast outside of the window to their room, and then he looked at Ink again, who seemed to be just as lost in thought as he was upon first glance, but was actually trying to balance the stick of charcoal on the bridge of his nasal ridge. Error coughed, and Ink blinked, losing his focus and dropping the dark nub into his lap before turning his attention to Error.

Error averted his eyelights, suddenly feeling slightly sheepish for some reason. But he brushed it off and spoke anyways.

“s-so. do you know-w how to swim?” Error asked, and Ink shook his head, shrugging.

“Why d’you ask?” Ink questioned curiously, looking slightly bemused. Error wasn’t entirely surprised by his answer – Ink had never really needed to know how to swim, come to think of it.

“well. we’re gonna be walk-ing-g for a-a-another while, a-and i don’t feel-l like dragging you-u from the depths-s again, so i’m gonna make this very clear-r.” Error said, his tone practically daring Ink to stop paying attention or retort something extremely stupid, but to Error’s surprise Ink was silent, eyelights shifting into two question marks, but he allowed Error to keep talking, which Error was grateful for, at least.

“you-u don’t go on the ice-e unless i say you can. don’t-t touch it, don’t go near-r-r it, don’t even think a-about it unless i explicitly told-d you so.” Error paused for a moment to let his words sink in, and Ink nodded, shivering, clearly remembering his previous encounter with the ice. well, Error thought grimly, at least he’s not going anywhere near it again, that’s for sure.

“if-f you do somehow man-age to fall in, for whatever s-s-stupid reason, you need to-o pull yourself out. don’t-t thrash. grab the ledge i-in the hole of ice and drag yourself upwards-s.” Error instructed, making sure Ink was listening with a suspicious narrow of his eyesockets before he continued. “as soon as you-u have a hold, use-“

“-Use my legs to kick until I’m horizontal, then pull myself up and lay my body flat across the ice I was on before to distribute my bodyweight, so that the ice doesn’t break again.”

Error stared at Ink for one beat, then another. Ink’s own eyesockets widened after he processed what had just came out of his mouth – and for a second, his eyelights flashed into a bright, yellow star and a large, soft-blue circle.

…Then he blinked, and the spell was broken. Ink’s eyelights went back to a large triangle and a vibrant orange sun, and he laughed at Error’s expression, sniggering into the palm of his hand as he leaned his skull against it, leaving Error very confused.

“Wooow, I really just took the words right out your mouth, huh?” Ink grinned, looking almost proud of himself, and Error scowled at him, clenching his teeth. The speed at which he could shift emotions left Error reeling slightly, as well as the massive, somehow overshadowed fact that Ink had just finished his sentence. (Not only that, but the way he’d said it felt… off. A slightly flat voice, not exactly a monotone, sounding a tinge stern, as if speaking as a voice of experience. As if somebody else entirely had taken over Ink’s mouth and made him say the words, like a ventriloquist controlling a doll.)

Error forced himself to shake off his unease, glaring over at Ink. “a-a-alright, dumbass, you-u read a book on this or something. big deal.” He rationalised dismissively, turning away to get up off the floor and stretch, though his skull still thumped with the knowledge that Ink did not read. He forced himself to put it out of his mind, instead turning his focus to looking for the jacket that Ink had stolen in the night. It wasn’t far; crumpled in a heap beside where he’d been sleeping, looking for all the world like Ink had carelessly tossed it away after he’d had his fun with it, and he picked it up, examining.

The material was still thick with bloodstains (or ketchup, or both), Ink hadn’t made any move to attempt to get those out, and Error was very grateful for that – he had little to no faith in the artist’s domestic clothes-washing abilities whatsoever. But blooming on the pockets, lower sleeves and hood were a variety of different flowers, springing up across the faded blue material in messy bunches inked in black, each petal carefully softened, each stem painstakingly curved. He knew that Ink was good, of course, but this was different from what he’d usually seen the artist make. Come to think of it; he hadn’t seen Ink drawing very much before this entire ordeal either.

Maybe he’d had… what was it called? Art block? Error wasn’t sure. But he turned back to Ink, shrugging the jacket back over his shoulders, the well-worn material foreign to the touch, and he felt a pang of longing for the jacket he’d had for so long, for the familiar ragged stitching. But nevertheless, maybe the flowers would make him look less threatening.

“…why-y flowers?” He asked, slightly bemused, and Ink cocked his head, grinning.

“Why not?” Ink countered, giving Error an appraising glance. “Everybody likes flowers.”

“consider-r-r me deathly a-allergic.” Error responded, deadpan, and Ink let out a snort, watching Error as he plucked at the strings of the jacket, trying to tighten it to his liking.

“Y’know, it looks good on y-“

“d-do you know what time it is?” Error asked abruptly, not letting Ink finish that sentence. Ink smirked impishly, but shrugged in response, reaching for the sleeves of his now-dry hoodie and winding it around his fingers, pulling taut before releasing it again.

“Dunno. I keep hearing voices from the other rooms though, so…” Ink’s eyesockets widened and his eyelights quick-fired through a few different shapes before he continued. “Oh! Yeah, there was somebody who came to the door asking to clean the room, but I said no.” He beamed at Error immodestly, clearly hoping for validation that this was the correct choice, and Error could only pray that Ink had done what he’d said he had.

“…how-w long were you t-talking to th-em?” asked Error, and the new sense of urgency in his tone made Ink’s bright smile fade a little.

“Can’t remember.” Was Ink’s eloquent response before he conveniently started to put on his hoodie, avoiding making eye contact with Error for all he was worth, and Error sighed, knowing he was beating a dead horse with this one. Ink’s head popped out from the neck of the hoodie, and his grimy phalanges were soon to follow. Ink then started licking the charcoal from his fingers, making Error retch and turn away with a hastily muttered “d-d-don’t throw up,”, but when Ink bobbed up into his line of sight again his phalanges were still spattered with dried paint from his vials, predominantly blue paint. Ink had gagged the most while drinking that one, jerking in disgust and  spilling it all over himself, complaining that it tasted “like turpentine” and then clamming up and refusing to elaborate on how he knew what turpentine tasted like. Eventually, though, he’d swallowed it down, shuddering like somebody was pouring live beetles down his throat.

“Sooo…” Ink looked out the window, and then back at Error expectantly. “Are we leaving?”

Error blinked in surprise, but quickly realised that Ink probably just assumed they were going to be constantly on the move from now on, and he thanked the stars that he hadn’t questioned why.

“Why do we keep going from place to place anyways?”

Shit.

“y-you, uh.” Error blustered, trying frantically to come up with a coherent excuse, before dropping into silence once more, screaming at himself to think of something.

Ink watched him, waiting patiently for once, not a shadow of doubt or uncertainty creeping into his expression, but still Error felt scrutinised, like Ink wasn’t going to believe what he said anyways.

“w-w-well. uh. y-you took us here. so, i thought-t maybe if-f we looked around-d, we might find some… i dunno, clues?” He fumbled, glad that his constant tripping over his words was disguised by the normal flickering radio static that overlayed his voice, and Ink nodded, an oddly satisfied look on his face.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He said smugly, and Error exhaled, trying not to look like Ink had just inadvertently saved his bacon. He placed the flat of his palm on his clavicle, trying to calm the frantic racing of his soul.

Although, why did it matter if Ink knew what his true intentions were or not? He wouldn’t be able to stop him, not in this state. Error could drag him along, kicking and screaming, and Ink would be helpless to stop the Omega Timeline’s inevitable collapse.

…He glanced at Ink, who had his eye sockets glued to the window again, eyelights blurring to a soft grey cloud and an icy-blue raindrop.

Error followed Ink’s gaze, and remembered from last night how difficult it had been to get up to this windowsill. He undid the latch and slid it open again, and was met with an icy gust of air that had him taking a step back and screwing his eyes up, blinking rapidly to dislodge a tiny stray snowflake that had managed to land in his socket. Ink let out a tiny sound that sounded like a badly-disguised chuckle, but one glare from Error shut him up.

Wordlessly – he’d explain it to Ink in a moment – he focused his magic again, and a Gaster Blaster poofed into appearance on the mattress, which Ink blinked at for a moment – before gasping, looking back and forth between Error and the blaster in wonder.

“You can do it too!” Ink exclaimed, before reaching towards the blaster and… petting gently, stroking it down the snout. Error stared incredulously, before letting out a scoff in response.

“o-o-of course i can. most sanses can do-o it.” Error replied with a scoff, before freezing again when Ink turned to look at him, brow-bone creased.

“Sanses?” He questioned, and Error opened his mouth to again, make something up, cursing himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut for two seconds, but Ink was back to lavishing attention on the unresponsive Gaster Blaster, despite his recent attempts being very futile at best, and Error’s mouth shut abruptly. He tilted the floating skull up with one hand and scratched its chin, cooing all the while.

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?! Yes, yes you are!” Ink said, reverting to baby-talk, and Error took in the ridiculousness of the situation for a couple seconds longer before snapping:

“it’s-s not an animal. it’s an attack. it won’t…“ Error broke off as he saw the Gaster Blaster’s sockets close momentarily under Ink’s quick little phalanges, and Ink gave him a smug little “mhmmm” look, the room filling with the sound of bone scratching on bone as he chucked it under the chin one last time before stepping back, looking at Error in confusion.

“Hey, how come yours is so much bigger than mine?” Ink asked, and Error hid a snicker of laughter behind his hand, coughing to disguise the noise before he levelled Ink with a shrug.

“f-f-fuck if i know.” Replied Error gruffly, and Ink huffed, before screwing his sockets up – and there was a loud clang of bone-on-bone as Ink’s blaster collided with Error’s and dropped onto the bed, and Ink let out a cross between an excited squeak and a triumphant “YESS!” as he approached it. Error still wasn’t sure how much magic control Ink had, now that his memories were gone, and Ink didn’t seem to know either.

Ink’s Gaster Blaster, now that Error was looking at it properly, did look a lot more ‘alive’ than Error’s one did. Dark brown, almost the exact same shade as Ink’s trousers, and bright red eyelights that followed the smaller skeleton’s movements, dilating slightly when Ink all but threw himself onto its snout, petting its horns and forehead, crooning. Error looked at his stiff, practically frozen Gaster Blaster in turn, and tried to imagine doing that to one of his.

Ink’s blaster tipped up suddenly, leaving Ink clinging to the horns for support as he scrabbled to reposition, straddling the top of it like it was a horse, and smiling from (nonexistant) ear-to-ear down at Error, his expression tinged with pride. Error grunted scornfully, but he didn’t say anything. If getting atop a Gaster Blaster and making himself look even tinier than before was a point of achievement for Ink, then he wasn’t going to judge.

With a flick of his wrist, his Gaster Blaster floated down to greet him, and he suddenly became aware of space. The hotel room they were in was by no means tiny, but it was starting to feel that way from two large blasters cluttering up the bed and commandeering most of the floor at this point. Then he looked at the window, and realised they were probably not getting out the way they came.

“How’d we even get up here?” questioned Ink, making his Gaster Blaster dip down beside Error’s, the poor abused mattress creaking in relief as the large skull dropped off it.

“i-i had to shove-e-e you in that.” Error explained bluntly, giving his blaster a kick with the scuffed-up tip of his sandal, and Ink made an inquisitive ‘mmm’ sound in response, before sliding off of his own blaster and abruptly wrenching the jaws open, causing a large beam of energy to build up.

“w-w-wait!” Error shrieked, but it was already too late, and there was a loud bang as the window became a large, smouldering hole in the wall in under a second. Error felt plaster crumbling off of the roof and onto his temple, and he coughed at the amount of smoke that had gathered in response to the close proximity and the intensity of the blast, although it was already beginning to trickle out of the hole in the wall at an alarming rate, and Error could feel his glitches increasing. When he’d decided to illegally stay at this hotel for the night, mass property damage and making this side of the inn look like a giant boiling kettle were not one of the things he’d had planned.

Ink stood silently at his side for a few moments, his hands clamped firmly around the Gaster Blaster’s muzzle, his face even more soot-stained with a combination of charcoal and smoke.

“Uhh… well I guess the window isn’t a problem anymore, right?” Ink said weakly, his sentence punctuated by a perfectly-timed guilty, awkward chuckle, avoiding Error’s eyes.

__________________________________________________________________

 Error hit the ground after his blaster tipped him off unceremoniously into the snow, and he got up quickly, brushing icy flecks of the stuff from his jacket as Ink landed neatly on two feet next to him, his Gaster Blaster disappearing in turn – but not before Ink gave it another affectionate scratch behind the horns. Error turned to Ink, with another muttered “k-keep that thing under control,” before stepping out purposefully. The sun was bright, high in the sky and shining over the snow until it glittered, and Ink let out a quiet hum as he followed Error, clearly revelling in the fact that the snow was cleared here and that he could actually walk without having to play leapfrog over a bunch of Error’s footsteps.

Error was eager to get away from the room – after all, deserted as the outside of this place was right now save for a couple of monsters glued to their phones, it wouldn’t be hard to piece two obvious Sans variants and a massive crack in the side of the hotel together. And he had been correct in that observation. After two minutes of Ink complaining as they waited behind the stray lamppost that was placed mostly decoratively outside of the hotel, there was muffled shouting and then not-so-muffled yelling as a formidable-looking Felled Grillby variant in a deep purple waistcoat dragged a humbled-looking Doggo outside by the scruff, and then threw him face-down into the snow, the monster’s suitcase spilling all of its contents onto the ground. The Doggo got up with as much dignity as he could muster, and threw his clearly uniform-regulated cap into the snow, leaving his suitcase behind as he lit a dog treat and marched off with it clamped between his fangs.

Error’s wide grin at having gotten away with it narrowed to a grimace as he saw Ink darting out from behind the lamppost and snagging the shiny brown suitcase before slinking back to Error, lugging it easily. Error sometimes forgot that since Ink lifted his large broom everywhere without breaking a sweat, this also applied to other large objects as well. He still looked extremely stupid as he stalked over the snow with it clasped under his arm, before offering it to Error with a flourish as if it was a bouquet of flowers. Error briefly questioned why Ink’s first instinct was to take the abandoned case (if it was him trying to appease Error for the incident back at the room, then it wasn’t working.)

“I saw G in it.” Was the only thing Ink had to say before Error dropped his scowl and reached eagerly for the case, grunting slightly under the weight of it as he flipped it open. He wrinkled his nasal ridge at the clinging aroma of wet canine and dog treats, but his eyelights flicked to the glimmering gold coins he knew so well immediately, and he carefully eased it out of the compartment. It wasn’t much, the Doggo wouldn’t have been so stupid as to leave a large amount of money behind, even in his apparent frustration, but it made Error feel a little more secure as he slipped it into his front pocket with the rest of it.

Error briefly scoured the rest of the case for anything else that might be remotely useful before Ink peeked over the top of it, letting out a sound of distaste as he smelt the state of it as well. Ink snatched up the thin cardboard box of dog treats before Error could, and examined it briefly, frowning in disappointment.

“We don’t have-“

“w-we don’t-t have a lighter.” Error agreed, and Ink shrugged, pocketing the light-purple box anyways, his attention flicking back to the case. It was mostly just spare clothes and other useless things, but Ink’s hand darted out between them occasionally, stuffing random things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his hoodie until there were faint protrusions pressing up against the inside of the black fabric.

Error eventually put a stop to this, knowing Ink would probably hoard everything in this suitcase if he kept it open much longer, and Ink huffed but inched his phalanges out of the way so they wouldn’t be crushed under the brim of the lid. Before Error could completely shut it, though, something dropped out of the case and onto the ground with a muffled thump, and Ink looked down, picking it up.

“…Shoes?” Ink asked incredulously, tilting the shiny brown boot back and forth so that it caught the light, and he glanced up at Error, one eyelight flicking into what looked like a paw-print. “How does a dog wear shoes?”

Error shrugged, eyeing Ink’s still-bare feet and then the shoes in turn. “try-y them on.” He ordered, and Ink looked up at him in surprise before abruptly plonking himself down in the snow with a shrug.

“s-s-stand up while you do it, stupid.” Error admonished, and Ink sighed before leaning his weight on the lamppost, his spine flush with the metal pole. He lifted one foot up like a stork and slipped the shoe on – and then his face screwed up, as if he was uncomfortable.

“I don’t like it.” He proclaimed, and Error exhaled heavily. Had this squid always been so fussy, or was this just an unfortunate series of events?

“i-i don’t like you shiver-ing and sounding like a stars-d-d-damned xylophone, so shut up-p and put the stupid-d shoes on.”

“I do not sound like a ‘stars-damned xylophone’! And the shoes are all stiff! What if…” Ink flicked his eyelights about, clearly searching for an excuse. “What if I get an infection!” He nodded triumphantly at Error, and Error flicked his eyelights down to the shoes dismissively.

“they’re h-hardly worn. s-stop acting like a babybones and-d get your-r feet in those shoes before-“

Error cut himself off mid-tirade, sighing and lowering his brows irritably. “you know-w what? you can f-f-freeze to death. i don’t care.”

“Fine!” Ink retorted, and abruptly chucked the shoe off his foot, before taking two light steps forward so he was at Error’s side once more, almost in a skipping motion. He peered around over the slightly bumpier terrain, sockets owlishly wide. Error was also noting that the place they were in just now was more hill-like, resembling more of a frozen desert than the endless path of flat, solid, frozen ground before.

Ink, not bearing any grudges - or perhaps he’d just forgotten – turned to Error, shoving the trailing sleeves of his hoodie up so he could plant his hands on his hips. “Where to?” He asked cheerfully, looking up at Error in anticipation. Error almost felt a little bad when he realised that he had no idea, and that his only logical plan of action was to keep on walking doggedly. He shrugged, making a vague gesture with his hand as if he had it all figured out and that Ink was supposed to know what that meant, and set off walking away from the lamppost.

Error glanced down at Ink, an annoying niggling sensation in the back of his skull that he was supposed to have done something. He put a hand up to his face, and then realised his cheek bones were smooth – there was no charcoal smeared on. It had been washed off by the snow, or the water from the lake, or both. He held his hand out to Ink with a grunt of “ch-charcoal.”

Ink gave him a puzzled look before his face lit up in recognition and he reached underneath his hoodie, scrabbling in his bandolier before he found it and taking it out. However, instead of simply handing Error the charcoal, he fixed him with a strangely beseeching look.

“Can I do it?” Ink asked, and Error raised a brow at him, searching for a badly-hidden smirk or creased-up eyesockets in his expression, but when he found neither he shook his head firmly, realising Ink was serious. Why the shorter skeleton wanted to do something so mundane Error didn’t know, but it still didn’t offset his unease.

“Please? I won’t even touch you! It’ll just be the end of the charcoal. Here,” Ink rummaged under his hoodie again before he triumphantly pulled out another, longer stick of the chalky black stuff which was about as long as one of Ink’s phalanges, which was admittedly better than the original crumb of dust that the previous charcoal had became under Ink’s use of it last night. “I’ll use this one.”

Error sighed. Maybe he was too tired to argue further, or maybe too annoyed after their previous pointless one, or maybe he just wanted to get a move on – he himself didn’t even know. But, begrudgingly, he nodded, and leaned down towards Ink fractionally. Ink’s grin widened, and he chirped out something that sounded like a “Thankyou!” as he leaned towards Error.

“m-make it quick.” Error grumbled, and Ink nodded in a flippant sort of way as he switched the charcoal to his left hand – his drawing one, Error noticed. Ink looked like he wanted to cup Error’s cheek so he could angle him down farther, by the way his rightmost hand twitched, but Ink improvised by simply leaning up further, straining on his tiptoes.

Close. Ink was really close to him. Ink’s sockets were narrowed in concentration, and he stuck to his word – the only contact Error felt was the gentle press of the charcoal beneath his eyesocket, but even that made him suck in a breath. He felt his glitches flare up almost painfully on his skull, which was a welcome distraction from Ink’s face so near to his – and to his bewilderment and regret, they decisively settled as Ink almost tentatively drew the black stick down his cheekbone, leaving him with no choice but to focus on what the smaller skeleton was doing. Ink’s tongue peaked out from between his teeth, a flash of colour amongst the bright white fangs of his canines, catching the light and gleaming prismatically under the sunlight.

…Error had never noticed before, but Ink’s cheekbones were speckled with something like freckles, that he was only seeing now, under the stark white glow of the sun. Tiny little dots, so pale they almost blended in with his cheekbones, but as Ink tilted his skull there was a tiny flash as the flecks all flashed like opals, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where Ink looked as if somebody had painted the stars underneath his eyesockets, Error’s eyelights glued to Ink’s face. He barely felt the pressure on his face increasing as Ink leaned impossibly closer, brow lowering in fierce concentration, Error’s soul thudding at the prospect of touch yet also, strangely, Error wondered what would happen if Ink just brushed his clavicle against Error’s. Or, maybe he’d reach up and-

“Done!”

Error blinked as Ink stepped away, pocketing the charcoal and looking up at Error’s cheekbones with a brow lifted.

“I mean, I’d say I did a good job, but your face is so blue it’s showing through the charcoal.” Ink remarked, with an almost gleeful lift to his tone as Error put a hand to his cheekbone – and then hastily pulled it away, remembering that there was still gritty black dust all over it. But he could feel the magic there, feel the heat of his face, and his eyes widened.

“it-t-t’s just cold-d out here, idiot. and any-y moron can smear-r coal on s-s-someb0dy’s face.” Error snapped, the strange trance he’d been in disappearing as he took in Ink’s smug grin, lifting up the hood of his jacket and pulling it over his skull to hide his face from Ink as he made to tug him along punishingly – only to grasp thin air. Too slowly, he realised he hadn’t tied Ink up again – but putting their hands in close proximity seemed a lot more daunting than before, so he simply marched off, cheekbones flushing even further. Even the rapid, embarrassed beat of his soul wasn’t enough to drown out Ink’s cackling voice as he skipped along in the snow behind him.

“Youuu look like an Echoflower-“

“sh-shut u-p!” Error ground out, and Ink fell silent, content to just stare at him off-puttingly until Error’s cheekbones felt hotter than the surface of a Hotland vent. Distantly, Error wondered how Ink knew what an Echoflower was, but he just put it down to him having overheard it in passing conversation or something.

He felt… strangely shaken. He’d never had thoughts like that before, for as long as he could remember. The very notion of touch should disgust him. And to an extent, it still did. So why had it seemed so… not-disgusting, in that moment?

But he couldn’t even fool himself. Touching somebody, even if he could pretend it wouldn’t hurt beforehand, always came with pain. Bright, hot sensation that stabbed at his (nonexistant) nerves, forcing him to pull away or destroy the source of the unwanted contact. The only time he could touch people was fleeting moments in dreams or nightmares, the sort that left him clinging to the beanbag below him, either in despair or in relief that the human monster wasn’t there anymore, and he was alone.

He always was.

“Hey, look!”

Error blinked, turning to see where Ink was, before following the point of his finger and tilting his head. Amongst the curve and dip of the small snowy hills, there seemed to be… one lone Nice Cream stand nestled in amongst them. It looked just like your average one, except Error couldn’t understand for the life of him why you would put your Nice Cream business here instead of… literally anywhere else.

Error turned back to Ink, tilting his head. “what-t about it?”

“Can I get one?”

“n-no.”

“…I won’t bring up the charcoal incident ever again.”

“th-there was no ‘incident.’ and y-you’ll forget-t anyways.”

“Will I?”

Error narrowed his eyesockets at Ink’s tone, and Ink stared back innocently, blinking wide sockets, his eyelights flipping into two exclamation marks – and then, unnervingly, a bright orange triangle and a blue square, the exact same shade as Error’s magic. Error knew that Ink couldn’t make his eyelights do things, but sometimes he didn’t even have to use his big mouth. He just needed to gaze at him with those round sockets to make it perfectly clear what he thought.

And so, Error glared at him all the while even as he stomped up to the Nice Cream vendor, who had been playing with the scarlet strap of his suspender before jolting and clicking it back into place once he saw Error, his once-floppy ears going rigid with surprise. (Needless to say, Error’s worries of being recognised vanished.) But, to his credit, he put on a decent-enough smile and asked: “Hello! Would you like some Nice Cream? It’s the-“

Error nodded, cutting him off, counting out 15G and placing it on the cart. The bunny monster gave him a strange look for a moment, clearly wondering why he hadn’t just placed the money in his hand (or why he hadn’t let him finish his customer-service spiel about ‘the frozen treat that warms your heart’ which Error had heard about a thousand times over hundreds of different timelines). But he still smiled and said ‘Thank you!’ as he reached into the cart and placed two Nice Creams onto the metal top of the cart, probably sensing from Error’s stiff detachment that he didn’t want to be touched.

“i-i only paid for one.” Error said before he could think better of it, and cursed himself for saying it, knowing he could’ve walked away with two for the price of one if he’d just kept his mouth shut. But the Nice Cream vendor just gave him a smile.

“It’s on the house.” He said, looking down at Ink, who, unlike Error, could actually smile without looking like a psychopath, and beamed at the Nice Cream vendor, who clearly lost himself in Ink’s dimpled cheekbones like most people did when he grinned at them.

Error gave a grunt of acknowledgement and moved on, expecting Ink to trail after him, but to his surprise – and annoyance – Ink stayed where he was, seeming to have struck up a conversation with the Nice Cream guy.

“…and that train is so weird, right? Why did they make it so that there’s only one one-way station? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah! There’s no reason why… wait, do you know where Hotland is?” Ink was asking, and the vendor shook his head, gaze darting almost nervously towards Error as he re-approached, about to tell Ink to move on and stop harassing this poor vendor in case he thought he was angling for another Nice Cream, but then stopped when he actually processed what they were talking about.

“Snowdin’s caught in the divide between Hotland and Waterfall. If you keep walking, you won’t be able to miss it.” The Nice Cream vendor sighed resignedly, ears drooping. “I know what you’re thinking. Why do a stall here when there’s more people so close?” The Nice Cream guy’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Ink leaned closer to hear better, even though he still wasn’t talking very quietly.

“…Silk’s taken over the entirety of Hotland. And she’s capitalised on almost every food people used to make money off of. Nice cream, Cinna Bunnies, Water Sausages, you name it, she can serve you it at that diner she owns.” The rabbit monster sighed, his ears drooping even further if that was possible, along with his eyebrows.

“Who’s Silk?” Ink asked curiously, and the Nice Cream vendor looked taken aback.

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard of her. She’s a Muffet variant, but if you say that loud enough for her to hear she turns you into something to serve on the menu.” The rabbit monster said grimly, shaking his head. “Rumour has it that her ‘Asgore Apple Tarts’ aren’t just made of apples. And if anybody so much as tries to sell food in Hotland then she’ll personally ensure they don’t even have hands, paws, hooves or fins to make food with. Core only allows it because they know they need somebody to keep charge in Newest Hotland, but Silk really is the worst.”

Error blinked his sockets for a moment, his next question on the tips of his tongues, but Ink beat him to it. “What’s the diner like?” Ink questioned further, his own tone still bright in comparison to the despair that was steadily creeping into the bunny monster’s one, and the Nice Cream vendor started, before giving them both suspicious looks – but especially Ink, which was a change.

“You two are spies, aren’t you? Silk sent you, didn’t she!?” The bunny exclaimed, eyes widening in terror. He jabbed an accusatory finger into Ink’s chest, leaning further forward over the cart. “Tell her I have a perfect right to sell whatever I want. Snowdin is not her territory, and if Core gets wind of the fact that she’s sending scouts out here they’ll close down the diner entirely. Got that?” He turned an accusatory look towards Error, who had been mostly silent throughout this conversation – and still was now. “I said, got that, Pixels?” He snapped, moving to jab a finger into Error’s clavicle as well.

Like lightning, Ink’s own hand streaked out and sealed around the bunny’s wrist, his phalanges digging into the soft blue fur as he twisted it painfully. “Error doesn’t like touching.” Ink explained in an equally light tone, before releasing the Nice Cream vendor’s arm after one last painful twist, smiling cheerfully at him. The rabbit monster stared at them both, eyes wide, before throwing his hands up in exasperation as Error began to walk away again – and thankfully, this time, Ink obediently trotted after him.

Error was so shocked at the turn of events that he didn’t even fully process that Ink hadn’t used a fake name for him, and even then he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly angry, still staring at the snow with wide sockets as he walked.

It wasn’t until he heard “Goddamned psychopaths!” behind him that he found his voice, turning back around and stopping for a moment. Usually, he’d have killed somebody for saying that to him, but he just fixed the vendor with a wry smile.

“i-i don’t think silk will-l-l like that.” Error called, holding back laughter as he saw the anger dissipating from the Nice Cream guy’s face in place of shocked horror, and Ink let out a cackle before smothering it with his hand.

The moment the Nice Cream stall was out of sight, Error bent over, hands on his knees, and Ink’s higher, yelping laughs mixed with his glitched distorted ones as they both tried and failed to make coherent sentences.

“Did you see his face!”

“a-a-and the way-y he looked-d at you when-“

“Oh my stars, he thought he was gonna die!”

Tears formed in Ink’s sockets as he howled, falling on his ass in the snow and only making both of them laugh harder, Ink’s fist thumping against the ground as he attempted to breathe through the laughter, making strange hiccupping noises leave his teeth, and Error gave one last final snort before he remembered what they’d even gone to the stall for in the first place.

“…h-here.” He spluttered between the remainder of his laughter, and Ink wiped his arm across his sockets, still feebly giggling even as he unwrapped his Nice Cream. Error did the same, checking the wrapper before he shoved it in his mouth despite himself, crouching down in the snow and holding it up to the light so he could see better.

“…y-you’re just great.” Error read aloud, and Ink blinked over at him.

“You’re great too!” Ink replied, grinning, and Error frowned before he realised that Ink didn’t know he was reading it from the wrapper.

“…the-e nice cream. t-that’s wh-at it says-s on the wrapper.”

“Oh.”

“…We should probably get to Hotland soon, right?”

“…y-yeah. right.”

Ink hauled himself to his feet, licking his Nice Cream daintily, before glancing back at Error, eyelights a star and a blue-and-yellow square. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin.

“I still mean it.”

Error, burying his face in the matted fur of his hood and occupying his mouth with his own Nice Cream, had a distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about Hotland.

Chapter Text

Error didn’t need to tell Ink when they reached Newest Hotland, because they felt it before they saw it, in the way the frigid ground turns to slush around their feet and reveals glimmers of long-dead grass previously hidden by the frost, in the way both of their Nice Creams began to melt and drip steadily onto Ink’s hands and the cuffs of his sleeves until Error threatened to take it away.

But they did see it eventually, after a series of grumbled curses and whines from both skeletons. And when they do see it, it’s a sight to behold.

Ordinarily, Hotland was home to many things – The Lab, The CORE, and many generations of Royal Scientists’ successful (and not so successful) inventions. It was one of the most important places in the original timeline, and clearly, here, it still upholds that reputation. There wasn’t any bright, cheery (if slightly garish) sign proclaiming the name of this place, but it was unmistakeable.

They were face to face with a spiralling network of conveyors, all placed on dirty rust-coloured ‘roads’ and have several monsters crammed onto them at once, with impossibly thin constructs below them that eventually go farther than Error’s sockets can see, down into the abyss below. There were bridges free of conveyors that are packed full of people simply walking and talking to one another, and they intertwined, some going in graceful loops around each other and some so very nearly completely interconnected that people going in opposite directions bumped haphazardly into each other.

Error blinked down at the space below them, stepping out onto one of these bridges experimentally, and his sockets widened at the blast of heat. It wasn’t just empty space below these things. There was bright, hot lava, absolutely unmistakeable, nearly an entire lake of it below all of these rocky passages, some of the blazing orangey-red liquid dripping slowly down from carefully designed crevices, creating waterfalls that people were stopping to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at as they walked by.

Error was relieved to see that it was not only him and Ink who looked a little out of place – there seemed to be tourists here, too, and not just local residents like there had been in Snowdin. Which Error supposed was to be expected, after all; Snowdin had never been the place that attracted the most people from other parts of the Underground. It had always been Hotland that was fresh and new and exciting.

However, this new exciting place seemed to have made what little self-preservation skills Ink might have developed disappear, because the moment Error snaps himself out of his daze Ink is clinging to the side of the already-unsteady bridge and attempting to lever himself down towards the lava, his eyesockets squinted in concentration, and it took not one, but two particularly loud coughs to get him to stop tempting death and back away from the edge.

“you-u don’t touch the lava.”

“I know, I was just looking!”

“l-looking leads to th-third degree-e-e burns. keep-p walking.”

Ink huffed, folding his arms across his chest, but did so begrudgingly, though he looked at the edge of the bridge longingly as he moved back to Error’s side, eyeing the steam vents and the brightly coloured arrows pasted onto them.

“you also don’t-“

“Yep, yep, I get the memo. Don’t touch anything.”

Error exhaled through his nasal ridge, but decided to drop it for now. The bridge they were on was actually near the middle of all this chaos, and he could see the gentle sway of the ones above them as people walked across. He silently thanked the stars that there wasn’t any way two skeleton monsters could make the bridges creak and groan – even with all Ink’s additionally stolen things from the suitcase, they were virtually silent as they walked across.

Ink fell into step with him, fanning his face. He made to move his hand down to the hem of his hoodie, but Error gave him a warning look, and Ink sighed and tugged his hood further down his face. Error was too hot as well, he understood the feeling, but one glance at the amount of people surrounding him made him feel cold at the feeling of exposing that much of Ink’s original outfit. He flipped his own hood up, the matted fluff sticking to his sweaty zygomatic, and tried to figure out where they’d be going next.

There was a group of monsters approaching slowly from the other side of the bridge, as well as a large circular metal beam that a couple monsters were pressed against the sides of to let people pass. Error beckoned Ink to move over towards them, and Ink did so for a moment – before letting out a yelp and standing on his tiptoes, keeping his heels away from the hot metal.

“i t-told you to put those shoes-s-s on.” Error hissed through gritted teeth, keeping his voice quiet because people were still walking by, and Ink glared stubbornly at him, eyelights flashing yellow every time he shifted and more of his foot brushed against the platform, like he was being given an electric shock.

The second the barrage of people passed, Ink leapt to the other side of the bridge and leaned against one of the sides, sighing in relief and curling his feet inward against the less-hot material. Error rolled his eyes toward the cavernous ceiling, but kept walking, noting an elevator at the end of the platform, looking more like a frying pan than anything else in this sweltering heat. The shiny metal was warped, wavering up and down in his vision, and come to think of it, Error couldn’t recall when he’d last been in one of these.

Ink looked interested, but as they finally reached it, scattering red stones in their path, it went up again – and Error frowned incredulously at the quickly-disappearing silver box, but as soon as he opened his mouth to complain to Ink it was shooting back down again, as if it was never gone in the first place.

The doors opened, and a couple people peeled out from it, not giving Ink nor Error a second glance as they fanned their faces. But the two monsters squeezing out did absolutely nothing to impact the amount of people that were still uncomfortably crammed in there, making it seem impossibly hotter even in this heat, and Error wrinkled his nose at the undeniable scent of sweat that was coming directly from there. Ink looked at him imploringly, but Error just shook his head.

“we’ll-l get it later.” He said, unsure if he was telling Ink that or telling himself that. “once it’s less full.”

Ink looked up at the criss-crossing sections of bridge above their heads, heaving with people, and then glanced at Error doubtfully, but he trotted to the side, kicking some of the orange grit off of the ground and into the lava below, where it sizzled and popped ominously. The bottoms of Ink’s feet were starting to grow slowly orange, and suddenly Error was very aware of how dishevelled they both were. He thanked the stars that skeleton monsters didn’t need to worry about hair or fur or oily skin, because otherwise they’d be getting many more dubious looks right now.

Error lifted the flowery cuff of one of the frayed sleeves of his jacket, sniffing tentatively, and immediately regretted it. There was an old, unforgettable coppery stench in it that was definitely dried blood, and mixed with a whiff of rotten tomatoes, then adding a hint of dust, it was off-putting at best, and disgusting at worst. Error didn’t know how he’d tricked himself into thinking otherwise. Maybe it was the new flowery exterior of the jacket that allowed himself to think it might smell how it looked?

A new anxiety bubbled up in him. If they were going to Silk’s – which they were, because Error had no other plans – would they even be allowed in? It sounded formidable, based on what the Nice Cream vendor had told them, and he was entirely unsure of the standards or even dress codes there.

And he’d said that Silk had a connection to Core? Surely there was no way they’d be able to get in without being recognised, not with Ink’s barely-disguised outfit. And the only thing Error had done to disguise was flip his hood up and smear charcoal on his face. His glitches still ran rampant, and Ink’s eyelights still flashed and sparkled within his deep black sockets. They were regrettably unmistakeable to anybody who knew who looked at them for longer than a few seconds.

The elevator shot back down again, jolting Error out of his thoughts, and the doors opened once more. More people got out this time, but he realised with despair that there weren’t just people trickling out, there was also a steady stream of people getting in. Ink gave him another pointed look, but Error shook his head rapidly. There was no way he was getting in there now, not when everybody was packed like sardines against the hot silvery walls.

The metal box was up and away again as soon as the people had filed into the uncomfortably cramped space, and Ink threw his hands up in frustration.

“What are you waiting for?” He demanded, and Error felt his socket twitch.

“it-t’s too crowded in there. we’ll get-t the next one.”

“That’s what you said last time. I don’t think it’s getting any less crowded up there.” Ink retorted, folding his arms over his chest and stepping closer to Error, almost confrontationally. Error glared and refused to take a step back, knowing that if he did it’d seem stupid. “You’re just scared.” Ink crowed. Annoyingly and strangely enough, for somebody that had very low levels of empathy, Ink could be oddly perceptive to other people’s emotions sometimes.

Error bristled. “i-i-i am not scared. i just don’t want-t to smell-l like an armpit.”

“You are too.”

“a-am not.”

“Are too.”

“a-m not.”

“Am not.”

“are too… wait.”

Error scowled down at Ink’s smug face, his rainbow-tinted tongue peaking out from between his teeth, before his brows un-furrowed, his eyesockets widening fractionally.

“you’re trying-g to distract me.” He said accusingly, and he realised with a start that he’d unintentionally edged closer to the edge of the bridge while he was talking to Ink, and now the elevator was zooming down, making the folds of Ink’s hoodie whip wildly before they settled. Ink gave him a shit-eating grin.

“Yep. And it’s working.” He agreed easily, and cast an intentionally casual glance behind them, where monsters were rather impatiently waiting to get into the elevator. Ink and Error were stood at the front.

“i hate you.” Error said through gritted teeth, taking a deep breath and vowing to get back at Ink for this as he stepped over the threshold of the sliding doors and into the jam-packed elevator.

He’d been right about the smell and the heat – despite a clearly overworked fan whirring away in the ceiling of the elevator a couple feet above Error’s head, which did fuck-all to prevent the entire place from smelling like skin lotion and BO as Error drew his hood up tight and balled his fingers inside the sleeves of his jacket to prevent any direct contact with anybody. Beside him was an Alphys carrying a Mew Mew lilo float absolutely shamelessly, a Bratty and a Catty who were giggling as Ink slotted in beside them, and there was some sort of Tsunderplane behind him who was ejecting warm puffs of steam onto him from its jets, which felt uncomfortably like somebody with a huge mouth was breathing on his spine.

Error felt his back go ramrod straight, his eyes firmly forward and fixed on the wall – if he actually processed this situation he’d fall apart, and it already felt like there was a fist closed around his soul and squeezing tightly, making his breathing shallow. Ink seemed oblivious to this.

“You were right. It does smell in here.” Ink whispered loudly, earning another fresh round of giggles from the Bratty and Catty he was standing next to, and he grinned widely at them, before his eyelights flicked back to Error.

“See that float thing-y?” Ink said again, not even bothering to keep his voice down, and the Alphys next to them blushed bright orange, blossoming over her electric-yellow scales. “I feel like I know that character. What’s their name?”

Error barely took in any of Ink’s sentence, let alone realise that Ink was talking to him, his gaze fixed entirely on the metal wall.

“Error?” Ink piped up once more, but his voice sounded faraway, muffled. Error’s skull felt leaden and heavy, and his bones prickled and itched, like somebody was trying and failing to strike a match on him, leaving an awfully gritty sensation. He was used to glitching, but not this intense, where it felt less like annoying bees buzzing around him – no, this felt like he’d provoked a hornet nest.

A slightly staggered “h-huh?” left his teeth in response to Ink, and Ink shoved his way past the Alphys so he was standing in front of Error once more, a chorus of annoyed grumbles sounding in his wake, but Error couldn’t focus on Ink possibly attracting too much attention. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything at all except the marrow-deep, painful itchiness that had settled itself in his bones.

“Error? Hellloooo?” Ink waved a hand in front of his face, and Error had to fight to keep himself still, the close proximity making his phalanges curl tighter in the soft, worn fabric of his jacket. He wanted nothing more than to tear up this entire elevator, to swear and curse and kick the mangled metal once he was done.

Then the elevator was stopping and people were clamouring to get out and there were elbows brushing his sides, scaly, fluffy, feathery limbs pushing against him, a writhing hot mass that made him choke on a small, strangled sound, allowing himself to be carried away by the river of people – and as soon as he was free of the crowd, he blindly ran across the bridge, his hands in his sleeves, head held down, liquid leaking salty and thick from the edges of his sockets, creating muddy rivers with the charcoal. But he was too hot, everything was too hot, he was going to-

Ink was standing in front of him. Dazedly, he couldn’t remember when he’d gotten there. Ink peered up at him, eyesockets narrowed in confusion. Then they widened again, and Ink’s left eyelight became a softer kind of blue, one that might have spelled regret or realisation.

“…Are you okay?” Ink asked, somewhat foolishly. Error more saw his mouth make the movements for those words than he heard them.

“fucking-g-g brilliant.” Error gasped, and Ink reached out towards him, making Error jerk instinctively. Ink’s hand wavered in midair, and he looked up at Error helplessly, clearly unsure of what to do. The fish-out-of-water expression might have made Error laugh if his soul wasn’t thrumming an inhuman staccato against his ribs.

Ink looked at him again, clearly growing more desperate, and muttered something that looked like “Stars, I’m awful at this.”

Then, something in his expression shifted.

…Slowly, Ink let out a breath, and gently, inexpertly placed his palm against the one that was outstretched, and his fingers thrummed against each other once, probably an act of nervousness more than anything – but Error’s eyelights honed in on the movement, and Ink definitely noticed, if the quick, blurry transition of shapes in his sockets was anything to go by.

Ink hesitated, stiffening slightly, before he tapped a steady beat against his own palm, his phalanges moving intermittently, and Error was confused momentarily before Ink switched the rhythm to something slightly slower, alternating patterns, and the noise got louder. It wasn’t loud enough to drown out the roaring white noise in his skull, of course, but he tried to focus anyway, on the steady, sure beat Ink was drumming with his fingers.

“Close your eyes.” Ink said quietly, and Error tried his best to obey, shutting out the red-hot closeness of his surroundings and trying to let the tapping noise fill his skull instead of the watery, numbing one, and Ink slowed his rhythm. He moved his hands out of where they were clenched into tight fists in his sleeves, and tried to follow along, the pressure of his own hand grounding against his femur.

The absurdity of this situation hit Error as soon as he was able to think clearly again, and he wheezed out a laugh, his breath shaky – but nowhere near as shallow as it had been. He opened his eyes again, and Ink peered at him, looking mildly concerned.

“h-how did you…?” Error’s voice came out scratchy, but Ink still seemed to get the gist of what he was saying, his skull tilting in consideration before he spoke.

“He used to get panic attacks a lot.”

“…w-who?” Error asked, frowning, and a crease between Ink’s eyesockets formed as his own bone-brows knitted together. “and what-t? who-o the hell said i-i was hav-ing a panic-c attack.”

Ink gave him a strange look. “Of course you were having a panic attack.” He said bluntly, and Error scowled at the fact that Ink had realised something far sooner than he had. Ink carried on, oblivious. “Aaand, uh, I can’t remember who it was.” Ink shook his head, as if he was physically attempting to shake himself out of some sort of daze, eyelights forming a triangle and a green ink-splotch when he met Error’s eyes again. “I… I used to put my hands on his shoulders and breathe really loud, so he could match my pace. He was taller than me.” He grinned at Error, somewhat sheepishly, and Error felt something tight unwinding in his chest. “But I dunno, just had a hunch that the same method miiight not have worked for you.”

Error managed a half-laugh, half-scoff at that, letting out one heavy, longer exhale. He eyed Ink curiously, who was still hovering in front of him, eyelights glued somewhat worriedly to his chest, as if Error was a ticking time bomb and he’d only managed to put out the fuse temporarily.

“w-what did he look like?” Error asked, suddenly. He needed wanted to distract himself from the whole other group of anxieties he’d brought on himself in the last five minutes, and he desperately wanted Ink to keep talking, loud and sunny and obnoxious enough to drive the worries out of his skull.

Ink brought a hand up to his chin, tapping again. His eyelights swirled indecisively between blinks as his nasal ridge wrinkled. “It’s all… hazy. He was a skeleton too, I think.” He paused for a moment, before his sockets lit up, eyelights like small stars. “Oh! What did you call it? Sanses? I think he was one of those, like me.” He shrugged, casting his gaze to the side. “But… not like me at all, you know?”

Error nodded, and then his sockets widened, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been tipped over his skull. What was he doing? Reminding Ink of people he used to know wasn’t going to do him any good. If he started theorising and Error let something, anything slip about the Multiverse or the people Ink used to know, then who was to say it wouldn’t all come flooding back?

He let out another deep breath, placing his hand on his forehead. He’d already screwed up this entire ordeal so badly, but he could at least refrain from ruining his entire plan along with it.

“…th-thanks.” He mumbled under his breath, and Ink propped one hand on his hip, waving his other hand dismissively.

“Oh, please. Was the least I could do, since I dragged you in there in the first place.” Ink replied cheerfully. It wasn’t an apology, he sounded absolutely unrepentant, which made Error scowl at first, but he begrudgingly admitted to himself he’d be in way worse of a place if Ink hadn’t intervened. He still felt slightly shaky, jittery even, but that was a massive improvement, all things considered.

Error tentatively put a hand to his cheekbone, and it came away with a sludgy, gooey substance dripping from his palm, fizzling slightly once it hit the floor, catching Ink’s attention.

“You look terrible.” He announced, and Error opened his mouth to retort, but Ink was raising his hand up and Error soul twisted, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Ink seemed to realise his error and put his hand back at his side.

They stared at each other in silence for a couple seconds, before Ink’s face lit up again and he turned around, leaving Error very much bemused as to what he was planning next. He watched as Ink fiddled with something in his pockets with a quiet rustle of fabric, and frowned when he realised the smaller skeleton was muttering some sort of mantra under his breath, which he quickly realised was “No touching, don’t touch, don’t touch Error.” over and over again. Error felt stupidly flattered when he realised what an effort Ink was making to remember his haphephobia, making him scoff at himself.

wow, we’re giving him props for doing the bare minimum?  Error thought, mouth curving into a dry smirk as he watched Ink search his apparently never-ending pockets, but this was immediately quelled by the louder, more hollow voice in his head: you don’t even deserve the bare minimum.

“Here!” Ink chirped, turning around and presenting him with a… box of tissues, with a flourish, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. He kept a careful distance as he dropped the box into Error’s waiting hand, and Error mumbled another thanks under his breath, before picking up one of the paper wipes and pressing it against his face. He winced when he realised how much of the tar-like stuff he had dripping down his face, a combination of heat and sweat making him shed slurry like a second skin onto the clean white napkin.

He vigorously scrubbed at his cheekbones until the oily feeling became slightly less palpable, and the tissues started coming away slightly less black. He sighed, slumping, blinking his sockets wearily.

“i h-h-have no idea ho-w nightmare-e-e deals with this twenty-y-four-seven.” He grumbled, eyelights flicking down to Ink. He’d expected maybe at least a grin in return to that statement, but Ink just looked at him in confusion.

“Who?” He asked, and Error resisted the urge to facepalm, knowing it would just blacken his phalanges even further. A tiny part of him wondered if putting this much effort into not mentioning anything Multiverse-related would ever pay off, but then he remembered how the most random things seemed to set Ink off, trigger a flashback, and he was unsure of how much Ink would ever be able to find out before he remembered what Error had done, and what he was continuing to do. It would be better this way.

“d-d-doesn’t matter.” Error replied, before making a half-hearted attempt to stand up straight, realising how badly he’d been compressing his spine, and Ink followed suit. Of course, the smaller skeleton had bad posture too. It contradicted his boundless energy, which was slightly confusing, but it was to be expected, right? Ink probably spent countless hours hunched over things before they lost his interest.

…When was this whole thing going to make Ink lose interest? When would he finally decide to go off on his own? He never stayed anywhere for long. What was stopping him from forgetting all over again? Would Ink ever remember anything fully, or would he only be able to view his past memories through blurry glimmers, never quite remembering what his role in the Multiverse was.

Error inhaled sharply at that last thought. But… it would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? No more annoying Protector in the way of his mission, no more seemingly immortal soulless skeleton who never gave up on a universe, no matter how damaged and broken the code was. If Ink didn’t remember, it would be all the better for him. At least, that’s what Error told himself as he and Ink walked back along the bridge aimlessly, but the nervous tightening of his soul spoke differently.

He really needed to get a grip. What was wrong with him recently? Spilling his guts (or lack thereof) out to Ink every opportunity he got, breaking down in front of him, he was acting like they were actually friends.

Although, walking alongside him down the bridge, it didn’t seem that hard to believe anymore. Especially when Ink turned to him with a wide grin and equally wide eyesockets, an expression that looked like he had a cartoon lightbulb glowing above his skull.

“Wanna play a game?” He asked, stopping momentarily to fall back into step with Error, and Error exhaled through his nasal cavity.

“a g-game?” He echoed, arching a brow in slight disbelief, a tiny smile perking the corners of his mouth despite himself, and Ink nodded affirmatively. Fuck, he couldn’t help it – Ink’s own smile was infectious. He couldn’t keep a straight face if he tried.

“Shoe counting.” Ink said, seeming almost proud of himself.

Error let out an undignified snort, caught off-guard. “what-t are you, three?”

Ink gave him a falsely-wounded look, but then it sharpened into a smirk. “I already have three red sneakers, two pairs of blue sandals, and one pair of black mountain boots.” Ink said, gaze fixed on people passing by. His smirk widened, his eyelights flicking up to Error mischievously. “But if you feel like you can’t beat that, then don’t bother, I guess.”

Error huffed. “l-like i’d want to win your stupid game, anyways.” And he continued walking, ignoring Ink’s shrug and ignoring how his mouth was moving, counting, his voice sounding every time he saw a new pair of shoes.

“Red stiletto pumps.”

“Rainbow high-tops.”

“Crocs. I think they’re blue…?”

Error knew Ink was baiting him. He knew this was a stupid game that Ink had just made up on the spot to keep the conversation going. He also knew that randomly staring at seemingly anybody who passed them by would not make the staring get any better. He knew all of these things.

And yet, he still lowered his head slightly, tucked up his hood, and set his jaw. “g-game on, bastard. three pairs of brown loafers.”

__________________________________________________________________

“Sixty-three!” Ink said triumphantly, hands on his hips, and Error glowered down at him, folding his own arms across his chest.

“th-there’s no way you-u have seen si-xty three people-e-e-e wearing the e-e-exact same shoe.” Error retorted, un-basketing his arms to jab an accusatory phalange in Ink’s direction. “w-we haven’t been-n walking that long.” Though come to think of it, neither of them had any way to keep track of the time the further they travelled into Hotland’s depths. The cavernous overhangs eventually became just a straight-up ceiling, oozing lumps of magma and crusted volcanic rock creating some sort of recreation of the original ‘Rooms’ in the original timeline. As such, the light was becoming dimmer, and there were several wooden torches strung up along paths to keep them brightly lit, presumably so people wouldn’t fall over the unguarded edges.

Error had been wary to send Ink out to ask for directions – he supposed he was trying to make up for when he made an absolute fool of himself on the elevator earlier today – but eventually, much to Ink’s protesting, he’d shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over Ink, which had made his slender limbs look even smaller, his sockets extra-big as they peeked out angrily from beneath the brim of fluff, which had Error guffawing in laughter as well as it made something in his ribcage pang, though he shrugged that feeling off as seeing Ink in something that wasn’t his default outfit or swampy black hoodie.

Eventually, they’d come to a compromise – Ink had found a sharp snatch of rock cast aside next to the rubble on one of the bright orange rocky bridges, and had used it to cut some of the hem of his hoodie off and tie it round his cheekbones in a makeshift mask. There was nothing they could do about his colourful, ever-changing eyelights, and Error found himself wishing that some Gaster or Royal Scientist had invented some sort of eyelight-lens to change the colour or conceal one. It would’ve saved both of them a hell of a lot of trouble.

Nevertheless, he’d sent Ink off, and Ink had thankfully returned unrecognised and without fuss, gabbling a long-winded list of instructions that he had to keep repeating under his breath to make sure he remembered – but inevitably, because both of them were Ink was terrible at navigating and recalling specific details he’d been told by the stranger, it derailed very quickly.

“Okay, now left.”

“w-we’ve taken-n-n five lefts in a ro-w. are-e you-u sure you’re not just t-trying to get us closer to-o the big sign-n that says ‘art club’?”

“Cmon, just a little peek-?”

“n-n-no.”

Nevertheless, after begging help from a kindly-looking Toriel with a bunch of Temmies clinging to her fur, they’d managed to get somewhat back on track. Error had taken charge of leading them this time, and Ink had quite happily followed on, keeping up the game until Error felt like his skull was going to burst from the different numbers of shoes and from generally trying to keep them on-track. But it felt good to focus on something, anything, that didn’t fill him with anxious dread about what was to come.

In a way, by keeping himself focused on several different things, he was switching himself off for a while. Getting rid of all the annoying doubts in his head – though this whole situation was still better than dealing with the Voices. He didn’t miss that, that was for sure.

Back to their current disagreement, Ink was listing off different numbers on his phalanges, before his concentration faltered and he frowned. “What was it again? How many ballet shoes?” He muttered, almost under his breath, and Error supplied a begrudging “you-u said you had-d fourteen,” before he remembered that not telling Ink could’ve made him win the game.

But Error always felt… oddly obligated to fill in, when Ink faltered, when his own memory betrayed him.

Hadn’t he forgotten enough?

Ink gave him a broad, grateful grin in response. “Yeah, fourteen. And how many did you get, Error?”

Error’s satisfaction immediately fell flat. “fuck you.” He murmured the number indistinctly into his jacket, and Ink cupped his non-existent ear.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. What did you say?” Ink asked smugly, preening, shit-eating grin a mile wide.

“six.” Error grumbled, voice barely above a whisper, and Ink tilted his head.

“Speak up, I’m old.” He prompted in a wheeze of laughter, and Error’s eyesockets narrowed.

“s-six, you l-l-little shit.” He snapped, Ink burst into peals of victorious laughter as soon as the number left his teeth loud enough for him to hear, and Error scowled at him, cheekbones burning. “i was doing directions-s-s.”

“So was I.” Ink quipped, and looked at Error so smugly that Error couldn’t find it in himself to respond eloquently. He let out an annoyed ‘hmph’ and crossed his arms again, and they walked on in blissful silence, Error stewing in his defeat and sulking for about a minute before Ink abruptly decided that he wasn’t done torturing him yet.

“Do I get a prize?”

“f-for what.”

“Winning, silly!”

“i-i dunno. it was yo-ur game, wasn’t-t it?”

“Aww, so you’re telling me no gold trophy with my name engraved on it?”

“how-w ab-out a rock-k with-h ‘smug-g asshole’ spelt out on-n-n it in leaves.”

“I don’t see any leaves around here.” Ink responded, so deadly serious that laughter bubbled up in Error’s throat, threatening to escape, but he choked it down with a cough, unwilling to stop grieving his losses just yet.

Ink looked around, seemingly searching for something – and then his eyesockets lit up, that familiar golden star taking pride of place in his left eyesocket. “Oh! Look, Error! Can we go over there?” He hesitated for a moment, before another grin spread across his face. “As my prize?”

Error sighed, expecting to see another underwhelming recreation of something from the original timeline that Ink wanted to check out for some reason, but when he turned he felt Ink’s shock mirroring in his reaction. Just under a steep ledge, beneath a slightly frayed rope bridge that they were about to turn onto, there was a sudden brilliant glow that put the drowsily glowing embers from the lava and the wooden torches to shame.

It was structured like an Echoflower – except not like an Echoflower at all. It was much taller and larger, and the stalk and stems were thicker, supporting lush bell-shaped petals with seeds that protruded out from the silky depths, which were clearly the source of the all-consuming glow. They were so bright that Error had to squint his sockets just to look at them, but eventually it became too much for his already-poor vision and he reached into his pocket for his glasses – which had become uncomfortably sticky in the Hotland heat.

His first immediate thought was that the plant looked healthy, somehow, despite being in the hottest place possible – but when he looked down further, he quickly saw an explanation. An anxious-looking Alphys variant with half-moon glasses sliding halfway down her pointed snout was hovering near where the plant was sprouting from, a clipboard under one arm and two empty tanks of water coolers behind her, plus three full ones and one half-empty currently spouting into the stem of the large flower. There seemed to be some sort of soil beneath the rock-hard dried magma of the floor, which had been cracked open to reveal its contents, like opening a coconut to get at the flesh inside.

Ink made a noise of excitement and immediately approached the Alphys, throwing caution to the wind, and Error stood in shock for a second, eyes still fixed on the plant that was somehow growing in Hotland, before letting out an annoyed grumble and tailing Ink soon after him.

The Alphys had seemed completely immersed in the soft blue-white glow of the flower, her beady eyes shining as she cupped one of the heavy flowers – and then she abruptly noticed the short, excited skeleton behind her and dropped it with a squeak of surprise, the flower bouncing from the impact behind her as Ink began to talk, in the usual recklessly excited way of his:

“Hi! Did you make this? Oh my stars, it smells amazing! Way better than what he smells like.” Ink gabbled, jerking a thumb in Error’s direction to indicate he was talking about him, and Error scowled at him in return, flipping him off, which the Alphys let out a spluttering wheeze at, her tensed shoulders slumping slightly. She pushed her glasses up with a finger, eyeing Error warily; which wasn’t really surprising. Who was she going to keep an eye out for? The childishly energetic, short, sunny-natured skeleton or the taller looming one who buzzed like radio static? It wasn’t hard to answer that question.

“T-thank you. And yes, I d-did make it.” The Alphys stammered, a tiny note of pride seeping into her tone as she propped her glasses up her nose with one clawed finger, which gleamed white as if she really was in one of those animes that most Alphys variants adored.

“Why plant it here, though?” Ink asked, tilting his skull at her as he carefully ran a phalange over one of the pillowy petals, the willowy stem curving and dipping to accommodate the extra weight, and the anxious scientist launched into her spiel, clearly having put quite some thought into this.

“W-well, the land here is quite fertile, because of all the lava and v-volcanic activity. It’s the p-perfect environment for growing plants, just not really the optimal temperature. So I’ve been visiting every day and taking water from Waterfall to keep it cool with, and the r-results have been more than satisfactory!” The Alphys said enthusiastically, giving Ink a toothy grin. “W-with technology like this, I might be able to brighten up bridges and pathways without having to gain access to the Core!”

Ink had his head on one side, not really listening very well, more fascinated by the glow of the seeds as he plucked one off without the Alphys noticing and stuffed them in his near-bottomless pockets, but she still seemed happy enough to prattle on. Error listened, slightly intrigued by the concept but also hoping that Alphys might let more slip about the Core. Maybe she’d have some inside information? But as she continued to talk, it became more and more obvious that the whole reason she was doing this was mostly because she didn’t have access to the aforementioned power supply.

“…I mean, you use the Core’s energy to broadcast ‘Mew Mew 10: Kitty’s Got Claws’ across the timeline one time and all of a sudden, it’s “No, we will not fund your scientific projects anymore”! Can you believe that!” Alphys said empathetically to Ink, who nodded, the plant swaying with the motion, half his skull buried in one of the larger flowers.

“But I’ll show them. I’ll make more Brightblooms and I’ll bring them back to Waterfall and everybody will see that I’m leagues above all the other Alphyses!” She cried, her glasses fogging up with excitement. Then she seemed to come back down to earth for a moment, and coughed, her tail flicking behind her sheepishly.

“Ahem. E-excuse me.” The Alphys said, before she noticed Ink sticking his head into the ‘Brightblooms’. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The pollen sticks.” She said, in a grave tone that suggested she knew from experience, but it was already too late. Ink dislodged a cloud of glittering white sap when he moved backwards, and he coughed, rubbing his face frantically.

The scientist finally turned to Error, eyeing his jacket. “D-do you like flowers then?”

Error blinked once, before realising she was actually talking to him. “i-it was his idea-a-a.” He said, gesturing to Ink, who grinned, his pockets glowing in a slightly ominous way where he’d shoved the seeds. One of his eyelights flickered into three flowers arranged in a circular formation, and Alphys looked in-between them for a second, a coy smile on her face.

“Ahuh.” The Alphys nodded, before plucking one of the Brightblooms off and handing it to Ink, who accepted it with a chirped “Thankyou!” and rapidly approached Error with a downright impish smirk – and before Error could do anything, Ink was threading it into one of the holes where the strings of his jacket emerged from. Error felt that feeling from earlier tingling along the point where Ink’s fingers had been – but it didn’t feel anywhere near as bad, especially when there were several layers of fabric separating Ink’s hand and his upper ribcage.

“You’re starting to look like a bouquet, Error.” Ink giggled, one of his eyelights flashing into a star.

He stared down at Ink for a moment, who looked back up at him happily, apparently very pleased to have done such a small thing – which made Error feel a strange combination of emotions, something he couldn’t quite define that made his soul pulse a little faster.

The Alphys cleared her throat very loudly behind them and made Error jump, startled, and Ink turned on his heel, breaking that strange eye contact they’d had, which Error felt mildly relieved at, to be honest. The Alphys had a vibrant orange flush on her face, and she was grinning at both of them toothily, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to it.” She practically purred, making an elaborate show of turning her back. Error frowned, confused, before it dawned on him suddenly that…

…Oh. She thought they were dating.

“i-it’s not-“ Error looked to Ink frantically for affirmation from him, his eyesockets wide, and he could feel the scalding flush of magic on his cheekbones, cursing himself for blushing like this. “we’re n-not- i-it’s not like that.”

“Suuure.” The Alphys singsonged back, turning her snout a little, and Error looked back down at Ink for affirmation, for evidence that they weren’t, but…

Ink was staring up at him again – in an honestly sickening, exaggerated version of a lovesick stare, blinking rapidly, clearly hoping that on the off-chance one of his eyelights would turn into hearts. One of his hands was cupping his chin, and his eyesockets were half-lidded, and a cheesy smile was on his face.

Error scowled and turned away, his features set harshly as he started marching away from the stars-damned flower, his entire face burning with brilliant heat as he heard Ink call “We’re going steady! Three months strong!” to the Alphys, who shouted something enthusiastic but indistinct in response which just made Error wish that the Void would wrap him in its sweet embrace even more.

Ink was cackling, clutching his middle as he struggled to keep pace with Error. “Bahah-! Error, Error, wait! I was only joking, I swear!” He wheezed, eyelights swirling into different shapes so fast that they became a multicoloured blur in his eyesockets. At least, that’s what Error saw before he turned away because looking down at the stupid squid made him want to punch a hole in a wall.

He didn’t slow down to accommodate Ink’s rapidly diminishing pace – in fact, he sped up just short of comically fast, annoyed and petty enough to believe that he could somehow leave Ink in the dust just by walking one extra mile per hour, but the sound of Ink’s laughter did seem to be growing a little quiet – that, or he needed hearing aids on top of needing glasses.

“Error.” Ink’s voice sounded a lot less mirthful suddenly – Error hadn’t known that was possible. He turned, ready to snap and give this little bastard a piece of his mind, but something about the expression on Ink’s face stopped him. Ink put one finger to his teeth, looking at something beyond the bridge, behind Error.

“Okay,okay.” Ink muttered, leaning closer to Error.

“Don’t freak out, but I think that’s Silk’s.”

Chapter Text

Error, not for the first time, reconsidered his entire plan as he and Ink ducked behind one of the wooden bridge-posts, immediately slapping a palm over his mouth to keep his rapid breathing quiet. He expected Ink to copy him, or at least try and remain hidden, but Ink was peering out curiously, wrapping a slender hand around the post to keep his balance as he stared across at the person Error himself had only gotten a tiny glance at. The flash of lilac and lace had been enough to make him hide.

He glared at Ink, hoping to convey with his narrowed eyesockets at Ink’s skull that he should stop looking effective immediately, but Ink paid him no attention, simply continuing to blink steadily at whatever he was seeing, his eyelights going from jarring, bright oranges to deep violet tones and then back to his normal again. Error sighed deeply, and, giving into the immediate instinct to look at something when somebody else was, cautiously poked his head out from the side.

Ink had not been mistaken about this place being the – supposedly infamous – Silk’s. Standing in front of a Gothic-looking building was an obvious Muffet variant, but Error kept in mind what the Nice Cream vendor had told them; apparently, they weren’t supposed to refer to her as a Muffet. Even though there were some things that set this one apart, there were still the core traits, purple skin, six eyes, and glossy, straight black hair that curled a little at the ends.

But then there were the obvious differences. She looked more war-torn and less elegant than your typical spider monster, and one of her lower arms was alarmingly absent, but there was no blatant modification to her outfit, only some more black fabric over where the cutout where the missing limb should have been.

The normal crimson babydoll dress that Muffets usually wore had been modified so that it was knee-length, flouncy, and dark, sewn with a large white spider creeping across the bodice and two blood red ruby-like jewels studding the head of the arachnid for its eyes, which made you feel even more scrutinised than looking up into the six dark kohl-outlined ones on her face. Her slender arms were adorned with loose golden bracelets, so that she jangled whenever she moved, and every dainty finger had chunky black-and-gold rings crammed onto it, some of the bejewelled ones looking so sharp that a single slap from one of her hands could probably tear an unfortunate person’s face off.

Red, black and yellow seemed like Underfell colours. But judging from the Nice Cream vendor’s reaction and warning about people bringing up her past, Error tried to stop compartmentalising her in his head, even though it was an instinctive reaction from being around so many different people from so many different AUs at this point.

Error turned to stare at Ink again – and finally, Ink stopped gawking like he’d just seen his beloved paintbrush grow legs and start sprinting away. He tilted his skull at Error, and Error gave him a look.

“d-d-do you recognise her?” He hissed, with no small amount of urgency, and Ink shrugged his shoulders, giving Error a slightly pitying look.

“I recognise ‘most everybody I see here. Just can’t put my finger on it.” He replied, cocking his skull as he peeked around the bridgepost again. “She seems angry.” Frowning, Error leaned over to have a second look, and caught sight of Silk stamping her foot at someone, her features twisted into a vicious scowl that curved her upper lip and exposed alarmingly jagged upward-turning fangs, whereas a usual Muffet’s had them neatly pointing downward towards the chin. The object of her disdain was hidden from view, given the fact that Silk was leaning over them somewhat, her back to the bridge. Cussing and yelling could be heard in vague sentences drifting over in their direction, and Error strained to hear, his eyesockets narrowing in concentration.

“…. Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there simply isn’t enough time….”

“….I don’t care if the Core’s exploding, I want that import on my doorstep by noon…!”

“….Train delays… what with the Protector going missing…”

“….don’t see what the fuss is about… surely I can still feed my customers…”

“….Public…. Withdrawal…. Worrying from the Scientists…”

Error’s brows furrowed once he processed their conversation – or at least, what he could hear of it. Was Ink’s absence really causing that much stress for the people here? He would’ve thought it could’ve carried on for at least a few weeks without their beloved paint-spewing Protector, but there must have been some leaked information. There wasn’t enough unease in the people they saw or any sort of recognition in most of their faces for Error to suspect anything was amiss, but maybe he’d been wrong? His spiral of thought was cut off, however, by a certain somebody tugging on the very edge of his sleeve, so far from direct contact that Error didn’t even flinch as he turned around with an immediate glare at his information-scouting being interrupted.

“Who’s the Protector?” Whispered Ink, loudly, his nasal ridge scrunching up, and Error frantically shook his head as Silk and a weary-looking slime monster stopped their vicious discussion to look around, Silk’s shiny black bob swaying around her head as she narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth, making a dismissive gesture to the slime who nodded frantically and sloped off, trails of ooze sizzling on the hot ground in its wake.

And Error watched in horror as Silk began to walk straight in their direction, a look of slightly pained determination on her face as her metal-reinforced boots clacked against the floor with each elegantly slow step she took. “Hello-o?” She singsonged, her mouth set in a grim smile. “Anybody he-ere?” Her voice was sweet and welcoming, as if she just wanted to have a conversation, but her highest set of fingers were twitching, and Error had seen a Muffet variant whistle for her “pet” far too many times to not know what that meant.

“hide,” Mouthed Error to Ink immediately, and Ink stared back at him helplessly, looking around. There was nowhere to go without totally exposing them both and their current spot, and a slight movement backward had Error on the edge of some sort of overhang, which sent bright orange debris scattering down into the lake of lava below, causing fizzling sparks up as the bright, hot liquid lazily spat out the orange rocks with a loud hiss, before they sank slowly down into the depths again. Ink audibly gulped at the sight as Error took stock of Silk again, only a few paces away. Losing hope, Error turned to Ink once again.

“how high can you jump-p-p?” Error hissed, and Ink stared at him for a moment before demonstrating a height with his arms. Which was alarmingly high considering Ink’s size, but Error couldn’t exactly quiz him on it when they had seconds to lose.

“o-0kay. on-n-n the count of three-e-e, you jump as high-h as you can-n, facing-g away from the b-b-bridge.” Error instructed barely above his breath, a look of deadly seriousness on his face, and Ink stared back at him in utter confusion.

“Wh-“

“just do it.” Error hissed through gritted teeth, waiting until he had seen Ink’s reluctant nod and mumbled “Okay.” Ink shuffled forward, still crouching, and his eyelights flicked to Error expectantly. Error nodded his approval, before concentrating. It had been a couple days since he’d tried anything this big, but hopefully it should work. At least, he prayed it would. He held up a finger.

“o-one.” Ink blinked slightly nervously, his eyelights forming a light blue and lilac as Silk’s voice sounded again.

“I know you’re theeeere! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Cried the spider monster in her smooth, slightly fruity voice.

“t-two.” Closer now. Error could hear footsteps, metallic clanking, and Ink shivered, tensing like a coiled spring about to release.

“three.” Said Error, and Ink bounced up immediately, his slender ankles tucked to his femurs and his arms wrapped around his knees, a perfect cannonball tuck up in the air – and Error knew he had to be fast. He focused, digging his phalanges into the rim of his eyesocket and pulling. He closed his sockets as he urged the strings forward for the first time in a while, unable to look at whether his plan had succeeded or not. There was silence for a few seconds, Silk’s voice failing to ring out and her footsteps utterly gone. There was no telltale thud of Ink’s body hitting the ground, nor the sound of his voice or his breathing – in fact, Error thought the only thing he could actually hear was the sound of his own forcibly quiet inhales and exhales and the quiet slosh and crackle of the lava below. He could’ve heard a pin drop.

…And then, bizarrely, a loud clapping broke the silence. Error cracked his eyesockets open and then rubbed them to make sure he was seeing the sight he was. Ink had been caught perfectly in the middle of a large web of strings, his large black hoodie caught in some of the razor-sharp blue wires and making him look freeze-framed mid jump, almost like he had been inserted into the mass of strings as an afterthought rather than the other way round. From where Error was standing, Ink didn’t look like Ink at all, simply a shrouded, cloaked monster with a skeleton monster’s physique. The surrounding dust kicked up from the orange-stoned ground was beginning to coat the strings already, creating an odd gradient-like affect around the edges of all of them and making the centre of it, where Ink was curled up and suspended, look much bluer. Ink wasn’t moving at all, which might have alarmed Error, but right now he was feeling too much all at once to allow any room for that.

Cautiously, he looked towards where he had heard the clapping come from, and blinked as he saw Silk herself looking up at the strings and continuing to clap joyfully, her liquid black eyes sparkling. She looked pleasantly surprised, like she had just found something nice she had lost long ago and forgotten about. However, her superior eyesight allowed her to detect even the slightest movement, and she immediately noticed Error cautiously mid-crouch on the floor. Error tensed, waiting for the shriek, the terror, the recognition, and he readied to get Ink and himself the hell away from here.

But Silk just cocked her head and asked “Are you the one who was behind this?” quite innocently, clasping her uppermost set of arms together in front of her bodice, and blinking each individual set of eyes at him in curiosity. Error scrambled to tug his hood down a little, reminding himself that she was still a few paces away and they were still in danger of being recognised, but Silk didn’t seem to be aware of his frantic movements, just paying attention to one small detail – that being the fact that there were still a few frayed strings hanging from Error’s hands, which were tucked in front of his ribcage, unconsciously mirroring Silk’s pose.

Error’s gaze darted down towards where Silk was staring, and he hastily shoved his hands in his pockets, but it was too late and the damage had been done. Silk took an almost accusatory step towards him, and Error couldn’t step back lest he topple into the lava below and suffer a very unpleasant death – if he could even still die at this point.

Error opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say; an excuse, maybe? A plea for forgiveness? An argument? But it died in his throat when he saw the bizarre sort of joy on Silk’s face, who clapped her hands a few more times, directed at Error this time. This infamously territorial spider, the one who supposedly took out other business rivals and probably came from a very rough-and-ready timeline, was applauding him, and it took Error several beats to process that fact. And by the time he had, Silk was already speaking again, her middle set of arms folding across her hips and her lowermost arm gesturing animatedly.

“Bravo, bravo!” Silk said, her vicious maw widely visible as she grinned, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect that Error wasn’t sure what to make of. “Spectacular performance. So avant-garde. This is the best pin and thread art I’ve seen in a long time! I love your use of the surrounding environment to enhance the piece, and your choice of character, it’s got a simply gorgeous contrast, you know? I’m never opposed to spider-themed art myself.” She said, smirking, and Error smiled back very faintly, still unsure if the spider monster was making fun of him or not.

 But she seemed genuinely serious as she gushed about the arrangement of strings, her six eyes sparkling as she paced around it – but thankfully, didn’t go behind it, as she would’ve seen a quivering Ink strung up helplessly. Error watched as the systems of string wobbled dangerously when Silk ran a finger over it, sucking in a breath. Usually, they wouldn’t even have moved at such a gentle, well-meaning touch, and Error wondered if somehow his uncertainty surrounding this entire plan had made the strings more delicate and susceptible to falling. It didn’t seem right, seeing as this was hardly the most stressful situation he’d used his abilities in (but it was up there) and he’d managed to create thicker and stronger barrages of the yarn-like material then. Maybe he was rusty? He hadn’t properly used his powers in days, after all.

Snapping back to the present, Error saw Silk beginning to pace around the whole thing, and a whole new wave of adrenaline seemed to pass over him as he resisted the urge to reach out just a little further with his strings and suspend the spider monster who was making it so easy. He called out a “w-wait.” Instead, trying to dissuade Silk from walking around, but Silk only stopped for a moment with a distracted “Yes?”

“i-it’s… not fini-shed yet.” Error claimed, eyelights darting up to the space where Ink was in the web, and Silk gave him another look that seemed as if it was meant to be reassuring, but really just put him more on edge as all of her eyes narrowed in a more eerily synchronised fashion.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” She said, and Error’s eyesockets widened as she stepped around.

“w-wait, w-w-wait!” He all but shrieked, but this did next to nothing to avert Silk’s next steps as she tapped around to the other side of the web. Error drew his hands up to his eyesockets reflexively, waiting for the worst, and even more as an odd, contented hum came from the other side of the web.

“How intriguing… you managed to position the clothing as if there was some sort of person inside it. How did you do it?” Silk narrowed her eyes at him from behind the strings, a glimmer of gold flashing amongst the blue as she ran a hand over it – and this time, the entire structure of the web remained steady, and it dawned on him what that wobble had actually been.

Error shrugged, looking back through the strings at Silk unwaveringly, even though the first thing he wanted to do after his realisation was figure out where Ink had gone was look around frantically. “u-used my imagination-n-n.” Then, adding thoughtlessly: “i’ve-e se-en a lot of people-e strung up like-e that.” Error immediately froze as the words left his teeth, but Silk only gave another quiet hum of assent, to his relief. Error tugged the hood up further over his skull and broke eye contact, pretending to be looking at something off to the side, but he also stole glances at his surroundings, trying to wonder where that stupid squid had gotten to. Whoever had come up with ‘out of sight, out of mind’ had clearly never met a person like Ink before.

Breaking him out of his thoughts, Silk let out a quiet “ah-hem” that signalled she was probably used to having everybody’s unwavering attention when she spoke, and Error reluctantly returned his gaze to her, his eyesockets slightly squinted with the challenge of seeing her clearly through so many other strings that all demanded the focus of his vision.

“I must say, this isn’t exactly what I expected when I came out to talk to one of my advisors, but it has been… nice. Your work would make a fine addition to my little establishment.” Said Silk, gesturing to what was definitely not a ‘little’ establishment by any stretch of the imagination. “As repayment for this lovely structure you have created here, I must insist you take your pick of my goods, inside.”

Error wavered, glancing at the building Silk was gesturing to – properly looking at it this time. A red brick building, which normally would have blended in easily with the general colours in Hotland, was sharply outlined by dark wood, reinforced by some sort of metal so that it would not catch fire. Every window was stained wine-red or deep, smoky purple, and designed with several different spiderwebs. Carved arachnid-like creatures scuttled down the edges of the building, and it took Error a moment to realise that not all of them were carved. Error had no idea what Silk had done to the smaller spiders to make them immune to the heat which should have killed them, but they were fearlessly carrying plates, food, and even much larger monsters outside of the building where they were sometimes unceremoniously dumped into the lava below. Error tried not to think about that. He needed information, and he couldn’t really think of a better way to get it at the moment.

“o-okay.” Error said, swallowing his apprehensions for the moment, and Silk appeared actually delighted that he’d agreed, but something in her face suggested she wouldn’t have let him say no anyways. Ink couldn’t cause too much damage in the time he was gone, right? It wouldn’t be that hard to find him again.

“Excellent.” Silk said, her voice carrying just a tiny lilt as she made to take hold of Error’s arm, presumably to lead him inside, but when he flinched away on instinct, Silk stared at him for a couple moments. Something like offense flashed over her face for a split second, but she quickly masked it with a knowing smile.

“Not a touchy-feely kind of person, hm?” She asked, folding her arms across her chest again, and Error internally snorted. Understatement of the century. “That’s quite alright. If you’ll just follow me…” Silk clacked off towards her restaurant, and Error took one last fleeting glance at his surroundings. Nothing out of place, no obvious hiding spots, and Error felt his brows drawing together, the start of a headache beginning to pulse ominously in his skull. Where could that bastard have possibly gone in such short time without either of them noticing?

Silk looked back at him expectantly, and, with no other choice, Error followed behind her as she opened a large, intricately adorned wooden door and held it open. Stepping inside, Error was at least glad to see that there definitely wasn’t a dress code.

The elegant exterior was definitely less upheld in the inside of this place. Tables with spindly, flowering legs were positioned anywhere there was room, all eerily lit by a bright red light that was filtered down through a slightly cracked window spidering across the entire roof, which of course was emblazoned with another eight-legged monstrosity looming over everybody. The counter, which had rows and rows of gleaming glasses and cups teetering on the edge of it, was entirely manned by smaller spiders, all seeming to move in particular waves and directions. Some of them would cluster together like ants to pick up larger objects, whereas other slightly bigger ones hung from the ceiling and collected finished glasses and trays, occasionally dropping a bill on a table too. The entire place was thick with cobwebs, but they had been studded with flowers and gems and other trinkets to make them look more intentional, and only the occasional fly could be seen amongst the silk-spinning arachnids.

The people sitting at the tables were extremely varied. A good chunk of Underfell variants sat clustered together on the darker side of the room, where the cobwebs were thicker over the roof window and provided a slightly more sinister feel. Some were sipping from Spider Ciders and talking in low, menacing voices to one another, some were cheering triumphantly or sorely booing after losing their G over a game of cards; but they barely looked up as Silk walked in, clearly used to her presence.

The other side, the more varied and clearly newer residents of Silk’s diner (if you could even still call it that) jolted slightly when she walked in. There were lots and lots of Underswap-looking characters interspersed with the others who were either still casually conversing after a brief moment of surprise or staring at her in awe, slight fear, or confusion – but mostly the confusion was directed towards Error. Error zipped the jacket up to his nasal ridge and shoved his hands in his pockets again, lowering his skull to prevent the scarlet of his sockets from being seen or recognised, and after a few moments he saw people returning to their meals or conversations, clearly deciding he wasn’t interesting enough to keep staring at.

Error felt relieved at this, then slightly indignant – after all, he was a Destroyer, wasn’t he? Didn’t these people bother to take a second look at anything? But he was quickly distracted as Silk deftly picked her way through chairs and tables, occasionally barking orders at people or picking up a spider that had been caught on something or stuck between a crack in the floor. Error idly took his hands out his pockets to thumb along one of the webs admiringly, wondering how Silk had pinpointed him for his simple strings when she already had stuff like this.  Speaking of whom, she turned back to Error, a slightly distracted look on her face.

“Hold him for me, will you?” She asked, and without further ado dropped a large spider into Error’s hands, making Error immediately start backwards, but not at the small insect. Just the possibility of Silk’s small, calloused lilac fingers brushing his made him feel uncomfortably hot, a roiling, slightly sick feeling. He distracted himself by peering at the small spider in his phalanges. It scuttled up his wrist and seemed to stare at him for a brief moment, its tiny, beady black eyes staring up at him. Error looked back, before noting that the small creature had a slightly injured leg, and was remaining mostly still now, quivering on his arm.

But before he could even blink, Silk’s plucking fingers were back and the spider happily (if slightly clumsily) skittered back up her highest left arm and into the light puff of velvet and chiffon that made up her sleeve. She grinned toothily at Error, her lowest set of eyes crinkling slightly, and Error noticed that she was back to her unharmonized blinking, which soothed his fear somewhat. Having her blink at him with all six eyes at once had been slightly terrifying, for some unidentifiable reason.

“Well done.” Silk said, and Error blinked at the approval in her voice. “Initiation test.” She clarified, a somewhat girlish twinkle in her inky eyes. “You can always judge a person’s character by how they react to a spider.”

Error gave her a sardonic “if-only-you-knew” grin which she probably couldn’t see due to the hood of his jacket still hiding his features. Silk seemed to take his silence as contentment and she placed a set of her arms on her hips as she continued to lead him up to the counter.

“Like I said, take your pick. Everything on the counter’s open to you.” The spider monster said, before a crash sounded from the other side of the room and she visibly bristled, her lowest set of eyes narrowing. “Terribly sorry.” She said to Error, her voice layered with sweetness to doubtless hide the anger she must be feeling as she somehow managed to elegantly storm over to the other side of the room and begin arguing with a customer. Error kept his hood up and crouched down to see what was on offer bakery-wise.

The selection was wider than a usual Muffet’s – much to Error’s delight, and he spent a long time (maybe a bit too long) mulling over which one he wanted. There were silvery cupcakes on spider-patterned plates, rows of sponge cake that had been shaped to look like human fingers, as well as the classic Spider Donuts alongside a large tray of crepes that were oozing strawberry jam. After an insensible amount of dithering eventually he settled on a slice of chocolate cake which had a large cherry topping the middle. He was unsure of how he would get it, but it turned out to be simpler than he had originally expected. He simply had to press a phalange-tip against the glass vaguely in the direction of the cake, and a horde of spiders leapt up the counter to carry his cake up and above the counter, where it was painstakingly deposited on a plate with lots of spiders chasing each other around the rim.

Error picked it up and moved to sit down somewhere in the diner, anywhere he could be alone. He glanced over at Silk, who still seemed to be in quite a heavy argument with whatever unfortunate soul who hadn’t left a tip, and so he sidled into a booth in the shadows, placing his plate down and picking up a fork from a spider who crawled down the wall to give it to him.

Error didn’t realise how hungry he was until he’d skewered the first piece of cake on his silver web-carved fork, and he inhaled deeply, pulling down the zip on his jacket, savouring the scent before taking the first bite. He muffled an appreciative groan in the collar of his jacket and moved to grab another piece-

“…You look like you’re enjoying that.”

Error jolted at the quiet voice that came from below him, letting out a noise of alarm that sounded like an undignified “gah!” before he immediately quieted himself, aware that people were looking at him now. Chocolate cake forgotten, he stared down at Ink with no small amount of anger and shock, and two glowing eyelights gazed steadily back at him, his black hoodie helping him blend in beneath the table. If not for his eyelights he might have been actually invisible, and Error was having to squint already.

“ink-k? what the h-h-hell?” He whisper-shouted, cheekbones uncomfortably hot, and Ink grinned up at him. He must have been kneeling, because there was a rustle of fabric as he shuffled a little closer to Error beneath the tablecloth, making it a bit easier to see what he was doing. “h-how did you get in here? and how-w-w did y-ou pull that stunt-t earlier?” Error demanded, trying not to focus on how close Ink was to him.

“I know how to make an exit.” Ink replied casually, grinning. “Also, your strings were pretty loose. Not hard to wriggle out of.” Ink said, preening, and Error scowled at the inadvertent insult.

“a-alright, asshole, n-n-no need to rub s-salt in the wound.” Error snapped, before quieting his voice again, realising how bad it would look if he was caught conversing with somebody under the table. Even worse if that person just so happened to be the missing Protector who was being harboured by somebody who intended to blow this place to smithereens.

Ink blinked, seemingly unsure of what he had said to upset Error. “What did I-“

“f-forget it.” Error waved a hand impatiently, fixing Ink with a glare. “y-y-you realise how much-h trouble we’re-e in if we get caught?” He asked, and Ink tilted his head up at him, but the tiny smirk still lingering on his features said everything for him.

Error’s scowl deepened. “y-you think this is funny? i-“

Ink raised his hands in an infuriating “calm down” gesture that made Error want to hit him even more. “Oh, c’mon, I didn’t just waltz up to that scary lady and ask for free access.” Ink rolled his eyelights, even though the example was entirely possible given the recent unpredictability of his actions. “No, I snuck in.”

Error leaned down a little farther. “h-how did you get in?” He asked suspiciously, placing a hand on his lap, and Ink tapped his nasal ridge, a “wouldn’t-you-like-to-know” expression crossing his features. His smirk curved up into something sharper and more wicked, which in all honesty made something pang red-hot in Error’s ribcage. He zipped his coat back up again, glancing back at the table – and realised a good chunk of his cake had gone missing. Scowling, he grabbed the plate and pushed it back against his chest defensively, and Ink snorted in amusement, licking a smidge of icing from his teeth.

“food-d is off-limits.” He informed Ink curtly, and Ink tilted his head innocently, eyelights flicking into a purple square…. and a chocolate-cake brown coloured triangle. Error just barely resisted the urge to upturn the table and fling Ink into the ceiling.

Ink, probably sensing from the murder in Error’s eyes he was nearing dangerous waters, steered the conversation back to a non-chocolate-related topic. “That’s not all, by the way.” He added, his sockets a little wider than before. “Those guys over there?” Ink jerked a thumb in a vague direction towards the Fell monsters. “They were talking about the council.” Ink emphasised the last word proudly, puffing his chest out.

Error raised an eyebrow down at him, refusing to show any clear signs of eagerness or curiosity towards this statement straight after Ink had just nicked half of his chocolate cake, but inside he was immediately intrigued. “and what were they saying about-t the council?” He asked, mocking the way Ink had said it.

Pop! Ink deflated, eyelights flicking to the side. It seemed as if he’d put so much effort into remembering the first part that he’d completely forgotten the rest. “W-well, uh… about that…” One of his hands came up to scratch the back of his skull, a bead of sweat forming on his zygomatic arch. “I don’t… really remember…” He confessed, his cheekbones heating, before hastily adding. “But! I could find out.”

Error slouched downwards to hear Ink’s hushed voice a little better, and Ink blinked before he made to lean closer as well, probably trying taking the movement as a sign to be a little more discreet. Error tried not to think about how suspicious he would look slumped over the table. He prayed that if somebody saw him, they would just chalk it up to him having one too many Spider Ciders.

“w-w-what do you mean, you could find out-t?” Error asked, his eyesockets narrowing. He didn’t like where this was going.

Ink grinned up at him, and leaned his cheekbone against Error’s leg.

Error immediately froze – the pressure against his shin was the only thing he could feel for a moment, the familiar panic and alarm making every bone in his body tense up, his eyesockets wide. A shaky breath forced its way out of his teeth, and then another, but it felt robotic. He tried to muster up the anger he always felt, the sheer, concentrated rage that followed most physical touch immediately after the fear, and he opened his mouth again. But the only thing that left was another terrified, glitching exhale disguised poorly as a sigh.

“…It’d be easy! All I’d have to do is sneak under there and listen! I could fit under there no problem. And I’d remember it all, honestly, I would!” Ink was saying, gesturing animatedly under the table and making the entire thing wobble suspiciously, but Error couldn’t tell him off. He couldn’t move, stuck absolutely still in his seat as Ink’s surprisingly soft cheek moved against his tibia as he talked.

“…So can I go? Error?” Ink asked, snapping his attention back to the overwhelming feeling. He felt so close to crashing that he could barely muster up the energy to nod as Ink stared at him impatiently.

“f-f-fin3.” Error ground out, praying, pleading that Ink would move away from his leg before he showed himself up, and to his intense relief the pressure subsided as Ink nodded rapidly.

“Thanks!” Ink said cheerfully, and dropped the tablecloth, the only thing signalling his retreat to the other side of the room a quiet rustle, barely noticeable among the loud chatter that Error was suddenly drowning in. He stared at the spot Ink had been for a couple seconds.

Error decided he was going to forget about it. He decided that the only thing to stop him imminently crashing in this very restaurant - and definitely attracting attention if he hadn’t already – was to put it out of his mind. If the stupid squid could forget what had just happened, and Error’s haphephobia so quickly, then he should be able to do it relatively easy. But it wouldn’t leave his skull, and he felt a constant tingle where Ink’s cheekbone had been, like a murmuring in his earhole that he was trying his best to blot out, a nagging itch he wouldn’t allow himself to scratch lest it become worse.

There was a tremendous buzz of glitches where the smaller skeleton had been, so much so that Error was half-surprised that Ink hadn’t said anything before he banished the thought. But they settled, again, very quickly. Error, again, desperately tried not to think about it. But a much louder voice sounded in his skull.

you never recovered this quickly when anybody else touched you, it nagged. what if the situation isn’t what decides it, but the person? what if-

Error thumped himself hard on the femur, allowing the brief moment of blissful physical pain to quiet his thoughts for a couple seconds. He had to focus. There were bigger things to worry about than Ink forgetting himself for a moment. Such as Ink being prominently discovered and both of them being turned on by every monster in this place. Error made a mental note to tell Ink to stop nearly getting them both caught.

…Although, begrudgingly, Error had to admit there seemed to be no disarray so far. People seemed to be carrying on their conversations and meals as usual, and there weren’t any uneasy glances. Silk was still berating a poor customer, and Error couldn’t even tell which table Ink was at so far as he scanned each tablecloth, keeping a sharp eye out for anything out of place or a dark brown trouser hem poking out. But nothing appeared, nothing to notify that he might have gone in a particular direction, which infuriated him as much as it scared him. If Ink wasn’t careful, this whole plan of his would be sent down the drain.

But it wasn’t to say this wouldn’t be at least somewhat useful. If Ink could just remember what he was hearing long enough to report it back to him, then there might be rewards to this whole thing, too.

Jerking him out of his thoughts, a large spider dropped down on the table with a neat square of white paper in its clutches, and dropped it down on the table before skittering back up. Error peered at it, and read:

Due to unfortunate circumstances, we cannot afford to give out freebies! Please pay the price in full now. Silk xx

Error gaped down at the paper for a moment before his expression twisted into a scowl, his eyesockets narrowing. He should’ve known that anything a stupid Muffet variant offered him wouldn’t be free at all. He read out the rest of the bill, and grimaced as he realised that the one piece of chocolate cake he’d just eaten was 100 G. Even if he scraped the meagre coins he had in his pocket together, he would still fall short – and he’d have no money in case of emergencies, too. “Couldn’t afford to give out freebies” yeah, right. Silk was dressed to the nines and all of her employees were free because they were spiders.

Speak of the devil, the spider monster looked to be making her way over to his table. Error straightened up a little and forced himself to choke down another bite of chocolate cake in case he caused offence, before realising he might have been able to argue he hadn’t eaten all of the cake and could therefore be charged less, but it was too late now.

Silk smiled as she approached the table, smoothing down the tablecloth with two of her perfectly manicured hands, which also seemed to have some sort of cottony fluff on them that might have been ripped out from the Dogaressa she’d been arguing with. Swallowing, Error performed a discreet CHECK.

*Silk

*60ATK 99DEF

*Hopes you’re going to pay the bill

“Are you enjoying your cake?” Silk asked pleasantly, using the bodice of her dress to polish one of her gleaming gold rings, her other hands full of dirty teacups and other dishes tucked close to her waist.

“y-y-yes.” Error said, keeping his response brief and once again wincing at the glitches that crept into his voice, like always, but Silk didn’t bat any of her multiple eyes. She simply stood over the table, letting out a dainty ‘ahem’ and gathering up Error’s plate, before hovering expectantly. Error got the notion that it wasn’t going to go down well if he didn’t pay up right here, right now.

He couldn’t exactly march out when Silk was breathing down his neck and while Ink was still ferreting around beneath tables, and so he decided to stall, at least until Ink got back. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he began. “s-so, are you-“

“EEEP!”

A high-pitched squealing noise from where a Bratty was seated, but on the very edge of the chair, her knees drawn up and her usually-lax eyes wide with horror. Her snout was upturned and open, giving a good peer into the sharp white teeth which had a smidge of pink lipstick smeared across them.

“There’s a rat!” She shrieked, her claws waving in the air in horror. “A big rat just ran over my feet!” She began to look more and more like an upturned stag beetle as she leant back in her chair, her chest rapidly rising and falling whilst people started clamouring around her, a mixture of reassurances and uneasy whispering. Silk stepped out from the table with a face like thunder, her eyes narrowing as she turned to Error. “Apologies, again.” She said in a resigned tone, like a soldier going out to war.

Silk stepped into the chaos. Some people were crowded around the table, some people had their phones out for some bizarre reason, but people fell over themselves to get out of Silk’s way as she stamped over, the clack-clack-clack of her metal boots providing no small assurance that anybody standing in the way of her fury would promptly be on the receiving end of one of her metal-tipped heels. Spiders were scuttling all over the table where the Bratty had cried out, and the latter-mentioned monster fainted dead away in her chair dramatically, going into a swoon that Silk paid no attention to as she snatched up a mahogany-handled broom and started viciously beating at the ground.

Error stood up slowly, grateful for the general hubbub around the apparently rat-affected table meaning nobody would be around to touch him. He suspected that quite a lot to do with this incident involved Ink – and surely enough, a peaky skull poked out from underneath Error’s table moments after he’d moved up from it, two vibrant eyelights flicking up to him. Error didn’t know the why or the how, he didn’t have time to question it – he just motioned for Ink to get up, and as soon as the artist scrabbled to his feet Error made a bolt for the door, Ink wisely following closely behind.

But as soon as he put a hand on the door handle it creaked, loudly, making several heads turn in their direction – including Silk’s. An already raging expression turned into a blackly hateful one, and she raised the broom threateningly as Error fumbled and pulled the door open, slamming it shut once he and Ink were back outside in the Hotland heat. He didn’t waste any time – quickly, he strung the door shut with a few quick and messy knots.

Ink pressed his face up against the frosted-glass windows, peering inside; and then he started back, his eyesockets wide. There door bounced on its hinges several times as if something big was trying to break out of it, and there was a large, slathering mouth pressed against it, two dead-shark like eyes hollowly staring out directly at Ink, its four legs thumping hard against the door until a fracture of glass splintered off. Flecks of spittle sprayed out the door, onto Ink’s face, and he winced, scrubbing at it hastily with his hoodie.

That seemed to propel Ink into action – he didn’t try to grab hold of Error directly or touch him, he simply tugged his hood down and bolted, leaving Error no choice but to follow him. A spray of stones scattered the ground around them as they took off running down another rickety bridge, Ink moving so fast that Error was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with him. He moved from bright orange platform to platform so quickly Error had a hard time believing his feet were even touching the ground. Error’s soul hammered against his ribs as he felt a thin sheen of sweat forming on his skull, especially with all the heavy layers on, but he didn’t dare slow down or stop.

Eventually, he began to take in their surroundings a little more than just bridges and mounds of brightly-coloured earth, and he stopped, leaning over to place his hands on his knees, panting. Ink stopped running soon after, jogging back to him easily. It was slightly humiliating how the smaller skeleton didn’t even look like he’d broken a sweat.

“Geez, you’re in bad shape.” Was the first thing Ink said to him, and Error scowled, unable to speak,  but it was half-hearted while he was still trying to breathe deeply, his thoughts a spinning mess akin to the sock tornado located in most Sanses’ rooms. But when the burning in his throat subsided and he felt less uncomfortably sticky, he immediately questioned Ink.

“what-t… what d-did you find out?” He asked, wiping his brow with a tired arm, and Ink’s eyelights shifted, his smirk picking up into a fully-fledged beam. He’d clearly been waiting to share this.

“I’m glad you asked.” Ink said smugly, spreading his arms wide. Error would have told him to cut the theatrics if he hadn’t still been so out of breath.

“The big scary dog guy, you know him, had a big gold tooth? Looked kind of like he had pinkeye?” Ink said, gesturing, and Error nodded, giving him his best ‘get-on-with-it’ look, and Ink tilted his head.

“Well, he used to work for those people! You know, the, the uh….” Ink snapped his fingers several times before his eyelights flickered bright green squares. “The council! Yeah, he was talking about how he got fired. I couldn’t see his face, but he sounded pretty out of it. He said it’s real high security. Says even if you ask permission weeks in advance they still might not let you go – or at least that’s what he told the other guys, and it reeked under that table by the way. Smelt like wet dog.” Ink shuddered.

Error felt himself wilting. High security? I mean, today he had just proved to himself that he couldn’t deal with even minimum security while he was invited in. What chance did either of them stand if they were dealing with this during the time everybody was looking for a skeleton of Ink’s exact description? But Ink clearly wasn’t done yet, and he was so infectiously happy that Error felt bad bursting his bubble.

“And! And, they said that since they’re still looking for the Protector, they’re really desperate for information or something. They said if anybody gives the council information, then they can go to the Core! Who is the Protector again?” Ink asked obliviously, crouching down and observing Error’s heaving chest.

Error raised his skull, his sockets widening. “y-you’re sure?” He asked urgently, searching Ink’s face for signs that he wasn’t just making this up and making it sound sincere, that Ink genuinely was telling the truth. And when he found none, and Ink nodded firmly, a wide, slightly manic grin spread across Error’s face, his eyesockets widening. Error felt glitches swarming his skull and shoulders as he stood up and started walking, Ink following bemusedly behind.

“Where are we going?”

Error didn’t turn around, simply glancing back at Ink. “we’re-e going to p-p-pay the council-l a little visit.”

Neither of them noticed the large, hairy spider crawling out of Ink’s hood and dropping to the scorching floor, before scuttling out of sight.

Chapter Text

“…Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

“n-n-nope.”

The shorter skeleton blew his cheeks out exasperatedly as he gave Error another pointed look. “I’m wounded. You normally pay such good attention to me.”

Error felt his eyesockets narrowing. He knew it wasn’t meant to be a serious dig, because Ink wouldn’t drop that on him out of nowhere, but the way Ink was dragging his heels and whining every step he took was starting to get on his nerves.

“m-maybe if you ever-r said anything of consequence-e, i-i wouldn’t tune out ev-ery time you opened your-r-r-r mouth.” Error snapped, folding his arms and turning fully to face Ink, who stared back at him steadily.

“I’m tired. And I know you are too, you’ve been yawning your head off. Can’t we stop for two seconds?” Ink asked, his hands clasped loosely in front of them in a pleading gesture before he wiped his forehead with his wrist, his eyelights dim. Error waved his hand dismissively behind him.

“w-w-waste of time.” He replied, clipped and ever-so-slightly strained, which thankfully Ink didn’t pick up on. Instead, the artist abruptly dropped to the ground, basketed his legs, and looked at Error with a smug, almost feline grin, like a cat who’d just clambered out of reach and refused to come down. Error raised a brow, and asked, even though he was fearfully sure that he knew the answer already: “w-what the hell are you doing?”

“Protesting.” Came the reply from down on the ground, Ink’s phalanges nimbly moving down to take hold of a bright orange pebble and hold it up to the light, his sockets squinted. Error sighed deeply, and just for a second, he could swear Ink’s eyelights darted over to him, softening as if he was worried he was genuinely upsetting Error with this – and then it was gone, and Ink’s trademark smirk was plastered over his face again. And Error scoffed.

yeah right, concern from ink, thought Error. sounds suuuper likely.

“you c-c-can’t… you can’t protest. i don’t pay you-u.”

“Never said you did. A protest is a strong complaint expressing disagreement, disapproval, or opposit-“

“o-okay, wiseass, you g-g-get what i mean.” Error wrinkled his nasal ridge, mildly confused at how Ink had came out with such a technical definition. “…d-do you protest a lot, usually?” He asked, raising a brow, and his sockets widened when Ink levelled him with a sceptical look.

“Dunno. Do you know if I did?” Ink asked, his eyelights flashing silver-and-gold, and Error sighed again, pressing two of his phalanges above his eyesockets to soothe the steady thump of the headache he felt coming on.

“...sorry. i forgot-t-t.” Error mumbled, and Ink put on a faux-offended face.

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“h-h-hilarious.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but you’re laughing, so I’m going to take that literally, thankyouverymuch.”

“s-shut up.”

Ink grinned and obediently stopped talking for the duration of time it took for Error to push down his chuckling, his legs tucked close to his chest as he propped his chin on one hand. “…Does that mean we can take a break now?”

Error huffed – long and loud, deeply through his nasal ridge. He knew Ink was right; they were both tired, but Error desperately didn’t want to stop. The idea of being idle and helpless for such a long period of time terrified him to his very core, and he had a feeling that if they rested, he wouldn’t be able to help that, but it was beginning to look like Ink was adamant on this, despite all his previous pleas being relatively weak. He clearly wasn’t going to take another step despite his joking, and Error weighed his options. Would it be worse if Ink fell asleep on his feet mid-step, or if they stopped for a couple hours?

He felt his brows drawing together resignedly as he nodded. “f-f-fine.” He grumbled, rolling his eyelights at Ink’s whoop of delight. There was a blur of black and white as Ink rapidly repositioned himself.

“…w-what are yo- oh my stars, ink, GET-T 0FF THE FLO-OR!” Error barked, feeling his headache worsen as Ink tucked himself into a neat little ball and tried to shove his skull underneath his arms, coating himself in red dust as he squirmed like one of those fucking cheese puffs, whilst Error stared, appalled, wondering dismally if this steaming mess of a Hotland had any launderettes.

“I’m trying to sleep like a bird! They always seem to have good naps on the ground.” Ink explained needlessly, pressing his nasal ridge into his armpit, and Error pressed his face into his hands, trying to breathe deeply and count to ten.

When he resurfaced from his palms, Ink was still trying to sleep in ways that crooked his limbs like a pretzel, and Error saw he needed to intervene. “…w-wanna help me make a hammock?” He asked, and thankfully this caught the smaller skeleton’s attention, who raised his skull with a blink and moved back into his original position, knees-to-chest.

“A hammock?” He echoed, and when Error nodded, he scrambled off the floor hastily. “Uh… don’t we need something to hang it off of?”

“that’s where you come in-n-n.” Error supplied, gesturing to the mostly flat crater of orange rock they were currently walking across. “i-if you can find any small-er rocks-s that are about…” He demonstrated a height with his hands, nearly as tall as Ink was.  “…that-t height, then it-t should work.”

“Okay!” Ink said brightly, and without any of the previous hesitation he’d had when Error had sent him off before, ran off to the other side of the rock, leaving Error alone with his thoughts for at least two seconds.

It had been a while since he’d made one, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem now, right? He could still remember the general patterns and knots he needed to string, and if Ink had any luck they’d get a rock with a stable ledge he could make the bed from. If he could get Ink to help that was an added bonus, but he was unsure if the smaller skeleton had the attention span to do something like that.

…Besides, even if it turned out horribly, sleeping on the ground in a pile of strings had to be better than nothing, right?

“Found it!”

Ink’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he blinked. He hadn’t expected him to find something that quickly, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. He peered over the rim of the large indent in the rock, towards where Ink must’ve been, and yelled a half-hearted “c-c-coming!” As he trudged over. While he hadn’t admitted it earlier, it was tiring trying to cross several large different areas only on foot without using magic. He’d become accustomed to portals and blasters because what was the point in walking anywhere? It wasn’t as if somebody was making him walk with them anymore.

Ink was leaning against a rock that, hilariously, was almost tall enough to rival him in height, and shaped kind of like an obelisk. There was another smaller one a few feet away, more rounded, and Error looked between them, to make sure they would be okay, before he nodded his approval. He could work with this.

Ink grinned at him, clearly pleased at his success, before he frowned slightly. “Wait, where’re we gonna get the…” He trailed off, his eyelights flicking down to where there was a generous amount of string being yanked out of Error’s sockets already as he bit some off with his teeth, laying them out on the ground in various lengths. “…Oh.”

Error snickered around a mouthful of wire-thin yarn as Ink’s face lit up in realisation. “t-that’s not really the problem-m here.” He mumbled, biting at another piece of string until it frayed and snapped, and setting the two separate pieces on the ground. He spat another piece of cottony fluff that had gotten stuck to one of his tongues out onto the dusty crimson-orange ground behind him.

Ink pulled a face, but still looked curious, moving to sit cross-legged like a tailor across from Error as his eyelights flashed a green square and a yellow star. “Can I help?” He asked, peering down at the string, and Error swatted him away.

“n-n-no.” Was his blunt answer. Honestly, he’d considered it earlier, but having to explain all the different kinds of knots and ties and making more string at the right length if Ink messed it up sounded like more of a hassle. He laid the last piece of string out and looked up again – and Ink was staring at him pleadingly, eyelights big and shiny and… and these were puppy-dog eyes. Wow.

“Pleaaaase?” Ink pleaded, pressing his palms together in a praying motion and putting them over his mouth so only his owlish, sparkling sockets could be seen.

“d-don’t look at me-e like that.” Error snapped dismissively, distracting himself by pulling his glasses out of his pocket and taping them on, picking up the smallest length of string and tying it into a circle, but when he dared to look up again Ink was still staring at him hopefully.

“o-okay, i…“ Error cut himself off with an incredulous laugh, holding a hand up as he looked Ink right in the sockets. “you- i d-d-don’t-!” He closed his mouth and stopped stumbling over his words, gritting his teeth. Why was just saying no so difficult?

“…fine-e.” Error yielded, and immediately the pitiful expression on Ink’s face broke into an enormous grin as Ink blindly reached for one of the strings, which Error pulled back, scowling. “i-if you’re-e going to do it, at least-t do it ri-ght.” He reprimanded, before holding up the circle of string between his thumb and forefinger for Ink to see, and thank the stars Ink paid attention because Error didn’t know what awful things he would’ve done if he hadn’t.

“s-s-so.” Error paused for a moment, unsure of how to explain it. “you want to-o wrap-p the strings-s around the lowermost-t part of it. in-n-n a v-shaped knot.” He demonstrated it, before chucking it to Ink for him to examine. “a-a-also, i’m only sh0wing you this-s once.” He added warningly, watching Ink turn it over in his hands curiously.

“Aye aye, captain.” Ink mumbled, puffing out his cheekbones as he examined the knot, and then he nodded. “Okay, I think I get it.” He eventually mused, slender fingers moving quickly through the strings and tying a reasonably good stab at a copy of the previous one done by Error, which he repeated quickly across the circle, phalanges almost blurring. Error supposed it made sense for an artist to have such nimble fingers – privately, frowning, he wondered if Ink was doing it faster than he’d have been able to – but he distinctly recalled Ink being terrible at knitting, as he’d proudly proclaimed to Error one day. Not that Error had ever had the patience to try and teach somebody as skittish as Ink, and besides, this was a different sort of thing anyways.

…That stupid, stubborn willingness to try everything he wanted to without fear of failing had somehow stayed with Ink despite the memory loss. Except, now Error had seen it up close and personal. Arguing with him at the chicken monster’s café. Being a dumbass at the station even when Error had told him to get back. Dragging them both into the elevator simply because he probably thought it looked cool. And now, making them both wait longer for a hammock since he was trying to figure out how to tie it. All idiotic, reckless things. Could’ve ruined his plan. Could’ve gotten Ink even more injured than he had been. Entirely pointless from a self-serving perspective like Error’s.

But for some strange reason, all of those things were starting to make a little more sense in Error’s mind, which he scoffed at. He really had been spending too much time with Ink if he was starting to see method in the squid’s madness.

He propped his chin up on one hand as he watched Ink work busily, noting that he was almost finished already, and there were several pieces of stringy wool like dandelion fluff stuck to him not just on his hands, but his forearms and in the hood of his jumper.

“c-c-can’t you do any-thing neatly?” Error said exasperatedly, eyeing the state of Ink’s hoodie with no small about of disapproval. He wasn’t that much cleaner, to be fair, but he’d been striving to keep the piece of crap he was wearing from getting any dirtier. Although he was glad that the garment was acting like a shield for Ink’s original outfit, which he was still wearing under it. He felt a tiny pang of guilt for making Ink walk through Hotland in so many clothes, but Ink seemed reasonably fine now, even though the heat had only gotten moderately more tolerable.

Ink just stuck his tongue out at Error, a vivid flash of colour before he bit it between his teeth and focused on the strings again, completely tuning him out while he tied the last few loops, which Error bristled at. rude.

“Aaaand done!” Ink announced triumphantly, holding it up for Error to see, and surprise surprise, it wasn’t… the worst. Sure, some of the knots were tied hurriedly and possibly needed double-checking to ensure that they wouldn’t snap and cause the entire hammock to come crashing down, but it looked like it would do. Without getting his hand too close to Ink’s, Error gingerly reached out and took it from him, giving it a close up once-over.

“n-not bad. for a start.” Error conceded, and Ink lit up from the inside out, his eyelights illuminating the dark hollows of his sockets so bright that he was sure that they would be reflected in Error’s glasses almost as strongly. He scoffed, but he felt slightly flattered with that reaction.

“High praise, coming from you.” Ink replied loftily, but there was still a little smile stuck on his face as Error carefully put it down on the ground next to him.

The glorious moment of Error feeling satisfied with Ink’s work and continuing his own half of the hammock in peace was abruptly ended after about ten seconds. He’d have thought Ink would be satisfied to wait silently for a bit after he’d just been given something to put his fingers to work on, but oh no, apparently not.

“So… are we putting the hammock up now?”

“n-nope.” Error replied, popping the ‘p’ as he started zigzagging the strings across where Ink had tied them to create the starting base for the hammock.

“Why not?”

“i need to do this-s part.”

“I thought we were done.” Ink whined, moving to flop down dramatically but promptly reminding himself the hard way that the ground was dusty and uncomfortably warm and sitting ramrod straight again, shuddering and shaking himself like a wet dog.

Error snorted. “t-that was about… maybe-e a ninth of the work. i-if you want, you can d-d-do the ties for the oth-er side.” He didn’t make offers to help with his work lightly, Ink should have been honoured, but the idiot just let out another pained sound like the Multiverse was ending and also his stupid paintbrush was being put in a wood shredder.

…But then, silence, and Error hummed contentedly, getting back to his ties. He hadn’t expected Ink to give in that easily, and it was a refreshing break, to be honest. He measured another length of string against his arm as he thought. How easy would life be if this was the case all of the time? Now the only thing he was missing was his chocolate and his Undernovela, and he would almost be back to normal. He would kill a monster – no, several monsters – if it meant he could hear that real, thick sound of a chocolate bar snapping right now.

He licked his teeth. As soon as he was done with all of this he’d steal that amazing dark, rich chocolate from Underfell – and he’d get one of the hot chocolates from a Swap Muffet’s as well, even though just thinking about it made his mind go to Silk. The hot chocolates he could heat up with powder just weren’t the same as the hot, creamy stuff from the actual diners, with all those fancy spices. Nutmeg and cinnamon and… what was the other thing? Vanilla? He dropped the strings for a moment, pulling up his red shirt beneath his jacket and taking a long inhale. Underneath the thick smell of wool that was innately comforting to him, he could swear he smelt a hint of the sweet cocoa smell he loved so much, even if it was just his hungry mind playing tricks on him.

He wondered if Ink had ever been to one of those universes. Error tried to imagine it with him – taking him to a diner on the down low, ordering him one of the hot chocolates. He’d definitely be one of those annoying people who blew bubbles into their drink regardless of what the contents were, Error thought. And he’d probably lose interest halfway through, and start trying to draw a face in the whipped cream on top or something. Error snorted at the thought, looking up from his strings. “h-hey, ink, what d…”

Error dropped the shirt from his nasal ridge and blinked at the empty space across from him, his mind taking approximately five seconds to take in the fact that it was empty in the first place – and then another two to process the incoming wave of irritation – before he cussed Ink out with every awful word he could think of under his breath, scrambling to his feet. He of course immediately tried to find Ink in the most discreet and low-key way possible.

“INK, s-s-stars damnit, w-where the hell did y-ou go-0? g-get your bony ass-s back down here-e in ten goddamn seconds-s or i’m-m gonna stick-k a bone-e construct into y0ur sorry-y e-excuse for a s-spine a-and chuck you in the nearest-t lava pool, i s-swear to asgore!” Error yowled furiously, striding out past the rocks they’d selected for setting up the hammock and cupping his hands over his mouth to make sure there could be no mistaking his yell.

Ink was nowhere to be seen on this massive indented rock, and Error scowled, cursing himself for getting too caught up in the familiarity of his strings. The sneaky little bastard hadn’t even made any noise, so Error had no clue what direction he’d gone in for a start. He considered yelling again, but he didn’t want to scream himself hoarse and attract the wrong person’s attention into the bargain, so he simply started pacing over to the practically deserted bridges where they’d been running – and then walking for quite a bit - away from Silk and her ghastly abomination she called a pet on.

Ink must have made headway for over here, because the rest of the terrain was basically just mile upon mile of flat orange rock and a liquid molten version of the latter, none of which seemed like Ink’s forte unless he suddenly developed a burning passion for geology. Maybe they’d walked past something on the bridges that had caught his attention?

Error kept on walking up, trying to ignore the uncomfortably blistering feeling in his soul, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of the lava that was bubbling down below. Ink couldn’t have gone far, it was barely two minutes before Error noticed he was gone, but with an unpleasant clarity he remembered that Ink was way more agile than he was. He could easily have clambered up one of the towering crimson mountains and hopped up to a higher set of bridges, or ran all the way back to Silk’s looking for food or something, or turned himself in to some random passer-by and finally discovered what Error was doing-

Error physically shook his head to snap himself out of it. Ink didn’t know enough to do that. He couldn’t. His memory was still limited at best, he had just gone to find something to entertain himself with. He would come back; he knew not to stray too far.

…did he though? ink finally had free reign in a big, brand-new shiny place, what if he just decided to go and explore it all and-

Error clenched his teeth so hard it hurt, shoving his fists in his pockets and hooking his thumbs over the silky grey outlines of them. Maybe he was starting to go stir-crazy, having thoughts like that. He forced a long, loud exhale out through his teeth and did his best to reassure his own doubtful mind that if he just kept walking, he would find Ink.

As soon as he rounded the corner, stepping onto a pathway between the two intersecting bridges, he saw a tall shadow and a shorter one, and immediately Error stood in front of their path, looking up with slight desperation.

Stood in front of him was a pair of Pyropes, and Error internally kicked himself for not looking more closely at the silhouettes before immediately stepping around, but it was too late to back out now. The left Pyrope was burning bright emerald green, the colour of toxic waste, and Error wondered if that was some kind of sickness before remembering that this was the Omega Timeline and if somebody didn’t look quite normal it was probably because of the AU they were from, not because of any underlying health conditions. They were both bouncing in front of him cheerfully, and Error tried not to run away. Instead, he drew in a breath and addressed the smouldering, almost cartoonish pair of grins in front of him.

“uh, h-have you seen my-“ Error paused, getting stuck on the word ‘friend’ that immediately sprang to mind for a moment, frowning. “…m-my skeleton? he’s-?”

“Right there!” One of the Pyropes crackled, bobbing its fiery head in a sort of nod towards his ribcage, and Error blinked, before scowling. Of course, he was going to phrase it wrong and end up in this situation. The Pyrope’s smug grin stayed smug. “Under the red shirt! Attached to your skull!”

The other Pyrope piped up, its fire growing slightly taller and bolder as it bounced more enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! Red like fire! Hot, hot fire!”

“n-no, damnit, n-n-not that, i m-meant have you seen my- my, uh… my i-i-ink?” Error immediately bit down hard on his traitorous tongues for allowing that to slip from his mouth, his mortification not just on the fact that he’d said Ink’s name, but also because of the almost affectionate possessive. My ink. Heat laced across his magic flushed cheekbones, but Error prayed that these two Pyropes would just assume their fire was causing it. And it definitely was affecting him, causing perspiration to drip down his zygomatic. But before he could even say anything else, the Pyropes were chattering back their responses to him again. They probably had already forgotten what pronoun he’d used.

“Ink! Ink is liquid, liquid like the lava down below!” The emerald-green Pyrope said in an almost sage tone of voice, and the other Pyrope nodded excitedly, its grin stretching wide and another scuffle of trainers as one particularly enthusiastic bounce of the rubber soles caused a spark to hit Error’s sleeve, making him flinch and brush it off, shuddering. These two were just going in circles, he wasn’t getting anywhere here. Still, again, he tried, but it was in vain.

“n-no, he’s a skeleton-n, really sh-ort, really-“

“Short! Bomb fuses are short! They fzz fzz fzz and then they go kaboom!” The red Pyrope squealed, and Error let out an exasperated sound, throwing his hands up.

“Makes everything so, so hot! We should find one!” The green Pyrope agreed, bouncing so high that his coil of rope started to wobble dangerously within the confines of its fire, and before Error could even give them both a piece of his mind they were bouncing off, setting down tiny fireballs onto the reinforced bridges in their wake, far too fast for him to try and keep up even if he had the inclination to do so.

Error stared at the space where they’d been, putting a hand to his face. He was still burning with something that definitely wasn’t all indignation and heat.

“Boo!”

Error jumped about half a foot in the air before he whirled around – and came face to face with the bane of his entire existence. But all he could feel was relief as he immediately started in on him.  

“w-w-what the hell were you doing? you can’t just-t wander off with-out me, do you have a-a-any idea h-ow l-l-lost your dumb scatterbrain-n could’ve gotten? what-t if something happened to you-u and i d-didn’t know? i d-don’t want to-”

“Error?” Ink piped up, an almost nervous tinge to his voice as he interrupted his tirade, and Error gritted his teeth, staring him dead in the sockets.

“w-w-what.” He ground out, nasal ridge wrinkling, eyesockets narrowed sharply.

“Stop shaking me.”

Error blinked, and he suddenly felt like he had just taken a step back from a window to see a wider view than the one he’d been getting. Ink’s eyelights were fixed on the place where Error’s hands were on his upper arms, phalanges curled like claws and digging into the fabric, and a steady group of glitches starting weak at the tips of his fingers, like the foam capping a wave before it came crashing down. Error immediately dropped Ink’s shoulders as if they were hot coals, and the warning glitches evaporated immediately, but the damage was done. Ink was staring up at him wide-eyed, and the first thing Error thought to blurt was:

“w-what the hell was that?”

“I- How should I know? You’re the one who grabbed me!”

“y-yeah, but- why-y did i do that? m-more importantly, h-h-h0w?”

“Okay, okay, I have a theory.” Ink announced as he tapped the side of his skull, making sure to keep a good distance from Error as he began to walk in what Error prayed was the direction of where the hammock foundations were still strewn everywhere, because he was helpless to follow the smaller skeleton now for fear of losing him again.

“So, it begins, I’m far, far away.” Ink said, gesturing dramatically, and Error frowned.

“t-this isn’t helping.”

“SSSsssh.” Ink shushed him in the loudest way possible, pressing his finger to his teeth. “I’m in a distant land, unable to contact you because we are so far apart, and you go desperately insane in my absence, thus prompting you to harass two innocent bouncing ropes on fire, before you tear them to shreds in a fit of lunacy when they don’t give you answers-”

“b-believe me, i was tempted.”

“Shhhhhhhut up. Let me finish.” Ink shushed him again, tapping one skinny phalange against his mouth so hard there was a loud clacking sound. “Anyways, you flee from the crime scene, dust all over your clothes, and then you uhh… you…” Ink blinked several times, his eyelights flashing purple question marks. “…where was I going with this? Oh, yeah, you find me and you grab my shoulders, because your touch-afraidness-thingy-”

“it’s call-ed haphephobia, for the record-”

“Haphephobia? Well, I have-a-phobia of being unable to finish my story due to you and your big mouth. Your haphephobia-” Ink emphasised the word, raising his brows. “-is diverted by your state of utter insanity, and in doing so you smear the dust on my clothes, condemning me of also doing the crime. Unable to deal with this reality in which I am rotting in jail, you take a swan dive off of a balcony into the lava, and leave me heartbroken and also still rotting in jail.”

“w-why a balcony?”

“Dramatic effect.” Replied Ink instantly, giving Error a thumbs-up. “Anyways, there’s your explanation, and what I was going to tell you before you freaked out on me was that I found us dinner.” Ink said proudly, gesturing, and Error blinked, realising that they’d come to a stop in front of the crater they’d left the unfinished hammock on. Ink snickered at what must have been a blatant look of sudden realisation on Error’s face. “Geez, inattentive much?”

“s-shut up. you c-can hardly blame me, g-given what just happened.” Error retorted, cheekbones flushing, and Ink shook his head, grin widening.

“Nah, my amazing storytelling had you so captivated that you lost all sense of direction, and also basic survival instincts because I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t gotten this you would’ve starved us both to death.” Ink said, throwing an accusatory look over his shoulder, and Error blinked, trying to recount when they had last eaten. When he did remember, he shuddered, nodded begrudgingly, and followed Ink back to the set of tall rocks.

On the ground beneath the basic structure of what was about to hopefully soon become a hammock was a whole tablecloth, as if Ink had just ran up to a table, whisked the cloth up with everything inside and just made a break for it, which seemed not entirely unlikely. Laid out on the blue-check material were two tall cartons of ramen noodles, still with little puffs of steam coming out of them that let Error know they were definitely still fresh and definitely stolen. His eyelights flicked up to the hammock, and he blinked a little – it was finished, albeit messily, and some of the knots looked extremely dubious, like they could break at the slightest weight, but when Ink went to sit on it, it held firm, so Error decided Ink could be given the benefit of the doubt.

Error sat down on the tablecloth, and Ink stretched out like a cat on the hammock, yawning and knuckling his eyes. Error held back a laugh as he reached for one of the cartons of noodles, and for the wooden chopsticks which snapped apart with a satisfying little click, raising his brows at Ink, stirring the noodles and discovering little pieces of some sort of meat stirred into them.

“w-w-where did you get this?” Error asked, frowning. No point delaying the question any further. Ink looked at him for a moment, then tilted his head and tapped the side of his nose infuriatingly.

“Just eat it while it’s hot.” He said, and although Error was still insanely paranoid about Ink possibly having been seen, the noodles smelt amazing. And when he dug in, he found he was right. Still hot, the meat was tender and salty and the noodles were thick, heavy and coated in some sort of broth-like substance. It felt like something he should have been eating out of a proper bowl, not this bright-blue advertisement-heavy cardboard cup, but Error decided that was a largely hypocritical thought considering he’d been surviving off of chocolate, chocolate milk and random other things he probably should not be eating at all.

He paused eating, the chopsticks halfway to his mouth when he heard a stifled giggle, and he looked up at Ink with a frown. Ink was peering down at him, wiping the evidence of him probably already having devoured most of the carton himself, his cheeks flushed as he snorted a laugh into his palm. “w-w-what?” Error was bristling before he even got the words out. “q-quit staring at me eat like-e a creep.”

Ink did his best to stop laughing. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just-!” Ink wheezed, slapping his knee and interrupting himself with another fit of giggles. When he eventually calmed himself enough to be able to talk coherently again, he pointed straight at Error’s face. “You’re just, uh. Probably the most expressive eater I’ve ever seen,” said Ink, gesturing with his free hand, chopsticks in the other. “It’s like, every time you take a bite, you pull a different face. Like you’re tasting something totally new every time.”

Error shoved in another mouthful of noodles defiantly. “s-s-so you’re saying i’m a weird eater. flatt-ering.”

Ink waved Error off, rolling his eyelights. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I can’t even describe it, you just look so… happy.” He pointed to his own face, then drew a big smile over his own mouth in the air with a finger. “Cheerful. Contented. Full of the joys of stolen ramen.”

For whatever bizarre, inexplicable reason, Error felt his cheeks getting hot. Divert, abort mission, abandon protocol. “s-s-so it was stolen?” He asked, raising a brow, and Ink slapped a hand over his mouth, eyesockets going large. He let out a very guilty, vague “mm” sound in his throat, mimed zipping his mouth shut, before a scrape of wood on carboard sounded as he fished in the bottom of the box to look for more noodles.

For a while there was peace. Just the sound of lava popping and hissing below that Error was starting to get used to, and the sound of his strings stretching slightly as Ink flopped down in the hammock. Error finished his own noodles fairly quickly, and put the box on the floor, sitting back to look up at the ceiling. He was reminded of Waterfall, where they had ‘stars’ that were really just some kind of bioluminescent crystal. Here it was just flat red rock, far as the eye could see, on the ceiling, with the occasional downpour of molten rock waterfall interrupting it with a bright yellow-orange flash. But Error found he didn’t mind the lack of pretty view.

He wasn’t used to this kind of calm silence. In the Anti-Void, if it was quiet, then there was soon going to be an outpour of voices clamouring, or he would start talking to himself to fill the space. But that was loud silence, the kind that made his voice sound too shrill. If he stayed too long, then he would start to hear things. Not random hallucinations, just him becoming hyperaware of every sound, every slow beat of his soul against his ribs and every single little inhale and exhale and each tiny little glitch that formed on his body until it wasn’t really silence at all. He’d thought that happiness couldn’t be quiet.

But, as he looked over to Ink who was staring at the ceiling just as intently as he had been, eyelights the colour of an early-morning sky, he decided he liked comfortable silences.

“Hey.” Ink said softly, and Error jolted to be caught staring, a defensive half-apology ready on his tongues, but Ink seemed to be focused on something else. Ink turned over onto his side, staring at him with his hands up to his face, his hoodie nearly hiding his mouth from view, gloved knuckles barely peaking over the cuffs of his hoodie as he placed his fists under his chin.

“Remind me to draw you while you eat sometime.” Ink said, looking at Error as if he was already planning out what combination of soft curves of his paintbrush and carefully sketched lines would allow him to convey what he couldn’t put into words onto paper instead. Error was surprised; he hadn’t expected Ink to still be thinking about that while he was lying there. Error assumed that the artist’s thoughts jumped about, from one to another like he was playing hot potato, like if he contemplated something for too long, he'd burn himself. It was oddly flattering, to be the centre of Ink’s probably chaotic skull closet for a while.

Error nodded, slowly. “t-though why you’d-d want to is beyond me.” He snorted, and Ink blew his cheeks out.

“Shush. I want to remember it.” Ink sat straight up as soon as he said it, arms thrown wide, eyes going huge as he gasped – and the spell was broken. As soon as his eyelights stopped flicking faster than Error could blink, Ink was gabbling excitedly, phalanges twitching like he wanted to grab hold of Error and shake him like Error had done to him earlier.

“Oh! Ohh, I have so many- they’re sketchbooks!” Ink took a deep breath, holding his hands up in a wait, wait gesture, while he clearly tried to articulate his racing thoughts. “I used to draw things so I’d remember them! And I cut photos out and scrapbooked them into the pages, and then I drew the photos! I remember doing some of me, and some of… what was his name…” Ink screwed his sockets shut, and Error waited for the shaky exhale, for the inevitable depressing reality that Ink could only ever remember small, inconsequential things in bursts, but to Error’s horror (and slight relief) Ink’s telltale gasp broke the air again.

“Blue!” Ink crowed, clapping his hands together, eyelights sparkling like stars. “His name’s Blue, and he wears that bandanna, and he’s a really bad cook, worse than me, and he’s kind and he’s patient and he hates swearing and-” Ink inhaled deeply, clearly trying to calm himself down, but his fingers were tap-tap-tapping rapidly on his knees. “He’s the best hugger ever, he smells of that stupid MTT bodyspray, and he never backs down from a challenge even if he knows he’s gonna lose.” Ink looked over at Error, bright, shining tears welling in his eyesockets. “Oh, Error, I remember, I remember, I remember.” He said, knuckling his eyes so that tiny patches of damp showed on his dark gloves, and his next sentence hit Error like a slap in the face.

“Did you know him, Error?”

The hope in his words was palpable. Error started, eyesockets widening, but he knew how to shut this door by now. He’d had plenty of practice. Even if the words tasted sour in his mouth, he said them anyway. “n-n-no. i d-d-didn’t know him.”

Error watched some of the spark in Ink’s face go out, and he felt the familiar, roiling sick feeling in his chest. But he couldn’t very well take back the words he’d said. Ink was grinning anyway.

“I’ll have to introduce you two sometime.” He said, cheerfully flopping back in the hammock. Error nodded, glad that Ink wasn’t looking at him anyways. He would’ve seen the utterly unconvinced look on his face.

“ERROR, STOP!” Yelled the blue-clad skeleton across from him, struggling, a little blue bottlefly caught in the web. “PLEASE! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND – THIS UNIVERSE IS VITAL TO THE BALANCE! WITHOUT IT, DREAM’S GOING TO-”

With a flick of Error’s wrist, Blue’s soul was out and visible, glaring white and unmarked. Error would have to fix that, definitely. The brightness was dimmed as Error’s strings wrapped around it, but still there, resilient, like sunlight streaming through heavyset curtains, shining through. He could feel the frantic pulsing beat of Blue’s soul through the vibrations of his strings, like holding a human heart in his hands.

Error squeezed, like he was holding a tennis ball, and Blue fell to his knees – or would’ve, if the strings hadn’t kept him hanging awkwardly – teeth gritted as the pain wracked his body, wire-thin yarn sawing into his clothes and his gloves until the strings stained scarlet. His once-full eyesockets were now empty, wide and entirely circular, and Error’s grin widened. He was about to start puppeting him fully, show him that he hadn’t seen anything yet, but there was a teal flash in his vision; not Blue’s warm shade, this was glacial, and it washed over him like ice water. Nightmare telling him to draw back, just when things were starting to get fun.

Error scowled, and let the strings go limp. He opened up a portal and glanced back at Blue, who was staring helplessly, as if he was still bound, droplets of blood oozing from his palms and soaking his gloves.

Error gave a mock salute. “u-until we meet again, r-r-royal guard.”

Error shook himself out of his own thoughts. That didn’t matter. None of that mattered now. Even though Ink was chanting “Blue, Blue, Blue,” under his breath over and over again, reverently, with the dreamiest look on his face, it didn’t matter. Ink didn’t know. Ink wouldn’t know, if Error could just snap out of it and act normal.

So, that’s exactly what he did – or at the very least, tried to do, plastering a grin on his face. “t-that’s one thing to add-d to your list.” Once again, he thanked his glitches for hiding the slight wobble in his voice as he said it.

“Mhmmm.” Ink replied happily, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t curl up on his side, Error noticed – he stayed splayed, like he had been on the past few ‘beds’ they’d occupied. Speaking of which, Error was still sitting on a tablecloth – arguably worse than the park bench. He stood up, and shook the hammock so it swung Ink from side to side, making Ink yelp and cling to the edges. He glared at Error half-heartedly, still clearly too happy to get properly annoyed. “What wassat for?” He asked, slightly tiredly, and Error realised that Ink probably would’ve been up and pacing, or leaping about while he remembered, if not for how exhausted he seemed.

Error grinned. “w-w-wakey wakey. still-l got a hammock-k to make.” At Ink’s still-confused expression, he sighed and pointed to himself, and Ink blinked before nodding. Error started to bring his hand to his eyesocket, but when he noticed Ink just getting comfy again, he frowned.

“h-hey, what’re you-”

“Yeahh, yeah, I’ll get up in a sec. Just… five more minutes…”

“f-f-five more minutes my ass. y-you’re practically snoring already.”

“I can curl up real small.” Ink murmured, eyesockets half-closed. Error blinked, before his magic rushed to his cheekbones as Ink patted the space in the hammock next to him clumsily, an open invitation.

“don’t-t-t be stu-pid. there isn’t-t enough room.”

“Mmkay then.” Ink said, eyesockets falling shut.

“i-ink, you-u are not falling asleep on me.” Error said firmly, shaking the hammock again, but this did nothing to dissuade the smaller skeleton from practically melting into the hammock, snuffling a little, and Error was starting to wonder if Ink could make himself fall asleep on command because there was silence for a moment longer before soft breathing.

Error groaned aloud, and slumped back down. He was tired, too, and he didn’t know if he could be bothered to make another hammock. His magic reserves were high, he’d just eaten, but his limbs ached when he moved them and he had to rub his eyesockets every five seconds. He knocked his head back against the side of the hammock, and he flinched when he realised Ink’s hand was hanging over the side, barely a couple inches from his skull.

He peeked over at Ink, whose features were still and calm as he slept, for once. There was no muttering or restless twitching or frowning, and Error looked back at Ink’s hand, his usually active thin phalanges limp, his hand slightly curved in, almost as if somebody was holding it already.

Error’s own hand twitched, and he finally, begrudgingly, allowed himself to think about those flyaway moments. When Ink had leant against him, when Ink had come so close to brushing his face, but those moments paled in comparison to him grabbing him himself today. He hadn’t actively initiated contact with somebody in a long, long time, except… that awful time when Ink fell under the ice.

But now, when his soul wasn’t thudding against his ribs in anger or fear, when everything was calm and his ability to feel wasn’t clouded by a rush of adrenaline, would he be able to touch him just as inconsequentially?

Error repositioned, shuffling, basketing his legs and taking a deep breath. His hand wasn’t trembling, so that was a good sign, but his soul was pulsing a little faster, thud, thud, thud, every centimetre his hand moved towards Ink’s another flare-up of panic, but he forced himself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth, and when he felt mildly rational again, he allowed himself to close the distance between their fingertips.

The feeling was electric, almost literally as Error’s glitches popped up, and he yanked his hand back, panting like a dog. But he frowned, shaking his head and reaching out again. The buildup was much, much quicker this time. Mostly due to impatience, but also partially because he felt the longer he did this, the more he knew what to expect. Part of his fear came from the hesitancy that went hand-in-hand (ha) with touch, the inability to predict what the other person would do if touch was initiated. But Ink was waist-deep in some sort of REM cycle, and he didn’t respond even as Error’s sharp reeling back sent the hammock into a gentle sway again.

Closer, closer now. Error had always known, but now he really noticed just how different their hands were. His phalanges were thicker and less pointed than Ink’s, blunter at the edges, and there were tiny chips and nicks in the bone. Ink’s were porcelain smooth, thinner and more… delicate, in a way. An artist’s fingers. Yet Error knew there was so much these hands had done, were capable of doing. Put an oversized paintbrush in them, Ink could fend off Error till they were both exhausted and drained. put a carton of ramen in them, and ink could eat like he was on death row, Error thought, snickering.

Carefully, Error ghosted his fingertips across the limp ones of the skeleton above him, hardly daring to breathe. There was a warning prickle, a fuzz of glitchy particles before they died down, and Error allowed himself to breathe out as he finally slipped his hand into Ink’s. There was an immediate sort of pain, of fear that made Error recoil, but he forced himself to keep his hand steady, gritting his teeth through the instant nausea and the instinctive urge to pull away.

It didn’t get entirely better, but it got easier. The glitching died down to a bearable amount, and Error shifted his hand tentatively, brushing his thumb over the back of Ink’s palm, feeling the velvety soft material of his gloves, the warmth Ink radiated that Error hoped he was giving back to him. Even though he knew he shouldn’t think it, he observed anyways how Ink’s hand fitted in his perfectly. Small, strong fingers hooked in his, tying them together better than his strings ever could.

---------------------------------------------------

Error didn’t know how he’d fallen asleep, but he awoke to a sudden chill. He blinked his sockets open. He was curled up, head back against the side of the hammock, his fingers still limply tangled in Ink’s, which he hastily removed. There was a slight pull, as if Ink was clinging on even unconsciously, but Error forced himself to detach them anyways. Shaking sleep out of his skull, he blinked. The lighting had still been the same when he’d dropped off, but now everything was shrouded in shadow. He could only see about five feet in front of his face before shadows prevented him from seeing anything else, black fog curling up and over the edges of the rocks like the landscape belonged to them.

Error’s soul beat a little faster against his ribs. Something was very, very wrong.

“He is quite different when he’s sleeping, isn’t he?”

Error knew that voice, dark and like something slippery crawling across your body. He whipped his skull around, and was met with a single cyan slit of light, gazing down at him. He scrambled to his feet, stiffening – mind racing a mile a minute. This couldn’t be possible. This wasn’t happening, it was some kind of fucked-up vision Nightmare had planted in his skull, it wasn’t-

“w-w-what the hell are you doing here?” Error snarled, his whirlwind of emotions making his voice come out a lot more accusing and biting than he had quite intended it to. His teeth were gritted, his phalanges twitching as he ripped a healthy amount of string out of the rim of his socket, and he realised that despite everything he’d never addressed Nightmare quite so… defensively. They’d come close, snarky comments and tense silences, but it had never spiralled into a fight. Error was never bothered enough, Nightmare too controlled. Error would rip every inky appendage from his back if he had to now.

Nightmare smiled. Error hated that smile. “Shh. We wouldn’t want to wake Ink up, would we? I imagine he’d have a lot of questions.”

At the mention of Ink, Error stole a glance down at him. Nightmare’s hands were on the sides of the hammock, resting casually but still making the whole thing tilt towards him. He was so close to Ink that Error felt himself twitching. He wondered why Ink hadn’t woken up yet, why he seemed so unaffected, before it hit him that Ink definitely couldn’t feel Nightmare or Dream’s respective auras due to his lack of soul, so he slept on obliviously, despite the light, barely-there shadow of Nightmare leaning over him.

“j-just tell me why you’re-e here, asshole.” Error snapped, his voice a whisper-shout, and Nightmare’s catlike smile widened. Error caught sight of his tentacles moving behind him, but the usually sharply outlined extra limbs were hazy, wavering and flickering, like Error was seeing them from a far distance in intense heat.

“Am I not allowed to congratulate you on your success? Infiltrating the Omega Timeline, all with the gracious Protector held in the palm of your hand,” Nightmare paused long enough to place an unbearably noticeable emphasis on his words, his eyelight locked on Error’s, and Error felt himself go ice-cold again. How long had Nightmare been watching? “An impressive feat.”

Error resisted the urge to spear a bone through Nightmare’s weirdly ghostlike form. “g-get to the point.” He ground out, phalanges clenching into fists, and Nightmare sighed irritably, like this was the most painful thing in the world for him to do. He stepped around the hammock, and Error squinted; once again, he was made unsure of whether this was some sort of dreamscape or not.

Nightmare was close enough that Error shouldn’t need glasses to see him clearly, but he looked more like a shadow than ever. It was unclear where black sweatshirt ended and Nightmare began, and the only indication of him having defined legs at all was the space between the fabric of his shorts. Down his tibia was where his form faded into nearly a wisp in his vision, his slippered feet were transparent, barely more than the edges of the fog that surrounded them both.

Nightmare seemed to pick up on his confusion easily enough, which irked Error immensely despite the Guardian having empathetic powers. But empathetic didn’t seem quite the right word to use, especially when Nightmare clearly revelled in the clusterfuck that was Error’s feelings right now. “My form isn’t the most stable here. This timeline is still largely a joyous one. Kindred spirits, and all of that nonsense.” Nightmare’s smile dimmed, becoming a little more strained. Error felt a tiny spark of schadenfreude at Nightmare’s tiny slip of discomfort. He still knew only vaguely how Nightmare’s abilities worked, but he knew there would be some definite difficulty to retain a form in a place where it was still seeped in positivity.

Error frowned. Nightmare shouldn’t even have been able to access this place at all. There shouldn’t have been any strong negativity in the air. “h-how did you even get here?” He asked, eyeing him warily. The Guardian wasn’t in any fit state to fight, but he had Error in a box. He was right – any more noise and Ink would wake up, and Error had explained away some things, but he was unsure how he could explain away a large goopy figure standing eerily at the foot of the hammock.

Nightmare grinned again, baring all his sharp white teeth, something Error related immediately to Ink for some reason. “You know,” he said lightly, as if discussing the weather. “There has been quite some unrest since the Protector went missing. He is a vital part of my brother’s little gang of heroes.” Acid tinged his words as he spoke of his brother, his eyesocket narrowing. “My brother is searching high and low, and so is that mortal who they drag along on their missions. They may discover your situation any moment now.”

Error’s eyesockets narrowed. “y-your point being?”

“You’re running out of time.” Nightmare drawled slowly, as if Error was stupid or hard of hearing. “You plan to make it to the Core, yes?”

Error hesitated, before nodding, eyelights flicking one more traitorous glance down at the sleeping skeleton behind him. He hadn’t realised he’d backed in front of the hammock until he looked back up at Nightmare. Nightmare had followed his gaze before deliberately dragging it back up to meet Error’s again, eyelight narrowing to a bright slit.

“Then I suggest you stop this song-and-dance with your mortal enemy and torture the information out of him.” Nightmare said, coldly and unfeelingly, and Error felt himself shuddering just at the words. Nightmare tilted his skull at him. “Squeamish, Destroyer? That’s unlike you. Today might be your lucky day, however, because I am more than happy to do it for you…” Nightmare trailed off, his tentacles becoming more visible as they sharpened to points, his eyesocket fixed in a deadly way on Ink’s still body.

Error snorted inelegantly through his nasal ridge. “i’d l-l-like to see you try, then.” He retorted, eyeing Nightmare’s increasingly transparent form, almost like a monster about to dust.

Nightmare hummed tunelessly as he stepped past Error, and Error flinched as he felt the cold, barely-there brush of one of his tentacles, slow and deliberate, his glitches spiking. His eyesockets narrowed. Nightmare was fully aware of his phobia, and he was just making use of his extremely ghostlike state to fuck with him. That was never a good sign.

Error forgot about petty grudges as soon as he saw Nightmare standing over the hammock again, though. He watched as the guardian reached out with one hand, tugging at the strings still wrapped around his fingers restlessly. But all Nightmare did was gently twang the corner of the hammock with his fingertip, barely enough to make it move. “The knots are weak.” He remarked, and Error bristled before he realised what Nightmare was getting at.

“Ink’s work, perhaps?”

“n-n-not all his. i-i did most of it.”

Nightmare nodded, again, his smile a tinge too unkind for Error to believe in good faith that he wanted to know for innocent, conversation-making reasons. “Intriguing. That isn’t like you, Error.” Nightmare muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, and Error glared at him.

“w-what the hell does that e-even mean? sp-are m3 the cryptic bullshit.” Error growled, and Nightmare let loose a low chuckle, a sound that made Error’s shoulders tense.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Nightmare waved a hand dismissively, as if Error was one of his stupid guard dogs. Nightmare glanced at Error, eyesocket hooded in an almost convincing display of contemplation. “It’s just… the Error I knew would have blown Ink to pieces for even trying to take the only hammock. But I suppose friendship changes us all. Brings out sides of us that we wouldn’t otherwise be exposing.”

“w-w-we aren’t friends.” Error snapped, just a little too quickly, voice a little too strained. And from the way Nightmare smiled that awful, Chessy-cat smile, he had picked up on it.

“Ah, of course not. So, I’m sure you won’t mind if I…?” Nightmare’s hand drifted down as he spoke, his phalanges separating to form a claw, strings of black goop snapping between his metacarpals. He was leant over Ink, hand close to his ribcage. Aside from the viscous, slurry-like liquid that was oozing across his bones, there was a faint glow of ice-coloured magic, coalescing at the tips of his phalanges like water droplets clinging to a wet faucet. Error had enough sense to know what was coming next, and at his horrified realisation he swore Nightmare’s form became a little more corporeal.

The magic swirling in small, bright-blue clouds around Nightmare’s fingers took shape in the form of a small, circular ball of energy, no larger than a ping-pong ball. And Error watched as the ball hovered slightly unsteadily, before a gentle pat with Nightmare’s fingers sent it floating down until it hit Ink’s chest, where the magic didn’t disappear but seemed to burst, spreading like liquid before it seemed to seep into Ink’s ribcage completely, disappearing from view.

Nightmare leaned back, almost as if to give Error a better view of what was about to happen. And nothing appeared to, at first, save for the tiny crease between Ink’s brows, the one twitch of his phalanges that could easily be attributed to his normal nighttime moving about and muttering. Then it started to get worse.

Ink’s breath sped up rapidly within almost a few seconds, his chest rising in short, shallow gasps of air, as he twisted onto his side, his laboured panting muffled against the side of the hammock as he tucked up into foetal position. An awful, pained sound left his throat, low like a wounded animal. Sharp muttering, steadily growing louder and louder, until Error could just about catch what Ink was saying.

“No, no, no, I won’t go back, I won’t go back, you can’t make me go back…” Ink was whimpering, shrill, raw desperation evident in his tone, his fists clenched tight in the strings of the hammock. Nightmare’s bright white grin split his face even wider, and he reached down, aiming for Ink’s chest again-

Error was snatching forward before he could stop himself. Nightmare’s flickering hand was suspended in strings, wires slicing through the sludge on his hands. Nightmare didn’t struggle, or protest, but his eyelight flicked up to Error’s. Error made the strings fall loose, and Nightmare moved his hand away. Ink’s breathing gradually returned to normal. Remarkably, he still did not wake up.

“Well.” Nightmare said, skull tilting. “I believe that answers my questions.”

His breath was coming heavy as he looked over at Nightmare. “g-get out.” He said shortly, moving to place himself between Nightmare and Ink. Nightmare stared at him for a further few seconds before he stepped back, his shadowy form wavering. “I like the flowers, by the way. They suit you.” Nightmare commented, and Error suddenly noticed dazedly that Nightmare had the brightbloom flower that Ink had tucked into his jacket earlier. With a sharp twist of his wrist, Nightmare crushed the large, creamy petals into dust in his hand, before opening his palm and shaking disgustedly, like he'd just swatted a particularly nasty bug.

Error watched the remains of the flower slowly filter down to the floor, and by the time he looked up again, Nightmare was gone.

Error looked back to the sleeping skeleton below him, face once again blank and smooth once more, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. Slowly, he sank down beside the hammock again, and buried his face in his palms, finally letting the terrified, exhausted tears spill.

Chapter Text

“closed? w-w-w-what the hell do you mean, closed?”

The tall ghost monster stared back at him tiredly. “Sir, please don’t raise your voice at me. We’re simply closing these gates out of precaution. Suspicious activity has been reported in this area and for the safety of the people in Hotland, we decided it would be best to shut off access for a while.”

Error felt his glitches flaring up. He was too half-asleep to see how risky and illogical he was being right now. But as he stared up at the large metal barrier with warning signs plastered all over it, there was hot panic in his chest, rising and rising. The tiny booth he was speaking into had glass several inches thick separating him from the ghost, and he felt his eyesocket twitching. Not even one of his Gaster Blasters could sear a hole in metal this thick. It’d take him too long.

Ink was at his side. Error had been avoiding talking to him too much after last night, and if Ink noticed, he hadn’t commented on it yet. Despite him sleeping through the night, it had been fitful and precisely the opposite of peaceful since Nightmare had left, though nothing compared to the visceral fear on his face when the Guardian had touched him. And no matter how hard Error tried, he could not get the image of Ink’s terrified face to leave his mind, every sharp, shaky breath and whimper etched into his skull. “I won’t go back,” Ink had said, shrill, and so unlike the usual jovial tone he was used to hearing that Error couldn’t help wondering what he was so scared of.

Error had only a hazy idea of how Ink, multiversal Protector had come to be. He knew he was without a universe entirely, as were most of the Outcodes that Error knew of, but instead of it being destroyed or corrupted by too many resets, it seemed that Ink just never had one in the first place. This might have been the reason for his lack of soul, but Error also knew there was some sort other driving force. After all, you couldn’t just come into the world without a soul and somehow thrive anyway, could you?

“i-i-i need to get to the core. it’s important-t, i have business there.” Error tried desperately, even though the ghost monster was eyeing them both up and down with what could be contempt, disgust, pity or suspicion, their transparent form reaching for something beside them.

“Look, if it really is urgent and you can’t wait a week until the barricades get taken down, there’s a separate route through Newest Waterfall.” Said the ghost monster, transparent fingers typing noisily on an awful-sounding keyboard. Error thought they might be looking something up to show them, but the screen was reflected slightly in the glass and Error saw ‘Top Ten Most Suspenseful Snail Races of ALL TIME’ was being typed into a search bar on Undernet, and the ghost was still giving them that deadpan, unaffected look.

“w-w-waterfall?” Error repeated, voice continuing to rise. He still hadn’t gotten to look at a map, and still had very little idea of how the Omega Timeline was formatted, but he’d made the mistake of assuming it was all one big line, like most universes formatted it. “th-the core has mult-iple entrances?” It was the wrong thing to ask, and he knew it as soon as the ghost cocked a brow at him whilst hovering the mouse over something on the screen.

“I’d assume somebody who had ‘business’ with the core would know that.” The ghost replied, infuriatingly calmly. Their eyes had heavy lashes, so it looked like they were in a perpetually relaxed or drained state, even if their fingers were starting to hit the keys of their relic-looking keyboard a little harder. “Yes, there are multiple entrances. Hotland and Waterfall are near enough to each other, so if you’re willing to walk straight for a while in that direction-” The ghost reached a hand up to point roughly northwest. “You’ll stumble across it. It’ll take you another little while to get to the additional entrance from there, though. Oh, and you need authorisation from somebody off of the Council or a Scientist who works there, so.”

“i-i don’t-t know if it can…” Error looked down at Ink, whose eyes were shining as he intently listened to what the ghost was saying. The smaller skeleton seemed to have perked up at the mention of Waterfall, and Error wondered if he actually remembered what it was. It would make sense, given he seemed to remember what an Echoflower was. Maybe all that muttering and twisting around in his sleep eluded him remembering things while he was unconscious? Or maybe he'd just innately known from the start and it had just taken somebody bringing it up for him to recall.

Ink’s eyelights flicked up to him, and went through a quick flurry of shapes, none of which Error managed to pinpoint at all. “Are we going, Error?” He asked, head tilted, corner of his mouth curved into a tiny smirk. His voice was soft and curious, but it was clear from his expression that he knew Error was losing this argument. Error scowled, resolve hardening from that knowledge alone.

“n-no.” Error snapped, at the same time the ghost said. “Yes.” Both Ink and Error rounded on them.

“s-shut up!”

“Stay out of it!”

The ghost gave them a look which basically said ‘welp’ and went back to watching snail videos, presumably. Error focused back on Ink. “y-you realise how l-long it took us to walk-k here?” Error’s voice came out a lot less frustrated than he felt for once. “i-it’ll take atleast-t another day- no, hell, t-two days for us-s to get there.”

“I still don’t know why you want to go to the core so badly.” Ink said, and Error froze. It wasn’t said in a malicious nor a combative way, it just sounded like Ink was musing, thinking out loud. But Error didn’t like the direction this conversation was starting to go in. “Do you think I used to be at the centre of this place?”

“n-none of your-r business.” Okay, petty, childish, but Error was scraping for things to say here.

“Actually, it is my business. I’m going with you.” Ink replied, annoyingly calmly. “So why are we going?”

“b-because i-i’ve been lying to you-u this whole-e time and we’re-e actually mortal enemies.” Is what Error wanted to say, his teeth ground together. But he doesn’t, of course. Ink had him in a box here. Lie again, and Ink might call his bluff, but argue back and Ink would get suspicious. Or, he could just… go to Waterfall with him. Ink was clearly excited by the notion, right? Maybe he’d just… forget about this whole argument.

“f-fine. we’ll go.” Error grumbled, and Ink’s sockets shone with sudden, spinning stars that helped Error push down the guilt he felt for manipulating Ink’s attentions so easily. Ink walked off without a second thought, and Error hollered him back immediately, smothering a laugh.

“i-ink! w-wrong way.” He pointed, and Ink bounded back to him. Literally, the walking started with such a spring in his step that he had to keep circling back so that he could be in sync with Error’s slow, reluctant plodding.

There was nothing to be that enthusiastic about, from Error’s standpoint, except maybe the idea that Waterfall had less mundane, monotonous paths. The fizzing lava, the invasive, colourful oranges and yellows and the ropey wooden bridges had all seemed interesting at first, but Error quickly realised that since they were in an area far away from the heart of Hotland, they were all there was to see. This was definitely the part of it that tourists from other sides of the Omega Timeline avoided like the plague.

But Ink didn’t tire. He just grew more energetic and bolder, and to Error’s confusion and amazement he started using random rocks and piles of metal as run-ups, although he had to take a time out for a bit because he singed his trouser legs on a pile that was too hot.

“s-slow down a little.” Error kept telling him, worried that Ink would exhaust himself before they even reached the halfway point, but Ink just laughed.

“I have this feeling, y’know? I just need to move.” Ink’s explanation was punctuated by him turning a neat little cartwheel and then standing back up again, grinning and dusting himself off. And he didn’t stop there. He stood on his hands and walked like that, he bent over backwards spryly and did a crab-walk before he realised it was majorly uncomfortable. When Ink managed to lean his whole weight on only one hand while reaching in his pocket with the other, Error clapped him, and Ink beamed, righting himself and taking a sweeping bow, cheeks a little flushed with magic from being upside down for so long.

“d-didn’t know you were such-h an acrobat.” Error remarked, as Ink fell back into step with him. Ink shrugged, looking at his arms and legs like they’d just pleasantly surprised him.

“I didn’t either. Must be muscle memory. Or- uhh, bone memory.” Ink’s sockets suddenly lit up. “Ooh, I could teach you how to do a cartwheel!”

“n-no.” Error’s answer was firm and immediate, and even though Ink widened his sockets imploringly, blinking, there were some things he absolutely refused to budge on. “b-besides,” Error went on, kicking a little orange stone with the scuffed toe of his sandal as they walked. “c-can you-u imagine me doing-g a cartwheel?”

Ink clearly was imagining it – because he cracked up laughing about two seconds later. “Okay, yeah, m-maybe you’re right.” He giggled, but he looked up at Error again. “Not even a-”

“n-no.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“n-no gymnastics. ever-r-r. th-that answer your quest-ion?” Error smiled sweetly down at Ink, who stick his tongue out at him with an annoyed ‘bleh’ noise.

“No fun.” Ink grumbled, kicking at the dusty ground before racing off again, and trying to do some sort of elaborate somersault by clambering atop a rock. Error watched him intently. Ink moved like everything was accounted for – ever possible mess up, every slip or fall. He moved like every step was choreographed, and he just wasn’t letting anybody else in on it till it was happening. Of course, somebody so full of life and love and joy for the things around him would move like a dancer. But it felt subdued.

Every time Ink made a mistake and went careening into the floor, he just laughed and brushed it off, trying again. But Error couldn’t help wondering. If Ink had his memories would he have more movement, more energy? If Ink had remembered however he’d learnt all of this, would he have more clarity and focus? The fact that he was currently seeing an incomplete version of Ink made him feel…

…well, it didn’t feel pleasant.

Eventually, as Error had been worried about, Ink eventually shed some of his jittery, excitable energy and fell back into the slow, steady pace Error had kept for the majority of their walking together. But luckily, Ink didn’t show any signs of lagging behind or anything, so Error decided not to say anything snarky – a great mercy, on his part.

“Error?” Ink’s inquisitive voice was a welcome break from the silent monotony of so many stupid tall red rocks and lava.

“y-yeah?”

“What was I like… before?”

As if the damn squid could read his thoughts. Error scoffed, not even thinking about it. “a-annoying. as hell.”

Ink glared at him half-heartedly. “Okay, number one, rude. Number two, that doesn’t tell me anything. How annoying was I? Like Jerry levels of annoying? Or was it just you being grumpy because I think that’s far more likely.” He retorted, and Error blinked. He didn’t think he’d been described as ‘grumpy’ many times before, and hearing it from Ink’s mouth sounded weird, but not in a bad way.

Error furrowed his brows, thinking, before he finally relented. “o-okay, m-maybe not as annoying as a jerry.”

“Progress, people, progress!” Ink hollered into the blank space, and Error smothered a laugh.

“b-but still definitely really a-annoying.” Error tried to put his thoughts into words. “the a-annoyingly persistent kind. y-you’d stakeout a spot for hours u-until dre-” Error backpedalled rapidly. “u-until somebody dragged you away.”

Ink didn’t seem to notice his slip; his eyelights were big and shining. He didn’t gesture for Error to continue because he didn’t need to. It seemed like every iota of his concentration belonged to Error in this moment, to the point where Error was surprised that he hadn’t stopped walking or stumbled yet. He felt another twinge of guilt for keeping this quiet all this time; Ink clearly desperately wanted to know.

“Aaand?” Ink said, once Error was silent for another couple beats.

“o-okay, fine. y-you want my top-p ten r-reasons you were annoying?”

Ink puffed out his cheeks. “Fine.”

“a-all right, fine. l-let’s see.” Error started to count on his fingers, his mind already fixing for the first one. “n-number one: y-you thought you were all-l that. y-you could put up a fi-ght, but you w-w-weren’t that good. n-not good enough to strut around l-like a damn peacock-k-k and act as s-smug as you did.”

“Moi?” Ink had the gall to look offended, pressing his hand to his chest dramatically. “Egotistical? Never. And what’s with the past tense? I bet I could still fight now.” Ink mock-punched the air, back and forth, making Error chuckle.

“a-anyway. number t-two. t-terrible sense of humour, laughing-g at the dumbest stuff. and three, dumbest laugh ev-er. you s-sound like a tea kettle boiling and a d-deaf pidgeon trying to coo.” Error said, eyelights flicking down to Ink’s mouth. “s-some things haven’t changed.”

“Shut up! I can’t help the way I laugh. And I’ll have you know; my sense of humour is-” Ink broke off, eyelights flaring red and pink as they flicked to the lava surrounding them, and he cracked up laughing. “Oh my stars! I just saw a Temmie with its tail burning! Look!”

“p-point proven.” Error said, scoffing, pulling the collar of his hoodie up to hide the smile that was threatening to break out on his face. “f-four. d-dumbass cooing away-y to that m-massive brush as if it was a real person. p-polishing it and stuff. hell, i saw-w you brushing-g the bristles once.”

Ink laughed. “Okay, objectively, taking care of your stuff isn’t a bad thing.”

“y-yeah, missing out-t the fact that you talked t-to it. n-number five. y-you always either stank-k of paint or that-t weird laundry detergent, so-o every time i-i smelled it i thought of you. num-ber six, stupid, goofy-y smile that-t m-makes your eyesockets-s light up. seven, you never-r sat still, y-you were always doing-g something while you talked. eight, wayyyy too much energy, at all times, n-never stopping, e-even if we came-e to a standstill. n-nobody except you-u was ever that excited about... everything. n-nine, y-you were touchy. a-always hugging somebody-y or grabbing their arm or some shit. t-t-ten, finally, y-your tongue pokes out from between your teeth when-n you’re focused or when you smile. i-in a totally dumbass way. and-d there’s ten.”

Error blinked down at Ink, who had gone silent while he’d listed all those reasons. Ink was looking up at him, one eyelight a question mark, the other a shimmering blue diamond -shape. “You… you noticed all of that?” Ink asked slowly, his expression unreadable. His eyelights were flickering in and out of shapes as he blinked, too, so reading those was a no-go as well.

“…y-yeah. so?” Error snapped, unsure of why his tone was quite so biting and dismissive as he turned his skull to the side, feeling his cheekbones heat. “y-you know what? m-make some good use of your scatterbrain and forget-t about it. it doesn’t matter.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in disarray as Error scowled at the floor. Why hadn’t he just kept his trap shut, for once? Why did he have to go and ruin it all again?

“Well.” Ink said, after a few moments of silence. “Good to know you were paying attention.” And he grinned up at Error, tiny flash of rainbow tongue between his sharp teeth, cheekbones ever-so-slightly flushed with prismatic magic.

Error was caught off-guard by how badly, inexplicably, he wanted to kiss him.  

 …He blurted something clipped in response and walked off hurriedly, allowing Ink to chatter on for the rest of that conversation.

---------------------------------------------------

“Hey, look!”

At the end of Ink’s phalange was a gem in the ceiling. Shimmering blue, a tiny bead of sapphire against the hard red rock. Error eyed Ink suspiciously. They’d had multiple annoying instances where Ink had shouted out “I see it!” or “There it is!” and then it had always been just another stretch of normal rock, and Error would stomp off in annoyance while Ink cackled like he had just made the funniest joke in the world.

Error begrudgingly stared up at the dot of sudden colour, wondering if it was just a one-off. A thing to let people know they were on the right track to this place, nothing more. But as they continued walking forward slowly, Error realised, with no small amount of relief, that this was not the case.

More of them seemed to appear on the ceiling, slowly at first. It felt like looking up at a starry sky and seeing only blackness at first, but then as you looked the stars appeared. Unfolding out of the dusty red rock, pooling in clumps almost like liquid, until the clumps joined up and the ceiling was purely a sea of deep, shining blue, so unmarked and clear Error could see Ink’s eyelights reflected in the ceiling as he peered up, and eventually, his own too. Bathed in the blue, they didn’t look so different.

As Error stepped forward again, skull still tilted all the way back to keep gazing at the gems, he felt his foot land on something slippery. Frowning, he finally looked down, and a hand on his sleeve yanked him backwards just in time to stop him falling headfirst into a sudden pool of water.

He looked back, snatching his arm away. Ink was grinning at him. “t-thanks.” Error mumbled, stepping back to be in line with Ink, running his hand over his arm where Ink had grabbed him to smooth down the minute spike of glitches.

“I mean, I totally would’ve let you go for a swim, but I didn’t think you wanted to just yet.” Ink said, pressing his hand to his forehead like he was shielding his vision from a non-existent sun. “But, look. Seriously.”

Obediently, Error turned back around. And was immediately very glad that Ink had tugged him back. Suddenly, there was a massive stretch of water in front of them, so unfathomably huge that Error wondered how Core had managed to pull off coding it so it wouldn’t appear until you were this close to it. The water was inky blue-black, leaving you with no idea how deep it was, but judging from the number of monsters travelling back and forth across it, it certainly wasn’t shallow enough to just wade through.

There were tiny yellow ducks with even tinier ducklings crossing the pool, some of them with small monsters in their beaks and some of them just swimming along. There were several sharp green spikes piercing the surface of the water, which occasionally rose up to reveal the plump-cheeked faces of several Onionsan, travelling in packs and jumping over different rocks, their full-whale bodies glimmering in the light of the gems above them and sending droplets raining down on indignant families of ducks. There were also full fleets of river people in their sleek wooden boats, transporting monsters across, doing circles, or simply waiting for people to get on their boat.

It was… amazing. These organised groups of monsters all banding together in this bigger location. Error felt slightly overwhelmed. When was the last time he saw an Onionsan actually swimming in a place big enough to hold it? When was the last time he saw a tiny yellow duck struggling to pick up a massive monster?

Ink didn’t seem to be quite as awed as Error was, because by the time Error managed to tear his eyes away from the sight, Ink was crouched in front of the water and messily scooping up handfuls of it with his phalanges into his mouth, lapping it up like a dog. Error felt like he should’ve been annoyed, but he just laughed. “y-y’know, i’m convinced n-n-now that you’re just a puppy wearing a skeleton suit.”

Ink stood back up, the entire front of his hoodie stained a shade darker from water, his gloved absolutely soaked as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I was thirsty.” He said, breathless, eyelights averted sheepishly. He gazed out at the vast expanse of water, and Error knew from that look what he was going to ask. “Can we get a boat?” He asked, eyesockets widened pleadingly.

Error hesitated. The train they’d gotten to Snowdin had been free, right? And in most timelines – except for the Fell ones, where everybody was always trying to make a bit of G – the River Person didn’t charge. Besides, the alternative was a duck, and Error was definitely too heavy for that now. Ink might manage, though, and Error chuckled to himself at the mental image of Ink getting carried across by a tiny yellow bird.

“What’s so funny?” Ink asked, suspiciously, and Error shook his head.

“n-nothing. we can get a boat.”

Ink’s eyelights lit up, and he happily followed Error closer to the edge of the water. Error was unsure of how to actually get a boat, though. Did he hail it, like a taxi, or was there somewhere you had to go to arrange getting on one? His questions were quickly answered as a River Person chundered over to the edge where they were stood foolishly, steering the boat horizontally so that they could get on, chirping out a cheery “Tra la la. I am the Riverman. Or am I the Riverwoman…? Never mind. Care to join me?” in their deep, hollow voice.

Well, at least some things were still simple.

“Yes! Thank you!” Ink said enthusiastically in response, scrambling into the boat and making it rock wildly as he positioned himself, but the Riverman seemed unphased, their hood tilted as they looked back at Error, clearly expecting him to climb in. Error blinked. Although he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d ridden in one of these things, he’d remembered them being bigger. But with Ink and the Riverman sitting up front, there was concerningly little space in the back. Maybe he could just wait until the Riverman dropped Ink off, and then get in once he came back?

No, he was being stupid. He could get in like this. Scowling determinedly, he held onto the boat so it wouldn’t rock or splash water over the sides, shooting Ink a grateful glance as the smaller skeleton held onto the opposite side to further steady the boat.

He slid in behind Ink, keeping his knees apart so that he wouldn’t be touching Ink’s femurs, his arms awkwardly held on each side of the boat to keep from brushing against Ink’s shoulders or sides. Ink seemed oblivious to the fact that his back was nearly touching Error’s chest, looking out at the water as they set off, the Riverman merrily ‘Tra-la-la’ing up front.

Error tried hard to focus on what Ink was saying to the Riverman, but that focus was impossible to maintain as keeping himself from touching Ink took up so much of his attention. And the fact that Ink didn’t know made it even worse. Every fractional slouch or sigh made them touch and Error was panicking, for two very different reasons, both of which he wouldn’t like to think about right now.

“Tra la la… I wonder what the Destroyer has for dinner?” The Riverman trilled, and Error felt his soul stop beating for a second. He sat bolt upright, staring at the back of the Riverman’s head, but they hadn’t turned around, or even given any indication that they weren’t just talking to themself. But still, Error felt on edge.

“w-what did you just- eep!” Error cut himself off by letting out possibly the most embarrassing, squeaky noise he’d ever made in his life as Ink sighed and leant against him, his skull lolling against Error’s collarbone. The contact lasted about five seconds before Ink seemed to realise what he was doing, eyelights flashing electric yellow as he jerked back up, bashing his nasal ridge against the Riverman’s back, but once again the Riverman showed no reaction to either of these movements.

Error pressed against the back of the boat, cheekbones burning as Ink turned around to look at him. He was ready to accept some sort of apology, folding his arms across his chest, but Ink simply rubbed his affected nasal ridge before giving him a curious look, a tiny, incredulous smirk curving his mouth.

“Did you just squeak?”

“n-n-n-no.” Error snapped, his arms folded across his chest, cheekbones flaring with heat. “i d-don’t squeak.”

“You totally did, though. You’re all blue too, as well.”

“y-you-! ugh.” Error, not currently feeling eloquent enough to come up with a better response, went back to staring out of the side of the boat and wishing the wood would swallow him whole. And to make matters worse, the Riverman piped up again.

“Tra la la. The mouse squeaks for cheese, the skeleton squeaks for bones.”

Ink cracked up laughing so hard that the boat started to rock back and forth again, and Error wished with his whole being that they had gotten the duck instead. The rest of the boat ride, despite Ink’s laughter, he stayed well away from Error and avoided making conversation too complex with him, like even though he’d been laughing about it it still made him uncomfortable. The Riverman’s little songs for the rest of the journey were also as vague and cryptic as usual, but Error was kept on edge. He knew, he definitely knew, and Error felt nagging discomfort at being in his boat. He nearly leapt for the bank as the boat drew up to it.

Ink thanked the Riverman, and the Riverman nodded, singing one last thing before he drifted away. “Tra la la. He is still here. Tra la la. But for how long?”

…Error’s chest tingled where Ink’s skull had been.

---------------------------------------------------

“That guy was nice. He didn’t even charge us! Had no idea what he was talking about, but really good singing voice.” Ink hummed, imitating the ‘Tra-la-la’ in his own higher, clearer voice, that in spite of everything made Error smile briefly.

“y-yeah. i-i’m pretty sure they just spout-t a loud of crap.” Error affirmed hastily, thanking the stars that Ink hadn’t picked up on any of the ‘Destroyer’ stuff. Deciding that they were good for now, he examined their surroundings. The ground was still marshy and wet as they got off the water, spongy beneath Ink’s feet which he bounced up and down on, and there were so many Echoflowers it was hard to believe.  The ground glimmered with fallen pieces of the gem-encrusted ceiling, and Ink pocketed one and put it in his seemingly bottomless pockets.

Unlike Hotland, it seemed, this Waterfall was structured in tunnels. Before them, there were several glowing holes in a wall of blue-black earth, shrouded by a layer of vines and tall grass which came up to Ink’s femurs. There were six tunnels dug in a circle in the wall, and Error gave them all a look before he simply stepped into the closet one to them – and was assaulted by voices.

“I don’t know… did she, like…”

“Huh? No, I bought it yesterday…”

“…snails are far too expensive nowadays…”

“Come BACK here, you little punk!”

The Echoflowers were grouped closely together and were repeating over and over again, and you couldn’t move an inch in the damn tunnel without brushing against one. Ink appeared overjoyed, cocking his head and leaning downwards to try and add context to any of the random stories being spouted. His entire body was bathed in blue light, glass vials gleaming and sparkling.

“w-well?” Error asked. “a-a-anything interesting?”

Ink grinned, nodding. “Somebody broke up with their boyfriend. I think it’s recent, because the voice is still really loud. You can hear how drunk they were.”

Error rolled his eyelights, stepping past. He’d heard every strange confession you possibly could hear from these glowing blue flowers, in every single timeline. Weeping confessions of love lost were among the most common, besides random conversations. Maybe they were a cry for help? Maybe the person was hoping desperately that somebody would recognise their voice and offer comfort, or a shoulder to cry on? Either way, Error didn’t think it worked.

“h-hey, hey, what are you doing?” He questioned, seeing Ink crouching down to speak directly into an Echoflower.

“I wanna do my own sad monologue.”

Error cocked a brow. “a-about who?”

Ink smiled, like the answer was obvious. “You.”

Error tugged the collar of his jacket up to hide the glow of magic he knew was rushing to his cheekbones. “n-n-no. w-what if somebody heard it?” And Ink deflated, letting go of the flower, and Error felt…off. Recording their voice in a certain location was too much too risk, and anyways, they could probably hear them already. But their voices would be masked by the others, right? Speaking directly into an Echoflower with the intention of what you said being recorded would definitely take at least a week to fade.

The tunnel rang out with the sound of somebody excitedly retelling about their first kiss, and Error’s face flushed darker. He made for the exit, and Ink followed reluctantly, still leaning down to listen to the occasional voice that rang out. Error couldn’t see much beyond the glow of the Echoflowers and the thick blue smoggy mist that covered the floor, but when they exited, they came across something that looked… almost like a marketplace?

It still had that signature Waterfall sleepiness and tranquillity, that was true. But shops stretched as far as the eye could see and blue-bricked buildings dominated the stretch of path, crammed in against each other cosily. The air smelt of damp, but also of food and fish and seaweed, slippery, earthy smells that were as if Waterfall’s own scents had been magnified tenfold. There was another large, more ornamental pool in the middle of the circular district, with spiky plants shooting up all around it and a sharply-spiked fence around it. There was a large star-shaped statue, recycled water running down it and pooling in the bottom of the fountain to be sent back up again and reused.

It wasn’t as sparse and bleak as Snowdin, nor as heavily-populated as Hotland, it just had… a comfortable middle spot between them. This must have been the centre of Newest Waterfall. There were no more shining blue gems, only clear blue sky above everybody’s heads, giving the whole place a lighter, less gloomy feel than the caverns they had just left.

Ink was the first of them who stepped out – tentatively so, one foot on the paved cobble, which he then wiped his feet on. And Error hurriedly did the same. Sandals and being barefoot didn’t do you well in a place where half the ground was marshy, sink mud that clung to your bones and dug its teeth in, and Error only realised how cold and wet the ends of his trousers and his feet were when he’d finally scraped most of the mud off and wiped himself carefully dry with his sleeve.

Ink looked longingly at the fountain, and Error did too. The water was so pure and clear, but not even any of the monster children who were passing it with their parents tried to get even remotely close to it. Clearly forbidden ground. But looking at Ink’s face, it wasn’t just a want for the clean water that filled his gaze. Something else. Maybe he remembered the statue. Maybe he’d helped create it with his own hands.

The silence lasted a moment longer, Ink seeming almost entranced as his eyelights flickered into soft blue and deep purple star-like shapes, before he glanced up to Error.

“It seems… familiar.” Ink confessed, and Error nodded. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe if I…”

Ink stepped around him to move a little closer to the fountain – and then, of course, was distracted by something else out of Error’s line of sight, which he raced off towards, and Error let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. that stupid fountain probably has nothing to do with his memories of you, he told himself. But he couldn’t stop the tight, irrational fear that squeezed around his soul whenever Ink went like that. am i really that scared of him remembering me?

When Ink rushed back to him, his normal silent, light-footed steps sounding louder than ever on the stone, he looked like he wanted to pull on his sleeve and drag him over. But he seemed to catch his own hands just in time, smiling apologetically at Error. “Sorry. But! There’s a flower shop over there!” Ink started off again, before looking over his shoulder to make sure Error was following – which he was, just at a much slower pace than Ink was going at.

Error was stuck on Ink’s words, though. “h-hey, you actually-y apologised for a-almost making me crash for the m-millionth time.”

Ink smirked back at him, his hood having flopped back with his movements so that Error could see perfectly well the mischievous tilt to his eyes, the way his eyelights burned amber and red.

 “Don’t get used to it.” He sang back, and Error felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. He was glad that Ink turned away afterwards, because Error didn’t need a mirror to know he’d just turned Echoflower-blue all over again.

…Once Error was capable of coherent thought again, he followed Ink.

The smaller skeleton was stood in front of a rickety little wooden shop crammed in-between two others. And the first thing that hit Error about it was the smell. Not quite sickly sweet, but still overpoweringly strong, pollen-filled. The scents of dozens of different flowers mingled into one, making him wrinkle his nasal ridge. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but Error definitely thought he’d get a headache if he stayed here too long. And it wasn’t hard to find the source of the smell, either. Brown clay pots, trellises and soil crowded around the little opening so that somebody could talk to customers, framing the large goat monster in pinks and yellows and blues.

And speaking of goat monsters, there was a large Asgore variant crammed into the tiny little opening, talking kindly to Ink, who had to stand up on tiptoe to lean on a little shelf that stuck out from the cart. Except he lacked his normal regal air. There was no crown, no massive shoulder-pads, and his beard was slightly overgrown and shaggy. But the kind king was definitely still there. A slightly wonky daisy chain was wrapped around his long, curved horns, and he had round golden glasses perched on the end of his muzzle. Both his big paws were tucked beneath his chin, listening to Ink talk. Then he laughed, and spoke in his deep, comforting voice.

“Well, I do sometimes have help from my children, but yes, most of these are tended to by me. Thank you, you’re far too kind.” He said, eyes twinkling. Then he noticed Error, and nodded at him politely.

“Is there anything you two would like to buy?” the Asgore inquired, pushing his glasses up his snout, and Ink nodded, before turning to Error beseechingly. Although the puppy-dog eyes were less intense this time. As if he’d always known that Error was going to give in even before Error huffed out a “fine.”

Ink frowned, suddenly, pointing at one of the holes in the collar of Error’s jacket. “Didn’t I… wasn’t there something there before?” He asked, wrinkling his nasal ridge and glancing up at Error.

“n-no. there-e wasn’t.” Error swallowed his black tongues, before gesturing back to the cart they were still stood in front of. “n-now pick something.”

Ink nodded, his eyelights flicking over the colourful selection hungrily. As he pointed and picked, Asgore’s hands grew fuller and fuller until they could hardly see his face behind the growing amount. And at some point, Ink leant back and examined the bunch, cocking his head, before nodding.

“That’ll be all!” He said, watching contentedly as Asgore tied a length of blue ribbon around the fresh green stalks to keep them together. He accepted them happily, holding them gently between his hands and pressing the bundle to his chest, before sneezing as he accidentally inhaled a large cloud of dust.

Both Error and Asgore laughed, before Asgore asked for 20 G. Error scraped in his pockets, and eventually found the gold that was necessary. It was all they had left, they’d have to go scrounging if they wanted more food after this.

But looking at Ink’s flushed cheeks as he waved goodbye to the Asgore, Error couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

 ---------------------------------------------------

Error was very much regretting it now.

After Ink had placed several flowers all over him – sneaking them into his hood, slipping some into the cuff of his sleeve, cramming several into the little buttonhole in his collar as if to overcompensate for the loss of the Brightbloom, even if he didn’t know about it – he had decided it wasn’t enough to make them both look like ornamental gardens, oh no.

Ink had dragged him around the marketplace placing flowers high and low. Tulips in gates, a rose in some random person’s food basket, one large, fuzzy allium tucked neatly on a bench next to an abandoned teddybear. And so. Many. Daisies. It started to seem like Ink really had planned this out, somehow, because every time Error thought he couldn’t think of a new place to put a flower Ink came up with something, no matter what.

Eventually, though, the number of flowers in Ink’s hands dwindled until he had one singular dahlia left in between them, spinning in his thin phalanges. He seemed stumped – his eyelights were flashing between question marks as he looked around. Error smirked, glad to finally stop wandering around aimlessly.

“a-are you finished? b-b-because we have a place to get to, in case-e you forgot.” Error asked, and Ink stuck his tongue out at him defiantly, making him chuckle. Truth was, Error had almost forgotten too, but he wasn’t going to mention that now. Ink tapped his chin, continuing to spin in circles as he looked around. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was slowly beginning to sink down in the sky. Shops were beginning to close up, more people coming out of their houses and greeting each other in the street.

And then, suddenly, Ink’s face lit up. He pointed, wordlessly, and when Error followed his finger, he saw… a cliff? Beyond the marketplace. He fumbled in his pocket for his glasses and held them up to his eyesockets, not bothering to tape them to the sides of his skull. There were… waterfalls. Seven of them, the middle one the biggest, surrounded by further rings of rock.

“o-oh no, we are-e not going up there.”

“Oh, c’mon Error, just for a little-?”

“n-no, stars-damnit, why-y can’t you put the damn flo-wer somewhere else-e-e.”

“It’s not just that.” Ink said, voice suddenly sounding a little more strained. “I just… I thought it might help me remember something. It’s familiar.”

Error cocked a brow. “y-y-you said the same thing about-t the fountain earlier?”

Ink sighed, as if he was being given the task of putting something into words that he couldn’t, yet. “I think they’re… connected.” As he spoke, he held his forefingers apart and then slowly pushed them together. “Y’know?” Ink put his head on one side, eyelights flashing blue. Error didn’t know, actually, but that look made him want to pretend he did. “Besides, isn’t that why we’re here? To help me remember things?”

Error opened his mouth to respond – and then shut it with a click. He couldn’t say anything, that was the very thing he had told Ink at the hotel room.

Ink seemed to take his silence as giving in, and simply turned around – leaving Error with no choice but to follow. He expected Ink to bluster for a bit, pretend to know what he was doing before asking Error for his opinion, but Ink was set in an uncharacteristic silence, his hood drawn up over his skull again. It wasn’t annoyance or irritation that prompted this, but it looked like Ink was… concentrating. Tongue crushed between his gleaming teeth, eyelights little green and blue dots.

They moved past shops and through the streets until the paved stone that built up most of this area’s floor began to peter out and the marshiness returned. Error rucked his trouser ends up and told Ink to do the same, and Ink did so impatiently, even though he looked as if he didn’t want to waste a second longer as he set off walking again. The looming, sharp figure of the rocks came closer and closer into view, the waterfalls more defined against an alarmingly darkening sky, and still Ink didn’t say anything. Just twirled the dahlia between his phalanges, over and over again, so fast that it became an orange-and-green blur between his slender fingers.

When they eventually reached the rocks, Error had a split-second fear that they were going to have to scale them – before realising that was irrational. They could use Gaster Blasters now that they were so far away from central Waterfall, and there were stairs, anyways. Somebody had intended people to be here.

And as they moved upwards, Error could see carvings in the stone. Names.

Ink’s name, in cramped, messy handwriting, Dream’s name, in elegant, fluid cursive, Blue’s, in big, neat round lettering. And he suddenly realised why Ink had been so subconsciously desperate to come here. He must have memories, must have been here with them before. Maybe they’d carved in their names to be funny, laughing as they took turns with Dream’s blade. Maybe they’d made some sort of promise.

Ink hadn’t noticed, and Error couldn’t point it out. He just couldn’t. His mouth felt dry, his teeth ground together. And as they travelled further up the steps, his eyes trained on Ink’s back, he knew Ink was going to remember something. He knew it before he heard Ink’s sharp gasp, knew it before Ink stopped and he nearly bumped into him.

Breathing heavily, Ink moved out of the stony doorway. Inside, there was a hollowed out room. Nothing decorated the walls, but there was more carving on the one farthest from them. And Error instantly recognised Ink’s hand. The most elaborate map of the Omega Timeline ever, detailing every location, hand-drawn little arrows and cross-hatched shadows in the stone, as easily as if it was paper. Error could see Junie’s. Error could see Silk’s. Error could see the Station, labelled in Ink’s handwriting. He looked across every careful line and curve and he could remember.

And so could Ink.

Ink took a step backwards. “I did this. I did this.” He repeated a couple times, his hands clutched tightly in the fabric of his own hoodie. He turned to Error, eyesockets wide. But not with alarm or fear. No, Ink looked exhilarated.

“Dream! His name’s Dream!” Ink’s hands were twitching as he gestured frantically. “He’s… tall! Taller than me. And he’s got these big golden eyelights. And he always reminds me of the stuff I forget about. He’s like a fairytale prince, all these flowy yellow silks and his bow. He’s so calm and composed, but he can fight really well! He taught me all kinds of stuff. We argue all the time. He’s… amazing, though.” Ink’s eyelights were bright gold, stars not stopping at the edges of his eyesockets.

“They- Dream. It was Dream and Blue.” Ink said, beginning to pace like an animal stuck in a cage, like there was some visceral energy in his body and if he didn’t move he’d explode. “They- they took me here. It was Dream’s idea, to make a map. The Omega Timeline was barely bigger than Waterfall. I promised them I would help. I promised them I would look after it.

Dream and Blue stayed awhile. They brought me things to help. Dream left me with some of his daggers. Blue brought me food while I worked on it. And when I was done, we put our names on the outside. Dream said my map would help people. He said that we could turn that hollow into a real little room, y’know?” It was all pouring out of Ink in a rush. He looked barely conscious of Error’s reactions to any of the things he was saying. “But then we got busy again. Working on the Timeline took up too much time. We all forgot, even Dream. But I found it again.” Ink looked so, so happy. He stepped forward and traced the lines of his map, eyelights shining.

“ink-k, i…” But Error couldn’t finish what he was going to say, because Ink was turning back to him. His eyesockets were slightly narrowed.

“I remember you said something about Dream. Didn’t you?”

Ink’s tone wasn’t accusatory. Error forced his panicking soul to register that as he swallowed. Ink took a small, yet noticeable step towards him, and Error mirrored that step backwards. His sandal sounded uncomfortably loud against the stony floor.

“i-i did.”

“…So why didn’t you tell me about him sooner? Did you think I’d be overwhelmed?” Another step closer. Tap, tap. Faintly, Error registered the sound of water dripping down onto the floor.

Once again, Error couldn’t answer him. Ink was stepping forwards slowly, as if he was approaching a wild animal and didn’t know when it would attack. Error stepped backwards, still. He felt the lower ridge of his spine brush the wall behind him.

“…Why haven’t you told me anything about you?”

Error froze. “w-w-what?” He asked, incredulously, blinking. Ink’s intense gaze made him feel like a deer in the headlights. Why would Ink choose now to bring that up? He was supposed to be focusing on his other memories, not him. Error had thought that was the unspoken trajectory. He didn’t need to worry about Error, he already knew his name. And that they were friends.

but ink’s memory didn’t tell him that, A small voice in his head said. you did.

Ink shook his head, his eyelights illuminating the space around him. “Sometimes… sometimes you don’t feel like a friend, Error. Sometimes I don’t even like you.” Ink brushed his hood back down. “I don’t remember anything about you. I don’t have anything to go off of. I don’t know what you’re supposed to be like. But I want to know, Error.”

Error heard a hint of desperate longing creeping its way into Ink’s voice. “I want to know how we met. I want to know how long we’ve known each other. I want to remember all the times we must have talked together before all of this. I want to know what your life is like, without me.” Ink looked up at him, eyesockets hooded. “I want to remember all of you.”

Ink’s was so close now, and Error couldn’t remember how to breathe. He could feel himself glitching, but it paled in comparison to the way his soul hammered against his ribs, and the way Ink looked at him.

But there was something more to his expression as he reached up. His hand was inches away from his cheekbone, and Error’s glitches swarmed, but Ink didn’t seem deterred. His eyelights were the colour of fire – so many layers to them, now Error’s up close. Red tinging the outsides of the vague shapes, thinning out into orange, with tiny speckles of pink in the very centres. Blink and you’ll miss it. And when Ink did blink, they’d be gone.

Ink wasn't blinking, though. He was staring just as much as Error. His eyes fixed on him like he wanted to memorise every detail, devour him whole. His signature smirk was fixed in place, and his cheekbones were set alight with every colour of the rainbow.

“Maybe I need to jog my memory.” Ink murmured, his free hand hovering over Error’s hip. He stood up higher, so that their noses almost touched. “Can I?”

Error wanted to say no. He wanted to shove Ink away and storm out of here and act like it never happened. He wanted to get on with his original plan and squeeze the fluttering in his ribcage into a tight little ball where he’ll never feel it again.

His traitorous skull nodded. His disobedient hand wandered to the small of Ink’s back to pull him closer. And then Ink’s mouth found his, Ink’s hand was on his hip, Ink’s fingers were brushing his cheek, and Error knew he was going to crash but he didn't care. It felt like the simplest little thing and still everything at once. He clung to Ink, feeling the delicate curve of his spine beneath his hoodie and holding on like he was going to float away if he didn’t, and wondered why they’d wasted so much time talking, so much time distanced and wary when they could’ve been doing this.

Ink broke the kiss first. Moving back. He looked startled at the sight of Error’s glitches, as if he’d been seeing straight through them before. “Are you-”

Error kissed him again before he could finish that question. He didn’t want to think right now. He just wanted to taste more of him. There was an acrid tinge of paint from Ink’s mouth that he knew must be from the vials, but there was something beneath that, something warmer that Error knew must be essentially Ink. He wanted more of that. Ink drew in a sharp breath, and Error liked the sound of it more than anything else he’d heard in his whole life. He moved his hand to Ink’s ribcage, feeling it rise and fall like an angel’s wings beneath the thin fabric of his hoodie, and Ink’s hand moved to the back of his skull, tipping it down to give him better access.

And then, right as he was about to crash, he pulled back again, so that Ink’s starlit eyes would be the last thing he saw before he rebooted.

CRASH.

An ERROR occurred. Troubleshooting…

Solution found!

Status: Reboot 25% complete. Loading…

Status: Reboot 50% complete. Loading…

Status: Reboot 75% complete. Loading…

Status: reboot 100% complete. System: ONLINE.

When he opened his eyesockets again, Ink wasn’t there.

His soul leapt in his ribcage as what he’d done came back to him. His cheekbones were far too warm. He’d kissed Ink. He’d kissed Ink and he’d crashed. He’d kissed Ink and felt his bones beneath his fingers.

“i-ink?” He called, getting to his feet. His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, and he winced. His eyelights flicked to the map on the wall, and his head ached. But he couldn’t exactly spend time examining it now. He all but ran down the steps, only to see Ink at the bottom. And suddenly, he hesitated, something that probably should’ve come much, much earlier.

What if Ink had gone because he regretted it? What if that kiss had ruined everything between them? He felt almost nauseous as he imagined Ink stepping away from him as he rebooted. Stars, he was such an idiot. Glitch out and go into a horrible state of frozenness, that will be the thing that charms Ink. Smooth, real smooth, Error.

Ink turned. His eyelights flicked up to Error, and Error’s own averted – but not before he realised how pale Ink’s were. Almost white, barely tinged with lemon-yellow. He furrowed his brow. “i-ink, what happened?”

Ink opened his mouth to reply. There was blackness staining his teeth, blackness staining his scarf. The petals of the flowers he’d tucked into his clothing were strewn about, their bare stems holding on for dear life.

And the only thing that came out was a cracked, pitiful whimper as Ink’s knees buckled and his eyelights shuttered out.

Chapter Text

Ink’s eyesockets were wide open, and Error desperately wished they weren’t.

Two tiny bright white dots, like seeing light at the end of a tunnel, followed him when he moved. And when he wasn’t moving, they dropped back down to Ink’s own body again. As if he was just realising it was there. His expression could’ve almost passed for boredom if his eyesockets weren’t quite so large. That expression of stricken helplessness as Ink had staggered and then fallen had made Error terrified – but this was worse. So, so, so much worse.

“in-k.” Error felt stupid, repeating Ink’s name over and over again, like some sort of sad parrot. He was being an idiot. What he should’ve done about five minutes ago was get Ink back inside and make him take his vials. But already his glitches were souring the kiss they’d shared. His entire body swarmed with them, gleefully tearing up his hands and reminding him painfully of how Ink leant into his fingers trustingly like he hadn’t felt in years, burning on his teeth and chasing away the taste of the other skeleton’s mouth.

Error struggled to maintain his breathing. Everything had been so perfect less than fifteen minutes ago. How had it all gone wrong so fast? Just a quarter of an hour earlier he’d been convinced that none of it mattered anymore, that Ink was the cure-all fix for his phobia, that he’d never flinch when somebody brushed shoulders with him ever again. But now even the idea of touching Ink enough to pull him back into the shelter felt impossible, unthinkable.

A cold wetness on his cheek broke him out of his thoughts, and Error looked up, gritting his teeth and swearing under his breath. Great. It was raining. He sat crouched there as the little spitting rain became a drizzle, and then – without warning – a downpour. Error tugged his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. Ink just lay there, still staring at him, water pooling on the top of his hood, his hands useless and limp at his sides.

Purposeless frustration welled up inside Error, at the sight of Ink gawking at him so stupidly, but he ground his teeth together again forcefully. It wasn’t Ink’s fault. It wasn’t Ink’s fault. As calmly as he could, he stood up, and Ink’s head tipped up slightly to follow his movements. His dull eyes flicked to his poor hood, where the water was still gathering dangerously, creating a large puddle in the indent that was beginning to spill onto his cheekbone, which he only watched placidly even as his teeth began to chatter.

“o-oh, for fuck’s sake.” Error snapped, pulling his arm up and letting his itching magic manifest, twining strings up and under Ink’s arms and his legs. With the little skeleton in tow, rain pounding on his back, he hauled him back up to the little carved out room and sat him up against the wall carefully. Error thought this might bring him some relief, getting Ink out of the rain, but…

…Ink was just like a doll now. Lifeless as one of the puppets he’d made to keep him company in the Antivoid. He didn’t flinch or jerk or protest in any way, shape or form, as Error angled his body awkwardly with the strings, trying to get Ink into a comfortable half-lying position. When Error’s strings went limp, Ink’s eyesockets were a little less wide.

Was that good? Was that any sort of progress? Or had it just been another little instinctual thing like his eyes following certain movements? Taking a deep breath, Error sat slowly down, as close to Ink as he could comfortably, shrugging off his hoodie. It was sopping wet, and this being a literal hole in a rock for a room it was still cold, but better than getting punched in the face by the wind and rain every two seconds, he supposed.

Error’s hands fisted tightly in the fabric of his trousers. Even sat a good distance away from Ink like this, he could still feel little prickles, like a cat’s claws sinking into his clothes. back to goddamn square one, at the worst possible time, Error thought, mirthlessly laughing to himself. aren’t you pathetic?

…Was it just his imagination, or did Ink tilt his head at him at the noise?

Ugh, stars. He hated this. He hated playing this guessing game of whether Ink would suddenly ‘come back’ because of each little movement he made. Deluding himself that maybe, just maybe, Ink wouldn’t need the paint? That this would all somehow sort itself out. He took another deep breath, trying to soothe the rise and fall of his chest into something less wheezy.

“i-ink?” Again, Ink’s eyelights flicked up at the noise.

“c-can you take your hoodie off?” Error asked, as gently as he could, tapping on his own discarded hoodie on the floor. Ink stared at him, and Error tried miming the movement that Ink would need to do, feeling foolish under Ink’s neutral, blank gaze.

Something must have shifted inside Ink’s skull, because, thank the stars, he sluggishly moved his hands to the hem of his hoodie and tugged it up over his head, fluidly and robotically, before moving it to the side, the exact same way Error had moved his. And, stupidly, Error felt himself spiral into panic just the tiniest bit more.

Ink would’ve retorted, doing that stupid back-and-forth thing he always did. Ink would’ve messily scrunched his hands into the hoodie and continued to talk as he took it off. Ink would’ve gotten it stuck over his head and struggled to get out of it, until his grinning face finally reappeared, flushed a little from being trapped in the stifling fabric.

But now Ink just returned to his previous position neatly, staring at the hoodie on the floor like now he wasn’t wearing it, it no longer had any use or purpose. Error took the opportunity to finally get a better look at Ink’s vials.

There were dark, wet patches on Ink’s bandolier where the rain had sunk through the material. The slightly wet heart-corked tubes had only a dull shine to them in this dark room, making the usually vibrant colours seem limp and pale. The yellow vial – joy, wasn’t it? Was completely dry. There was a sad little lick of it left in the bottom. The orangey one was a no-go too, although it maybe had a tiny smidge more than the yellow.

Error breathed heavily through his mouth. He moved his hand to his tear-marks. Blue. He touched his teeth. Yellow. He pressed a hand to his shirt. Scarlet.

He tried to focus on what ones were left. The dark blue one was mostly untouched, and it was the least damaged or dirty out of all of the vials. The red was about a third of the way full, still? The purple vial… well, it wasn’t empty. And the hot-pink vial was halfway full, which told Error… pretty much nothing.

What did any of them mean?

He knew which ones Ink tolerated the taste of and which ones he didn’t, which honestly made no sense to Error. Did the negative ones taste worse? Did taste even have anything to do with it, or was the stupid squid just being dramatic back there? How had he not noticed how low the vials were getting?

Error sat silently for a moment. Ink’s teeth were still chattering slightly, and even though he was out of that sopping hoodie he was shivering, the only other movement besides his eyes.

“Cold.”

Error jolted, physically jolted, at the sound of Ink’s voice, even as dull and lifeless as it was. His eyesockets instantly went wide open, a slightly manic smile pasting itself onto his face. “y-yeah, ink? y-you’re cold? d-d-d-do you want your hoodie back?” He asked, forcing himself to move a little closer to him. This was it! Ink was talking, it would all be fine. He must have some leftover paint in his system for this to be happening, he was just-

Ink stared blankly at him. Error waited patiently. Okay, it was taking a while for a response, but Ink just talked! He just expressed how he was feeling, so that had to count for something, right?

The rain pounded on the rocks outside, roaring wind shaped into high, screeching whistles by the thin openings between the stones.

Error didn’t know how long passed between them before he started to realise that perhaps that one little word was a one-off. And even though he wanted to keep waiting, keep silent and still until Ink jumped up and declared it was all some sick, twisted joke, and he was fine actually, and he didn’t care about his memories anymore, and they could just stay tucked into this little cavern, and kiss some more, and… and…

Who the hell was he kidding? Scowling at himself, he chased those thoughts away, setting his teeth in a grimace.

“d-drink your vials.” He told Ink. Once again, Ink didn’t seem to recognise his name as much as he simply recognised the sound of another voice, so Error didn’t bother. Ink stared up at him. Error did the same miming motion as before, and Ink’s eyelights followed his movements, the tiny pinpricks of light moving back and forth in those hollow, hollow sockets.

“vials.” Error repeated, irritated, once Ink made no move to obey, tapping the space on his own chest where Ink’s bandolier was. Ink’s own hand moved up and tapped his own shirt, a robotic imitation of what Error had done, but he made no move to reach for his vials. Even when Error complicated the motion, trying to mime popping the cork of the vial, Ink just completely avoided the sash entirely and stiffly returned Error’s motions.

So it had worked with the hoodie because he’d seen Error pull his off first? But since Error didn’t have any vials, it wouldn’t slide this time. Dragging his hands down his face wearily, Error finally acknowledged that he was going to have to do it. He tried to reason with himself that he wouldn’t have to touch, not necessarily, as long as he got creative with his strings.

Much more gently this time, he summoned his strings again and wrapped them around Ink’s skull, taking care not to scrape or tighten, forming a loose brace that allowed him to tip Ink’s chin up. Afterwards, when Ink merely looked at him, he decided the strings weren’t necessary and that Ink would probably hold whatever position he was being put in.

Phalanges clenching hard in the fabric of his trouser leg, Error took another shaky inhale as he reached forwards and shuffled on his knees, so that he was just short of touching Ink’s shins with his femurs, and, with much hesitation, plucked the first vial from the bandolier. It felt like dipping his hand in boiling water for a split second before pulling away again, and Error shuddered violently.

He turned the little blue vial over in his hands before placing it safely in his pocket, and narrowed his eyesockets determinedly. One down, three to go.

Ignoring the way his hand still stung and his soulbeat still hadn’t slowed down, he looked at the sash once more. He could take pink and purple at the same time; they were right next to each other. All he had to do was… there! Triumphantly, wincing a little, he brought his arm back sharply with the two vials between his knuckles. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, after all. His glitches weren’t getting better, but they weren’t worsening either, and he didn’t feel like he was going to lose his head suddenly anytime soon.

The last vial, the red one. He reached out again, his newfound confidence making him a little faster this time, and secured a hand around the cork of the red-

-Ink’s own hand shot out just as quickly as his had and twisted in the fabric of his shirt – all too late, Error realised this was Ink mirroring him once again. Error yelped loudly, drawing his hand back and flinching backwards, but Ink didn’t let go. He reached up, static flitting across his vision, blinding him, and he grabbed at nothing at all before he managed to get Ink’s wrist, trying weakly to wrench it away. But Ink’s hand lingered long enough to make him crash, anyways, his vision shutting out completely with a crunchy, mechanical phut.

CRASH.

An ERROR occurred. Troubleshooting…

Solution not found.

Solution not found.

Reanalysing…

Solution found!

Status: Reboot 64% complete. Loading…

Status: Reboot 93% complete. Loading…

System: ONLINE.

Error’s head hurt. The dull thudding from before had become a sharp, wincing pain as his vision reloaded. He couldn’t actually tell if it was all from the agonisingly slow reboot or from glancing the back of his skull off of something when…

Error’s eyesockets blew wide as he remembered, and he looked around, hands fisting at his sides before he saw Ink just behind him, standing up. Error felt his entire body flood with relief at the sight of Ink clearly having snapped out of it, followed by an immediate pang of horror. The shorter skeleton had his skull tipped back, the purple vial at his mouth, and Error reacted on first impulse.

Strings wrapped around the little glass tube and wrenched it away from Ink’s hands, and Ink’s eyesockets snapped open. He blinked, before he really looked at where the vial had gone, and his eyelights flicked to Error. One was red, bright, vivid scarlet, the other a strange swirl of pinkish-blue, and his gaze flicked to the floor.

The remainder of the vial that wasn’t down Ink’s throat was on the ground, splattered from the force at which Error had yanked it away.

“You spilt it!” Ink all but shrieked, making Error flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice as Ink paced forwards and grabbed the vial out of the now-slackened strings, looking into it desperately. He tipped his head back again, and Error was helpless to stop him as the last few drops of paint ran out of it. Ink shook but swallowed it determinedly, before dropping the vial as soon as he was done, the glass making a quiet tinkling noise as it landed at his feet and rolled away to join the others, and miraculously the glass stayed unbroken.

“w-what was that one?” Error asked, shock and incredulousness making his voice come out a lot softer than he had intended, and Ink stared at him for a few moments before he crouched down and saved the vial, staring at its cap.

“Fear.” Ink replied slowly, before dropping it again. Error froze.

“then w-why the hell did you take all of it?”

“I can’t exactly be choosy with it when there’s only four left.” Ink said, clipped and strained, leaving Error to stare at him in disbelief, Ink’s previous yells still reverberating in his skull. He’d gone from zero to one hundred and rapidly back to zero in under a minute. Error’s eyesockets narrowed. Ink’s entire demeanour, from his rigid posture to his slightly-too-bright eyelights, was so horribly wrong he was unable to keep the worry and frustration out of his own words.

“i-isn’t that the problem? s-shouldn’t you be keeping them in case it happens again?” Error tried to reason, brows knitted and arms folded over his chest. Ink kept looking at him for a little, his head on one side, studying him intently before he let out a harsh bark of a laugh, loud and cold and utterly-not-Ink.

“You don’t know the first thing about how my vials work, do you?” Ink asked, voice tinged with unkind mirth, eyelights flaring red, like a firework that had dulled after being lit and then blew up in your face. Error saw, far too late, that Ink’s previous curtness had been nothing more than the calm before the storm. “Neither did I, until you went and glitched out right in front of me. Brought back some stuff, you know?”

Error just stared.

“Still nothing about you.” Ink added bitterly, and Error felt his ribcage nearly cave in with relief. But he wasn’t off the hook just yet, Ink still looked… pissed. He was hard to read when he was like this. “But I know what these are now.” He gestured vaguely to the floor where the vials lay in disarray. “Thanks for not bothering to tell me about those, by the way. It’s not like I clearly needed an explanation for why I felt like that.”

No longer afraid of Ink discovering anything, Error scowled. “i-i know jack-all about-t your stupid paints, ink. t-telling you anything would’ve made it worse.”

Ink’s eyesocket twitched. “You knew what they did since the hotel room. If you’d just explained it to me instead of constantly telling me to shut up, then maybe-”

“m-m-maybe what?” Error snapped over him, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. “maybe you would remember-r-r? d-don’t be an idiot-t, squid. we both know it’s random. i-if it wasn’t, then how come me crashing got-t you that memory back?” But even as he said the words, an unwelcome doubt crept into his voice. “b-besides, that’s not what matters right now.”

Ink stared at him; sockets screwed up as he processed the implication. His eyelights shimmered through several different colours before they settled on scarlet again, those blood-red targets locked onto him. “Seriously? That’s your priority right now?” Ink laughed again, but it sounded performative. “Forget about me. Forget about the fact that I just lost the ability to function or feel. No, let’s talk about the stupid…” Even as Ink’s tirade grew angrier, he still trailed off at the word ‘kiss’.

“i-i’m not saying that.” Error growled, exasperated, fists clenching in his pockets.

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“w-w-well it’s not. and-d you can’t f-f-fucking pretend like kissing s-somebody isn’t a big deal either, so-”

“Why does it have to be such a big deal?” The words felt like little daggers, carving themselves permanently onto Error’s bones. “I kissed you because I wanted to. And you wanted it too, I know you did-” Ink’s eyelights flicked meaningfully down to Error’s mouth, and stars, Error had a serious love/hate relationship with what it did to him. “-so what is there to talk about?”

Error’s teeth were clenched so tightly it was starting to hurt. “w-w-why are you acting-g like we’re just-” And he abruptly cut himself off.

Because of course Ink was acting like they were just normal, regular friends who’d kissed each other. After all, that was what the smaller skeleton thought they were. Just two weird-looking skeletons, one with memory loss, and Error had been doing what a good friend would by helping him get them back. Ink wasn’t leaving their long, long history of violence unacknowledged to try and minimise the severity of the situation; he actually couldn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t know it existed.

Error felt a rising hopelessness at this realisation. Ink was looking at him heatedly for all the wrong reasons. All this time when referring to it, he’d somehow forgotten that Ink didn’t remember all those times they’d hurled vicious insults and beaten each other into the ground.  

For Ink, that was all it came down to. A kiss that they’d shared that Ink was talking about as if it was a nice pebble he’d found on the side of the road, and not a huge fucking thing that was causing this weird tension in the air.

“Like we’re just?” Ink prompted, raising his brows. When Error failed to add anything, Ink’s voice sounded again, harsh and cold and simmering with barely-hidden annoyance. “See, this is what I don’t understand. How am I supposed to know what you’re talking about when every time I try and think about what you were like before, what I was like before, I get a completely blank screen? Do you know how terrifying it is that I barely know myself right now?

I have friends who I remember glimpses of and I don’t know where they are. I know I probably have more people who I care about, people who are probably worried about me as well right now, and I can’t even remember their names, Error.” Ink’s voice broke, but he kept staring determinedly at Error, eyelights blazing.

Error’s patience had worn thin. “o-oh, get over yourself.” He snarled, eyesockets narrowing. “y-y-you wanna know so badly? f-f-fine. you’re-e a fucking empathy-deprived selfish prick who-o pushes away everybody who might have missed-d you because you couldn’t give t-t-two shits about their feelings. you don’t get to w-w-w-wallow and bitch-ch about how good your life was before this all happened l-l-like you’re so perfect.” The words just kept coming, and Error scarcely drew breath. “e-everything you did was for you-u. t-there was no reason you ever did anything except-t-t-t for your own g0ddamn entertainment.” Error exhaled. “h-h-happy now?”

Error waited for the comeback, the disbelief, the anger. He was almost eager for it. But Ink’s whole face screwed up, to Error’s confusion. He didn’t reply, both of them panting from the exertion of spilling their guts out, only heavy breathing filling the silence that was stretching taut between them. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how their arguments went.

Error was supposed to feel better after saying it, after calling Ink out. Where was the familiar satisfaction of triumphing him? Why did he immediately feel shitty?

And then Ink started to cry. Not just silent single-tear-rolling-down-cheek and quiet sniffing, no. It was gasping, heaving sobs that hitched his shoulders up, his hand covering his mouth, ugly little noises dragged somewhere from his throat escaping from the barrier of his hand. Odd little hiccups punctuated stuttering inhales and his eyesockets were big, his eyelights little and blue within them.

He took one weak step, which ended up being towards Error, although it was so shaky that it could’ve been intended for either direction. And there was a tiny glassy chink as something rolled from the movement, glinting just behind Ink’s feet, and Error’s soul skipped a beat. The dark blue vial, which had been nearly full earlier, was halfway gone.

Shit.

It was the second time Error had seen Ink cry, and Error stayed frozen with shock, unsure of what to do. He could… hug him? But that required one key thing: touch, and the thought of that right now made Error’s glitches fizzle dangerously.

“h-hey.” Error said, gruffly but still carefully gentle. He moved back against the wall and, uncertainly, sat down, patting the space next to him. “c’mere.”

Ink hesitated a moment before he obeyed with a tiny, stiff nod. He sank down and hugged himself tight, biting down hard on his knuckles to stifle his sobs. His eyes didn’t leave Error’s face until now, when they squeezed shut and more glistening tears slid down his cheekbones. He was close, and Error felt itchy with glitches, but he tried to focus.

“i… w-what i said, it isn’t…” Error sighed, frustratedly, picking at the frayed cuffs of his hoodie sleeves as Ink stared at him with those big, solemn eyes, struggling to find the best way to reassure Ink without starting another fight. “i-i was just mad. It i-isn’t true, you know that?”

Ink removed his fist from his mouth, his voice wavering up and down from the crying. “But what if it is true? What if I remember everything and it turns out I am just some selfish asshole nobody liked-”

“n-no, that’s definitely not-t true. fuck, ink, d-don’t cry.” Error said, wearily. Every little unchecked tear that dropped down off Ink’s face and onto his scarf took Ink further and further from going back to his usual self. “i-i was being stupid. i was projecting, i… i p-promise you, you were-e a good person, i-ink.”

A few beats passed as Ink processed this, the steady stream of tears slowing down a little. Error sighed, before he prompted another thing cautiously.

“d-do you need to throw up?”

Ink’s eyesockets widened. “You mean… get rid of…” His eyelights darted to the little blue vial on the floor, and he snatched it up as if Error had been threatening to pour it out, his breathing quickening slightly. “No. No, no, I can’t, Error. I don’t expect you to understand, but…” He trailed off, supressing another quiet sob. “Being… like you saw me earlier, it’s awful.”

“but that-t vial is sadness, right?” Error kept his tone as gentle and coaxing as possible. Maybe neither of them were acting like themselves, because he barely recognised his own voice like that.

“Feeling like shit is better than feeling literally nothing.” Ink replied. He frowned, hugging his knees. “It’s not like a soothing numbness or something. It’s like… somebody takes all your thoughts, all your wants and needs and yanks them away from you. You don’t see the point in anything. You don’t want to talk to anybody, and if you do you don’t care about their feelings so you end up hurting them, one way or another. You can’t even feel afraid of the fact that you’re like this because you don’t feel anymore.” Ink’s phalanges were claws in the knees of his trousers, his voice doing the strange cry-hiccup pattern.

“…oh.” Error had literally no idea what to say to that, put so bluntly. He disagreed, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t want to see Ink doing that soulless staring again, but he didn’t want to see wild, cheerful, vibrant Ink such a mess either. He’d never seen Ink like this before; looking so broken and defeated. It was like somebody else was possessing Ink’s body, some strange, mournful impersonator.

Eventually, after a too-long pause, Error’s eyelights flicked towards the entrance, where it was pitch-dark outside.

“i-it’s late. you should-d sleep it off.” Error said, not looking at Ink. “y-you can use my jacket.”

There was a sad smile in Ink’s voice when he next spoke. “That’s… not how it works, Error.” But even so, Ink took the jacket and his hoodie and bundled himself up to keep the cold away, burying his face in the fluff of the hood so that his whimpering sobs were barely audible.

And as Error watched his shoulders shaking, he felt his sins crawling on his back.

---------------------------------------------------

The next morning didn’t start well.

Ink had quietly wept himself to sleep, and Error had followed soon after, although he woke up with a sore crick in his neck and his skull tilted awkwardly, like he’d fallen asleep watching Ink. The argument last night haunted him still, and he’d been paranoid before, but it was ten times worse now.

Every little look was analysed, every time Ink turned his skull away, made Error feel like he was going to lose it all. Even though when Ink awoke, he just stared at the floor for a while, Error fretted that he wasn’t looking at him on purpose. When Ink did eventually look at him, his eyes were tired, and when he spoke, it was clear he’d been thinking about their argument as well, even if his memory of it sounded slightly fuzzy.

“Morning.” Ink said cautiously.

don’t look at me like that, Error wanted to scream. don’t look at me like you’re afraid i’m going to explode. look at me like you looked at me yesterday. Irony was, he’d be proving Ink’s wariness correct if he did that.

“g’mornin’.” Error grunted in response, his bone-tiredness leaving him unable to do much more, and Ink’s shoulders seemed to lower a little.

“…I feel terrible.” Ink said abruptly, moving to stand up and wincing. He let out a quiet laugh. “I am actually… kind of in awe of how shitty I feel right now. Wow.”

Error almost laughed. Almost. He still felt a little too anxious. “t-there must be a place where i-i can get food outside here.” He said, as he was starving and he was sure Ink was too. “…t-though, i c-can’t guarantee anything that good. n-no money left.”

Ink hummed in agreement. He slumped back down and put his face in his hands, groaned, before dragging them down his face. “Error, do you mind if we…” He paused, eyelights flicking up to Error’s, just visible between his gloved fingertips. “…Can we stay here for a little? Just a day? I don’t feel up to the whole… travelling about thing yet.”

Error surprised himself with how quickly he answered. He felt it was the least he could do, considering what he’d said and done last night, even though the whispering doubts in the back of his mind were getting stronger.  “o-okay.” He replied, and Ink gave him such a smile in return that Error felt his cheekbones flushing. “j-just for a day.”

“Just for a day.” Ink agreed, smile unwavering. “Promise. I probably just need to eat, then I’ll be fine.”

Error nodded. Before he left, he looked back one last time. Ink caught his eye, grinned, and blew a tiny kiss from where he was seated on the floor, and Error turned away hastily before Ink could see his immediate blush.

And Error had been so goddamn naïve that he actually managed to believe that beam and those confident words. He went out and with some – quite literal – pulling of strings, he got two crab apples off of some poor guy’s stall. But, Error justified as he walked along, he had a whole pyramid of the things. Surely he wouldn’t miss just a couple particularly nice ones going completely missing while he had his back turned?

The flower-seller Asgore waved at him as he walked past, and Error blinked in surprise before waving back. If the Asgore was wondering why Ink wasn’t with him, he didn’t show it, just smiled and went back to rooting dead leaves out of one of the plants around the front of his stall. Error wondered which ones Ink had gotten yesterday.

Error felt a tiny ripple of… something. Something good, even as he hastily walked to the very edge of the crowded, sea-smelling market to avoid brushing elbows with anybody or letting anybody get too close of a look. It was nice here. Not too sunny, not too cold nor too warm, damp smell made up for by the sweet aroma of various Sea Tea stands around the marketplace. It would’ve been one of the places he’d look at from the safety of his Anti-Void, people-spotting and wondering what their lives were like, before closing the portal and moving onto the next world.

…Error wondered if Ink would like people spotting-

No! No, stars, was this what that kiss had done to him? Why wouldn’t the smirking bastard leave his thoughts for five seconds? He was still worried, of course he was, but his mind kept repeating that moment Ink had finally addressed it.

 “I kissed you because I wanted to.” What the hell did that even mean? Of course Ink wanted to do it, Error figured that already, because the stupid squid kissed him first! And it was only then, on his way back to the rocks, that he finally leaned back against some slippery moss-ridden crumbling tower and exhaled, eyesockets wide.

He kissed Ink. Ink kissed him. He kissed Ink. Ink kissed him and it was soft and slow and warm and infinitely more powerful than any of the blows or insults they’d ever exchanged before. It was so entirely foreign, this new dynamic between them, that Error paused before entering the cavern. What would he say? They’d talk, eventually, and it would come up, wouldn’t it?

But Ink was the master at avoiding uncomfortable conversation topics (at least, when they were the ones he found uncomfortable). So Error walked in hesitantly.

He didn’t entirely know what he expected. Ink was still in the corner, but he had his Gaster Blaster with him and he was curled up against its curved snout, idly stroking its horns. The Blaster’s eyelights flicked up to Error, and its eyesockets narrowed. A tiny huff was made through its large nasal ridge, and Error glared at it. The Blaster glared back.

Ink gave his it a small smile, murmuring “Shh, shh.” admonishingly, but continuing to pet it as he looked up at Error. “Thanks.” He said, voice still scratchy as he accepted the apple from Error’s outstretched hand. Their fingers barely touched, and Error’s whole arm tingled, and he was unsure if that was due to excitement or due to the glitches. It hardly mattered though.

Error sat down across from Ink, who crunched through the apple’s red skin. The sound was loud in the echoey little cavern, and Error bit into his as well. It was good.

“It’shh goo. ‘Id you shteal it?” Ink said, through a mouthful of apple, and Error snorted.

“try again, squid. maybe w-without the apple i-in your mouth?”

Ink glared at him half-heartedly before swallowing. “Did you steal it?”

Error gave him a look. “a-are you really-y asking me that.”

“Take that as a yes, then.” Ink nibbled at the peel, and Error was about to describe the look on the guy’s face to avoid an awkward silence (and revel in the schadenfreude) but Ink spoke again.

“I never…” Ink paused. “I never told you what I remembered last night, not really. Did I?”

“no. you didn’t. b-but i have a pretty good guess.”

“Okay, humour me then.” Ink replied, twisting away from the Gaster Blaster momentarily - Error still had no idea why he’d summoned it – and pulling forward the sad-looking grey strip of fabric that had become of his sash. Through all the weather damage, paint spills and smudges it had grown worn and raggedy, and the vials clinking about in it were definitely very cracked.

“I think I remember what they all mean now.” Said Ink slowly, running a hand over his bandolier, “So… I think I took fear, sadness, anger, and… whatever this pink thing is.”

Error laughed. “so you’re-e saying… you took that-t but you still don’t kn-ow what it is?”

Ink hesitated, his eyesockets a little bit screwed up. “Well… it’s kind of a weird one. I don’t remember taking it a lot. But the others are pretty self-explanatory, right? Red for anger, dark blue for sadness, yellow for joy, purple for fear, yadda yadda. But pink? ‘S a pretty soft colour, so I dunno. Romance? Love?”

Error immediately flushed a little, but frowned at Ink regardless, chomping on another piece of apple. “shouldn’t you know from taking it? you-u know, cause-e it would’ve-e had an effect on how you acted?”

Ink’s eyes widened, and Error winced as he suddenly realised how that could’ve come off as a dig.  “No! No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, Error. I…” He hesitated, and his cheekbones were suddenly softly alight with rainbow. “I kissed you before I took that, remember?” He said, soft and quiet, eyelights fixed firmly on the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“i-ink…” But Ink was already talking again.

“But yeah, I think some of the, uhm, the green is definitely disgust. It tasted horrible on both counts. And I think the bright blue might be excitement or nervousness? It’s kinda on the border between sadness and happiness, and those are the only two results of feeling excited, right? So that means-”

“ink.” Error’s voice came out sharper than intended, and Ink’s Gaster Blaster made a low whining noise, sort of like a growl behind Ink. Ink blinked, before he sighed, finally meeting Error’s eyes again as he quietly soothed his Blaster with his free hand.

“What?” Oh, so he was playing innocent, huh? Like he hadn’t just directly acknowledged this weird tension between them and then tried to move on instantly?

“you know what.”

Ink huffed. “Okay, I do, but you’re supposed to say it like I don’t. It gives me time to come up with something to say.”

Despite himself, Error snickered. “w-wooow. you’re so well thought-out.”

Ink grinned and swept his arm out like he was taking a bow, mock-modesty. “I try.”

Silence fell between them both. Error stared at the wall and Ink stared at the floor, clearly neither of them knowing how to continue this conversation.

“Error.” Ink said, and Error forced himself to look back at him. Ink’s eyelights were dull, but there was a determined tilt to his chin as he spoke.

“Error, I… I’m still really confused. I don’t know how much I’ll be affected by the vials.” Ink paused, gripping tightly onto the horn of his Gaster Blaster for a moment, only removing his hand apologetically when his Blaster let out a low whine in protest. “…But I like this. I like you, Error.”

How Ink was able to say that, looking him straight in the eye, was a mystery to Error. His soul did what could only be described as a kick-flip against his ribs, his cheeks burned. He honestly found himself at a loss for words. He nodded, not meeting Ink’s eyes, but he still saw Ink’s grin widening at his probably extremely obvious response. The shorter skeleton leaned forward, trying to catch Error’s field of view, and his eyelights sparkled when Error finally looked at him.

“…I really want to kiss you right now.” Ink murmured, and Error felt a little ripple of both trepidation and want. Touch was the worst thing possible right now. Touch would make him crash and make his head ache and his glitches burn. But he wanted to so badly it hurt. He wanted to feel Ink’s warmth again, he wanted to see those starry eyes up-close so he could memorise every detail, he wanted to hear Ink’s adorable chuckle as they leaned back for air.

…Holding hands? A much safer option that still seemed slightly daunting, but Error offered Ink his. Speechless. He seemed to find himself like that a lot around Ink.

And he already knew how Ink’s hand would feel, but it still felt so deliriously good when Ink’s palm met his that he momentarily forgot about the glitches, or anything else. It was just them, curled up facing each other, holding hands. And even with the heavens opening and the rain beginning to pour again outside, Error felt warm and light from the inside out.

---------------------------------------------------

Honeymoon period. That was what they had been in, Error supposed. One day had turned to two, then three, then more, and Ink had barely left the safety of the little dig-out.

They’d both been steadily trying to ignore it, but Ink taking more of the vials that remained (sadness, and anger) didn’t spell well for either of them. The night of the first day ended in another argument. Ink accused Error of pouring out his vials, clutching the remaining two to his chest defensively, and Error tried to refute it while snapping back at him.

And once again, Ink had broken down in tears and apologised profusely, telling Error he was sorry so many times that Error swore he heard the artist mumbling the word even in his sleep. Ink looked so wrecked the next morning that Error tactfully hadn’t asked if he wanted to keep going yet. Ink didn’t even seem to want to leave the cavern.

They settled into a strange routine. They would fight over something entirely pointless; Ink would apologise while sobbing, cry himself to sleep, and be mellowed out enough by morning that they could actually talk. Those were the best times, the times when Ink would act like he used to, albeit frailer and more unenthusiastic. Ink kept taking the vials, and Error didn’t try and dissuade him – or he stopped trying, after a while. There was no point.

Ink didn’t do much when Error wasn’t there, in the brief times he went out to the market again to find food or get some fresh air. Mostly, Error would come back to see Ink cross-legged in front of the map, tracing its shapes and muttering under his breath like he was revising. Sometimes Ink had his Gaster Blaster. Sometimes Ink stared forlornly at his back and repeatedly asked Error if he had something there before until Error snapped at him and caused inevitable tears again.

One time, Error came back to see Ink drawing on the cavern walls with his charcoal, big glossy leaves and flowers that took up the entirety of one side (he didn’t touch the map). And by morning there were violent, angry scrawls covering it all up and Ink was clutching his skull in his hands, like he was trying to drown noise out.

After that, Error went on the scrounge for a lighter. Using the dog treats they’d found at the hotel, they both steadily smoked through the pack. Ink was more versed in it than Error was; he had the tilt of his wrist perfect as he took a drag, and adopted the correct expression of serenity when he exhaled. Error choked on the lit dog treat at first and spluttered up purple smoke, getting an oh-so-rare laugh from Ink.

(The real good part, though, was Ink showing him how to do it properly. The brief contact of Ink’s fingertips on his wrist, the air thick with hazy lilac smoke as Ink watched him intently.)

But despite Error’s efforts to be there and help, Ink didn’t get better. Not only did the paints leave him irritable, stressed and jumpy, prone to crying at the least challenge or annoyance, he also kept remembering things. But it didn’t make him excited like it used to – in fact, the memories became so intense, so all-consuming when they came back to him that Ink mostly lay down and shivered through them before he told Error about them.

When Ink became aware of the Multiverse, it was a happy day. Ink didn’t think to question why Error hadn’t told him, and he feverishly recounted everything he remembered and even came outside to watch the sunset with Error. When he leant his head on Error’s shoulder, Error just about managed to keep from crashing for about five minutes. And even when he woke up from another godawful reboot, he couldn’t stop smiling.

But there were other times, too, when Error came back and Ink was staring into space, his eyesockets half-shut. There was no screaming match that night, no horrible argument where they belittled and mocked and hurt each other before Ink’s inevitable tears and Error’s inevitable forgiveness.

Ink had simply said, that evening. “I did something really, really bad, Error.” He stated it matter-of-factly, but it was clear something was troubling him. He didn’t go on a long ramble about what he’d remembered, that was all he offered.

And all Error gave in return was “m-me too.”

But in the quietness of the mornings, when Error brought back Sea Tea and pastries and anything he could get his strings wrapped around, there was nothing to do but talk. And so they did.

Ink told him everything. Ink told him about Core, the little shit, but Ink spoke of them so fondly it was hard not to reluctantly agree that some of the stories he was telling sounded a little bit funny. Ink talked more about Blue, and Dream, and Error listened intently. It felt like something he definitely shouldn’t be hearing about, Ink’s life outside of the battlefield, but Error was too intrigued to stop.

Obviously, he had known the Stars were friends, but hearing Ink talk about them so animatedly made him just a tiny bit jealous. He wished that Ink would talk about him with that same glowing expression. The way he saw it, there was so much of Ink that Blue and Dream had gotten to see that he hadn’t. He had felt like he had known him when they were fighting, but he now knew that if he truly knew Ink, back then, they definitely wouldn’t have been fighting in the first place.

Then Ink dropped the next bombshell. It was another happy day, because Ink had remembered two people who Error had previously had no idea about: his fathers. Aster, and Top. Error had never heard their names before; he didn’t recognise the AUs Ink said they were from. Ink had kept them well-hidden before. He’d definitely made the intentional move to stay silent about it because past Ink knew Error would’ve gladly torn those universes to shreds.

Error felt sick as Ink told him all about their new universe. Zephyrtop. Ink explained in detail why the world had to be created. He grew quiet at some points, talking about one of the worlds, Undertop. But it was all more than enough. Error could now have tracked down their universes and destroyed them in a heartbeat. And Ink didn’t know, this, was just innocently talking on like he wasn’t making the biggest fucking mistake since letting Error into this timeline.

But Error managed to get through Ink’s entire ramble, smiling and nodding and asking questions in the right places. It wasn’t hard to once he pushed his nausea and guilt away. It was interesting. And from the way Ink’s tired eyes lit up while he talked, they were good people.

Top, Aster, Blue, Dream, Core. And many others. Ink, unknowingly or not, had surrounded himself with the brightest people in the Multiverse, colour and vibrance and passion. A good support system. It made Error feel even worse.

Ink had been right. People would be worrying about him. And it was Error’s fault Ink was so unstable, Error’s fault Ink’s memory was still patchy, Error’s own selfish selfish fault that he was being kept here in this shitty little cavern because Error couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go.

When Ink grew quiet, Error told Ink about what he used to do to fill the time. He named all the constellations, described them, tried to draw them out with what remained of the charcoal and both of them eventually collapsed in laughter at how awful Error’s attempts at the stars were. He told Ink about Outertale, and how beautiful it always was.

The plot of Undernovela was also heavily detailed, leaving Ink with absolutely awful opinions on the characters and resulting in Error swearing that he would change Ink’s mind. Error taught Ink how to play cat’s cradle, he left him strings behind to arrange and twist when Error went out, but they were mostly used as stress relievers when Ink was remembering something. His phalanges would go ping-ping-ping against the string, flicking it over and over again until the intense visions stopped.

Slowly but surely, after days of close proximity with Ink, Error stopped needing the strings as much, though. He built up a tolerance to the buzzing glitches that built when Ink got too close, and after days of near-misses due to his crashing, they kissed again, and it felt as though each and every colour on Ink’s sash was rushing through him. He was trembling when he pulled back, and he knew Ink was too, even though neither of them acknowledged it.

It was at just the right time, too. Because a couple days later, when Error left the cavern to greet the kindly flower-seller once more, Asgore’s child, whom he had never seen before, was running the stall. Their scarlet eyes widened as they saw him, and Error saw the recognition on their face before he heard the child’s scream. Stumbling backwards, throwing his hood up over his skull, Error turned and fled.

Ink was understanding. Ink held him and kissed him and murmured sweet reassurances as he lit the last dog treat. He didn’t understand why Error was crying, though. Not really. And no matter what, Error could never tell him. He could never summon the courage to ruin what little peace they had.

It was so wrong and so perfect.

---------------------------------------------------

And it didn’t last.

One day, Ink’s trembling frozenness lasted longer than normal. His eyelights shrank to tiny pinpricks inside their sockets, his breath rattled shaky and uneven in his ribcage, and he flinched every time Error got near him. All Error could do was sit with a tentative hand on his spine to support him as Ink whimpered and choked on his own sobs, horrible, gasping, strangled sounds leaving his throat.

Error couldn’t imagine what he was remembering. His sobs were so grief-stricken it only seemed appropriate to think that he was remembering something awful. His shoulder blades were visible through the back of his shirt as his spine bent and he cried. That was all Ink seemed to do recently. Cry, scream, sleep, wake up, pretend it was all fine when it obviously wasn’t.

Error couldn’t remember how long he’d been there until he fell asleep, exhausted from countless nights watching Ink in concern as he struggled through each and every memory.  What he did know, when he blinked his eyesockets back open, was that something was different about the way Ink held himself. The hunched-over spine was stiffer and less out-of-control, his hands were fisted in the fabric of his trousers.

“…Error?” Ink removed his tearstained face from his arms, and he was looking at Error with the same desperation he had worn on his face for the past few days. Error responded easily.

“y-yeah?” His hand moved up between Ink’s shoulder blades, a thing that usually soothed Ink when he was like this, so he gritted his teeth through the glitches usually. But an odd thing happened. Ink didn’t lean into it. He stiffened even further, if that was possible, and Error, disconcerted, let his hand drop. He racked his mind for things Ink could’ve remembered that would leave him like this.

“Please tell me it isn’t true.” Ink said slowly, his eyelights firmly fixed on Error’s face with a sudden, startling intensity.

“i-ink, i don’t know wh-at you’re talking abou-”

Suddenly, Ink was in his face. Ink filled up his vision, one of his hands grabbing at the collar of Error’s jacket and yanking him up with a sudden, surprising strength, and for a moment, all Error could see was scarlet. He could feel Ink’s breath on his cheekbone, hot and acrid with paint, and every time Ink exhaled a fresh eruption of glitches broke out on Error’s skull.

“You do, you do.” Ink hissed, with such ferocity Error actually flinched. “B-but it’s not true, is it, Error?”

The wobble in Ink’s voice froze him. Because, although deep down he’d known that Ink would remember eventually, he actually thought he’d rather die than face Ink with this. It had clicked. It had finally clicked. Ink slowly released Error’s collar and stood up, his hand shaking as he brought it to his face.

“Error, please say it isn’t true.”

Error couldn’t. Couldn’t even look Ink in the eye.

“No, no, no…” Ink muttered, frantic. Error stood up. Ink flinched again. Ink was afraid. Ink was scared of him and it made Error feel sick.

“You did hurt me. You are the Destroyer.” Ink muttered, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His tone was still pleading. He still wanted Error to tell him he was wrong.

But Error nodded. There was no point in denying it now anyways.

“You’ve known. All this time, you knew.” Ink’s voice shook. “You knew how to fix me. And you didn’t. You just sat beside me doing jack-shit.”

Error’s voice came out in a pathetic croak. “i-ink, i’m sorr-”

Ink raised his voice sharply to talk over him. “Save it. Save your fake apology, because I know you don’t actually care. If you did, none of this would be happening. You wouldn’t have left me to rot in this hideaway, losing my fucking mind because I only had two of my worst vials, and all for what? So that you could use me as some oversized puppet to cure your haphephobia with? Did you get bored of talking to your stupid toys and decide it would be fun to put me through actual hell?” Ink’s eyesockets were bright and wet. Tears.

“o-of course not. i thought about it, ink. d-d0 you know-w how worried i was?”

“You weren’t worried enough to do anything about it. You pretended to be good, you let me kiss you over and over again.” Ink gasped another breath. “Did you even feel guilty? While you kissed me, were you worrying that  I’d remember?” Ink’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “I bet you got off on it, didn’t you? You thought it was so funny that you could make me do this-”

“i-i didn’t make you do anything!” Error snapped. “y-you kissed me! every t-t-time you initiated it. t-that was of your own fucking free-e-e will.”

“How is it of my own free will if you’re pretending to be something you’re not? How is it me that’s initiating things when you were quite literally pulling the strings?” Ink snarled. “You can’t possibly say I did this of my own free will when I thought you were a different person. You lied to me, Error, so many times so I wouldn’t figure anything out. And now you’re trying to say this was mutual? That we both wanted this?”

Error’s soul felt like it was self-destructing, turning to ash and dust in behind his clavicle and spattering across the inside of his ribs. “i-it’s not like i got a fucking personality transplant, ink. you kissed me and it-t doesn’t matter what you knew. you still did it, and-”

“And I wish to god I hadn’t.” Ink said quietly. He stepped closer to Error again, eyelights brighter and bigger than he’d ever seen them before.

“Do you know what it felt like, Error?” Ink said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, filled with so many emotions he just sounded empty. “Knowing that the person I fell for, the person supporting me through all of this, was planning to destroy this entire place and me along with it?” Ink laughed, the sound strangled and choked with effort. “You must really not give a shit about me, huh? Because as long as you get to keep me close and control my life then who cares about how I feel. Really, who cares? Not you, that’s for sure.”

“i-ink.” Error pleaded. He didn't know if he was asking for Ink to stop talking or asking Ink to forgive him at this point, but he honestly didn't care. “i-i know you don’t trust-t me and you’ve-e earned that, but p-please just listen. i-i’m not going to go for zephyrtop, i-”

Ink’s eyesockets widened. For a second, all that filled the cavern was exerted breathing.

“You… you know about…” The crimson red targets were replaced with tiny white dots again. But this wasn’t emotionally based. The rage seeped out of Ink’s voice and fear bled into it instead.

Ink turned on his heel.

He was moving faster than Error could react. Out of the doorway, his hoodie flapping behind him trying to keep up with his movements. Error ran up to the rocky edge at Ink’s heels, caught a glimpse of splayed limbs and black fabric, and-

-and Ink was gone. Just a puddle of his namesake on the floor which was rapidly dissolving, leaving Error behind.

Alone.

Error went inside the cavern. He leaned against the wall.

Error didn’t cry. He didn’t scream, he didn’t try and go after Ink.

Error sat down.

Error thought about Ink.

The disgust on Ink’s face, the way he flinched away from him.

Error moved out of the cavern calmer. It wasn’t raining for once, the sun just beginning to set.

The perfect weather, he thought, for doing what he did best.

Chapter Text

Killer knew exactly two things about the current situation. One: Nightmare was happy, so something awful was about to happen, and two: Ink looked messed up. To say Nightmare had kept them all out of the loop was an understatement.

The echoey little warehouse that they’d chosen for this was perfect, by all horror-movie hostage situation standards. Dimly lit, random metal barrels and crates of… whatever, so that everything felt like it was towering over him as he paced back and forth, full of nervous, jittery energy. There was a sort of wet noise as the soles of his sneakers pushed against whatever gross substance was on the floor.

Around him were the gang – Dust, staring with an expression of vague amusement at the smaller skeleton tied to the chair, Axe, who was sat heavily near Nightmare, expression blank and unreadable. But despite the other guys’ aloofness, Cross was an open book. He always was. (Killer wondered if he should ever tell him it was all in the eyes. If you could stop your sockets from narrowing or crinkling or lighting up then you could just about stop the rest of your face from reacting, too.)

But it wasn’t just that. Aside from Cross’s thunderous expression, he was physically turned away from Ink, refusing to look at him, arms folded over his chest. Nightmare, sitting diagonal on a shiny, rusted crate (he always did like to feel tall) had his tentacles flicking behind him like a cat’s tail as it watched a mouse. His tentacles were bigger than usual, and his entire aura felt wincing as it washed over Killer. Usually it was bearable, but when Nightmare was feeding from a particularly negative universe it wasn’t pleasant to be in his vicinity.

And nobody was speaking. Killer decided to change that. He stepped into the middle so he was next to their captive, mock-pouting at Nightmare. “aw, boss, why’d we have to take the only funny one?”

Ink’s eyes flicked up to him. He didn’t look afraid, just angry, but glazed over as well. Like it wasn’t just Killer his anger was directed at. He was gagged, of course, so the Protector just narrowed his eyesockets at him and made an incomprehensible noise which sounded very much like he was trying to cuss Killer out. His feet, which just barely touched the floor on the tall-legged chair, made an audible wet scraping sound as he hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself defensively.

Nightmare’s smug grin faded as he glared down at Killer. “Because he’s integral to this part of the plan. It wouldn’t have worked if we’d taken Blue.” He explained, as if Killer knew all about this.

“the plan you haven’t told us about.” Killer pointed out the obvious, kicking the chair Ink was being detained on for emphasis. The Protector’s glare became less unfocused this time, and the soft, feeble sound of shifting rope drew Killer’s eyes to where the smaller skeleton’s fingers were curled, his wrists moving fractionally against each other. But try as he might, the knot didn’t loosen one bit, and Killer allowed himself to be proud of his handiwork for a moment. He knew how strong Ink was, but he also knew there was something different about him this time around.

Ink was never normally this subdued, for starters. And he looked like shit, even compared to Killer himself. Dark hollows under drooping eyesockets, dirty clothes, discoloured eyelights. Killer didn’t know that much about the guy, all things considered, but he had a feeling he’d been through It in the past few days.

Killer also felt weirdly unprepared because he didn’t know Ink too well. He could psychoanalyse Dream or Blue in a heartbeat. Dream was easy; Nightmare had been weirdly secretive about his brother at first, but as his trust in Killer grew, he seemed to divulge more information – enough that Killer felt like he knew the other Guardian. Blue was just another Swap, easy to unravel with some pointed words while they fought.

But Ink was different, unpredictable, and so Killer was a little out of his depth. He propped himself up on the back of the chair by the elbows, grinning wider when Ink twisted his skull right back to keep eye contact and continue to glare at him, even though it must be bending his spine in uncomfortable ways.

“heya, inkblot, mind telling us why the boss wants to kidnap you so bad?” Killer demanded, prodding Ink’s shoulder and watching as those crimson eyelights burned a little brighter. It was like touching a kitty’s stomach and waiting for it to hiss at you.

“All will be revealed in due course, Killer. Now stop fraternising with the enemy and wait.” Nightmare ordered, eyelight narrowing to a dangerous cyan slit.

Killer sighed dramatically, draping himself across the back of the chair, but being careful not to lean too much of his weight. “see? he only talks in riddles, all those big, fancy words. i’m a simple guy, i prefer concise and to the point-”

“Sit the fuck down, Killer.” Nightmare barked, his fingers rubbing between his eyesockets, frustrated, apparently having had enough of this already. Unfortunately for him, Killer wasn’t quite done milking it though.

“tch. cryptic nonsense. i honestly have no idea what he means half the time…” Killer trailed off before yelping sharply as Nightmare’s fat, blodgy tentacle lashed out, giving him just enough time to dodge away and making the slimy appendage pierce a hole in an unfortunate crate nearby with an ear-shattering clang. For a moment, not even Nightmare moved.

Dust and Horror exchanged a look before snickering quietly. Cross looked as if Nightmare had tried to stab him himself, tense and frazzled. Nightmare retracted the tentacle, scowling at Killer and opening his mouth to reprimand him.

But the ferocity in his expression melted away as he squinted like he was seeing something from a far distance. It was swiftly replaced by a vaguely frustrated look as he waved a tentacle dismissively, his slipper making a quiet metal sound as it tapped against the barrel he was sat on. “Fine, fine. Cut him up a bit, do what you want, just let me focus.”

And, because they were both as fucked up as each other, Dust and Killer brightened at that. Axe again showed no visible reaction, but Killer refused to let that sway him. His favourite knife with the serrated edge and carved handle was clenched in his fist, stifled in his pocket, just begging to come out and play.

“But,” Nightmare continued, eyesocket becoming so thin it was just the barest peak of blue in his dark face. “You still leave when I tell you to. Understood?” Under his breath, he muttered “I at least hope you’re not so short-witted you can’t remember what I told you earlier.” Which Killer chose to ignore.

There was a general chorus of agreement as Killer moved down to whip Ink’s scarf off, making him tense his shoulders once more. “always wearing this thing. what're ya hiding, inkblot?” He asked idly, but to his disappointment there was nothing much under there, except…

“ooooh, that’s a nasty scar.” Killer remarked, seeing a vulnerable, healing horizontal crack on the bone like somebody had pushed too hard on both sides and snapped it.  He turned to Dust, who had silently moved to Ink’s other side when Killer wasn’t looking. “whaddya think, dustbunny? reckon i can redo it?” He trailed the knife below Ink’s chin as he spoke, the clean silver of his knife accentuating Ink’s stained, greyish neck.

Dust grinned. “sure. make no bones about it.”

Killer gave one quick, dry laugh in response to the overused pun. “don’t bleed too much, ‘kay, ink? i don’t want my favourite knife stained black.”

The skeleton in question kept that unafraid eye contact even as Killer’s knife made its first indent.

There was dust everywhere. Coating his clothes like powder snow, itching on his bones, making his eyesockets sting as he blinked the grit out of them, coughing and sneezing it up as it crept inside of his ribcage and made his breathing shallow. It clogged his mouth, dry and sickly sweet, tacking his tongues together so that he could no longer call out without sounding hoarse.

That didn’t matter though, did it? He knew what he was here to do. They knew what he was here to do. Borrowed jacket knotted around his waist so that the vibrant red of his shirt was unmistakable, he tuned back into the codes around him. He had to get those anomalies out of the way first. They’d make his life a lot harder. Error didn’t even want to think about the nasty little coding abilities these freakish Outcodes had.

He refused to call them normal In-Codes now. Because that wasn’t their fate, and it never would be. They couldn’t truly pretend to exist functionally in a place like this. They had no home, and that would never change, no matter how many places were founded, no matter how big their shelters got. They couldn’t play pretend and have a happy little home in this shitty excuse for a hideaway.

Something like this would have happened eventually. It always would have. It wasn’t Error’s fault he was the one to do it. His job always was thankless. He was just doing what he had to do. What he was meant to do, before…

He slid off of the top of his Gaster Blaster and eyed the area he was in, flickering in and out of black-and-white lines of code and grey sloping buildings. He was close now; he could feel it in the ground, which pulsed and crackled, white-hot lines of electric magic stirring beneath the concrete in response to the Core, such a large source of power.

He stepped forwards – meaning to go back to his Blaster for an easy way up to the Core. But there was movement, two blurring figures running out from behind a greying, peeling wall, before stopping dead at the sight of Error.

A Chara and an Asriel. They stood there, total deer in the headlights, Asriel clutching his sibling;s baggy sleeve between silky, fluffy paws. One blink, and they were just a few lines of code once more. Bugs, glitches, mistakes. He wrapped his strings around their souls, and with a sickening tug and crack of sound there was nothing but more dust on the ground.

LV buzzed in his soul in response, clouding and blurring the zeroes and ones in his vision and making him feel dizzy for a moment before it settled, and the magic became a part of him once more. When he shifted his gaze again, the strings were limp around a pile of dust, a golden heartlocket and a corpse. Razor-thin lines of blood where he dug his strings into the human’s skin glinted in the moonlight.

“That was a child, Error.”

Error whirled around, his strings in hand. He already knew who it was going to be, but he still turned with his whole body towards the monochrome figure standing across the road. His vision swam a little as he did so, and he knocked himself upside the head with his hand, which didn’t do much to help. Huh. Maybe he should’ve been a little more selective with who he killed.

“o-o-o-oh? oh.” Fake surprise coloured his tone vibrantly as he responded. “i-if you can call those abomin-ations ch-ch-children, then-n i guess it was.”

Core Frisk’s demeanour was rigid, their voice monotone. “Twelve. Maybe thirteen. You really don’t have any limits, do you?”

Error laughed. Spite, anger, jealousy, sadness, all rolled into one prickly little sound. “i-i can’t believe you’re surprised. you think they’re so innoc-ent? y-you haven’t seen what i’ve seen. f-for all-l you know these nasty-y little freaks are-e the kind to reset-t because they weren’t satisfied with-h the good ending. they kill and they kill and they k-k-kill because it’s the only-y thing they know how-w to do.”

“Do they remind you of yourself, then?” Core replied promptly, and Error scowled.

“i do what i do because-e i need to. t-these-”

“Does the Asriel deserve it too? Even though he probably hasn’t reset his timeline?”

“i-it doesn’t matter. dust-t is dust, no matter-r how innocent or guilty-y you were.”

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He had no choice, somebody had to do it, thankless job, thankless job, ungrateful, filthy little abominations who didn’t know when to be quiet, didn’t know how to be good, couldn’t shut up shut up shut up…

Error didn’t realise he was muttering aloud until he properly looked at Core Frisk’s big-eyed expression, and shook his skull a bit more, trying to dislodge the fog that seemed to have taken up residence there.

“What’s not your fault, Error?” Core Frisk asked, voice softer than before. And then the sound of wood scraping made him turn once more.

Dream. The first thing Error immediately noticed was that Dream’s aura, like the warm spray of a hot shower after a cold day, was entirely muted and he barely felt it at all. The second? Dream looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His eyesockets narrowed, eyelights focused little pinpricks. But instead of the deep, rich golden colour they usually had, they were washed out and pale, just like Ink’s were before.

And then, immediately after, he saw Blue. They were both armed, and neither of them were trying to hide it- a jagged glowing bone attack in Blue’s gloved hands, a bow with a shining arrow gleaming with promise as its tip aimed straight for Error. Blue looked nervous, as an understatement. His expression was a cocktail of emotions that Error didn’t care to unpack right now. Dream was carefully blank, by comparison.

There was a glance shared between the three of them, a silent conversation on how best to poke the bear. Error saw Blue’s eyelights darting between Core and Dream before he nodded, and it felt significant in a way he couldn’t understand.

“Error.” Dream began. “Where’s Ink?”

“s-shouldn’t you know already-y-y-y?” Error snapped, already annoyed at Dream’s tone. “t-take your bleeding-g heart and g-g-go find your precious protector-r-r.”

Dream stared at him, expression no longer neutral. Error could see he was unnerved by something, but whether it was what he had said or the sight of Error covered in blood and dust he couldn’t tell. He kept his protective, almost shielding stance next to Blue, clearly worried Error was about to attack. And he was right to be worried because Error was about five seconds away from skewering them both.

Error didn’t want to think about the implications of Ink not being with them. Error didn’t want to think about Ink.

“Error.” Core was speaking again, and Error turned his head very slightly in their direction, unwilling to look away from Blue or Dream for even a moment. He was trapped in on both sides, he couldn’t stop thinking about how this situation could go horribly wrong.

“Please, think about this. If Ink’s not with us, or with you, then somebody else has taken him.”

Error shook his head firmly, willing the movement to shake the idea out of his skull. “n-no. h-h-he’s not- he can’t be with nightmare. s-slippery little bastard w-wouldn’t let himself get caught.”

Then, with an awful, sharp clarity, he remembered it didn’t matter what he said or presented. Dream, standing only a few paces away, could feel what he felt. He was privy to the tangled mess of emotions that Error was trying so hard to crush. Error could be wearing the kid’s bloodied entrails like a necklace and Dream would still know the real reason he was doing this. Vulnerability came over him icily, and he suddenly felt like he was standing naked in front of Dream, everything that had happened over the past two weeks spilt out for the Guardian to examine and pick apart. He stepped backwards, away from him, not caring that Core was there anymore.

“DREAM…” Blue was saying, a question in his voice as he picked up on his expression, and Dream shook his head firmly, turning to face his friend, angrier than Error had ever seen him.

“No. No, Blue, you saw what he did. He just killed those children. We have no idea what he’s going to do if we take him.”

Blue glanced at Error. “HE… HE WON’T HURT INK. HE HASN’T HURT US, YET.”

“Twenty-three fucking people within an hour, Blue.” Dream’s voice raised sharply. “If we don’t stop this now it’ll only get worse. Do you think for a second he’s not going to do it again the moment we have our backs turned?”

“Dream, we need all the help we can get.” Core was speaking now, a slight plea in their tone. “You’re not going to be able to fend off Nightmare by yourselves. More people will die if you and Blue try and find Ink on your own.”

Dream changed tack. “We have the Guard-”

“It won’t be enough.” Core replied, sounding weary. “Not nearly enough, and you know that, Dream.”

When Dream didn’t respond, Error watched as Blue put a hand on his arm. “…IT’S OUR BEST CHANCE. PLEASE.”

And after a long, tense silence, Error saw the barest nod, saw Dream’s eyesockets narrowing as he turned back to him. His tone was brisk, but his words showed he wasn’t letting his emotions spill into his tone anymore. He still spoke slightly haltingly, just enough to give away that he hated himself for doing this.

 “Error, I don’t trust you. At all. I… I don’t know what happened when you were with Ink. But, for whatever reason, you…” Dream gave him a long, searching look that made Error shudder, made him feel like his ribcage was being pried open to examine the contents within. “…you don’t want Ink dead. You want him alive, and unharmed, and if Nightmare has him…” Dream’s fingers tightened on his bow again. “…That’s not going to happen.”

Error was silent, mulling over his words. He wanted to kill Dream for knowing that, wanted it so badly that it was hard to stop his fingers twitching, reaching for his strings. Dream wouldn’t be surprised if Error denied it all. They would fight, and Error would win. Maybe Blue would be more of a challenge.

If he went with them, if he helped them, he’d be admitting he no longer truly cared about the destruction of this place. That it was all for nothing. At a certain point, the spiral had to end. The lies he’d told himself to get to this point were becoming less and less convincing.

It felt so, so, so unfair. He’d tried his hardest to keep the dam from breaking. He wanted nothing more than to go back to when he didn’t care about anyone or anything. Apathetic, detached, convinced that his goal was the right hill to die on, the right cause to fight for. But now his LV-hungry soul wasn’t enough to stop him remembering.

The shimmer of Ink’s eyelights, healthy and strong, as he paced across rooftops in the dying sun. Hard little fists beating into even harder metal, warm hand clinging to his. The flash of freckles in wintery, morning light like speckled stardust on his cheekbones. Stupid, impish grin that forced him to smile as well, no matter how hard he tried not to. Small skull tucked into the crook of his neck, beautiful, ugly expressions as tears ran down his cheekbones, watery and grateful smiling as he wiped his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.

Dream was staring at him. Error wondered if he was seeing exactly what Error saw in his mind, or if the overwhelmingly bittersweet feelings taking residence in his soul were that obvious to him.

Done talking, he gave the slightest nod of his head, cementing the uneasy truce between them.

---------------------------------------------------

Core’s vision was off, their all-seeing abilities faltering, but even so, they found him within minutes. Dream had a good knowledge of how the timeline was laid out, and none of them were dragging their feet. They didn’t talk, were entirely silent until they came up to a wide-open entrance, a ceiling of broken metal framing the sides of the warehouse like somebody had just pulled one of the walls off. The floor was wet and slippery with an oil-like substance, and crates slick and bronzed copper with rust lined the walls.

Dream all but ran into the place, and Blue followed closely at his heels. Error waited for Core to do the same before he finally walked in, knowing that no amount of bracing himself would prepare him for seeing Ink again so soon. There was a muffled sound from behind one of the larger containers and when Error turned the corner he inhaled sharply.

Ink was on a chair, ankles bound to the legs, hands tied behind his back, cloth around his mouth, giant paintbrush (somewhat) unharmed on the floor next to him. His eyelights were flaring red, clearly expecting somebody else, but when he processed the people around him he blinked several times. Ink’s eyesockets went huge, the shapes within them bright and dazzling.

 Then they landed on Error last of all, and they shrank to tiny dots of ruby within the black. He stood up as soon as Dream slashed through all of his bindings, marched right up to Error, an odd slope to his gait, his voice a low hiss.

“What are you doing here? Why did Dream let you come?” Ink spat, loud enough so that Error could hear the seething anger but quiet enough to be only an indistinct murmur to the others. Ink was leaning close to allow this to happen, and Error supressed a shiver.

“i-i’m helping.” Error kept his tone robotic, because he knew otherwise he’d fall apart. Ink’s words cut so much deeper than they imagined they would. “d-dream doesn’t trust me-e, but he’s letting me come.”

“Did you tell them anything?”

“dream-m already figured some of it-t.” Error replied. No point in lying to Ink now.

“How much?” Ink asked, sounding almost desperate as his eyelights searched Error’s face.

“e-e-enough to say that-t he knows i don’t-t want you dead.”

“So, still enough to get him on my case.” Ink snapped.

Error stared. “f-f-fuck’s sake, ink, i-i can’t hide my emotions from-m him. h-he’d know either way.”

Ink glared, hand reaching out, grabbing the collar of his red shirt, yanking him down so that they were at eye level. “Huh, weird.” He remarked, voice angry and light. “You seemed very good at hiding things from me.” And oh. Ink was close, and he didn’t even seem to have realised it. Error’s soul felt like a dog on a very loose leash, tugging against his ribcage, drawing him towards Ink.

The look in Ink’s eyes, his grip on his shirt – it reminded Error of the tension between them during their last fight before all of this happened, that spark when their eyes met that promised violence. But Error didn’t want to hurt Ink. He wanted to cup Ink’s cheek and feel the artist nuzzle into him sweetly like he had before. He’d let Ink crack through his ribs and bite down on his soul as long as he held his hand throughout, as long as he got to feel Ink curl up warmly against his broken body afterwards.

It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. An odd realisation, knowing that the little skeleton in front of him could try to kill him and he wouldn’t fight back.

“Can either of you tell me what the hell’s going on?” Dream interjected, suddenly at Ink’s side, and Ink jolted, as if he’d forgotten they had company altogether. Error glared at Dream, hating him, hating him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Ink said, hurriedly releasing Error and stepping back, but the tenseness of his tone was hard to miss. His eyelights flicked determinedly past Error, making it a little too obvious he was trying not to look at him, and Dream’s eyesockets narrowed, but he didn’t comment.

“Ink, your hand…” Dream, clearly not trying to figure out why they were arguing for any longer, gingerly wrapped his fingers around Ink’s. The warm green glow of healing magic seemed bizarrely cheerful against the stubborn darkness of the warehouse. Ink looked up at Dream, and blinked several times before side-hugging him delicately, clearly mindful of his own injuries.

Dream returned it absently, focused on manipulating Ink’s phalanges till they resembled fingers again and not jagged broken fragments sticking out of his palm.

“Thanks. For, y’know, coming to get me.” Ink said, soft, before he peered over Dream’s shoulder, where Blue and Core were still standing, clearly unsure of what to do with themselves. He offered them a weak little smile. “C’mon, guys, I haven’t seen a mirror for a while, but I can’t look that bad…”

He had barely gotten the poor attempt at a joke out before Blue was over there and hugging his other side. Core followed suit, more gently leaning their head against his side, ink-black threads of their neat, shiny bob spilling out over the white of his undershirt. Error was aware he shouldn’t be seeing this. But he couldn’t make himself tear his gaze away from them, a tangle of colourful limbs pressed together, four sad smiles.

Ink looked at both of them, cheeks tinged faint embarrassed rainbow, coughing and squirming slightly in their hold, and it was so stupidly endearing it made Error’s breath actually catch. Blue laughed, a watery, sad sound, and loosened his grip.

“Stay still.” Dream reprimanded distractedly, before handing Ink’s hand back to him a couple moments later, watching as he flexed and curled his fingers. Ink looked dazed for a moment before his eyesockets suddenly widened.

“Shit!” Ink patted himself down with his good hand before he turned to Dream, dislodging Core and making everybody start back a little from the hastiness of his movements. “Dream, did you bring my backups from the Sanctuary? I need them if I’m gonna fight-”

“Ink, slow down.” Dream said, his hands settling firm on Ink’s forearms. Error wondered if ‘Sanctuary’ was another weird name for the Doodlesphere. “I have your backups. But you can’t fight just now. You’re injured and you’re upset, and I don’t want anything to happen to you again.”

Ink stared at him, before wriggling out of his grip. “Dream, come on! I’m fine, I just need to patch over the rest of the breaks – then I’m done! I’ve had worse, you know that.”

“They broke your fingers, Ink, and you’re limping. I won’t have time to heal all of it properly. You need to go back to the Doodlesphere and rest.”

“Oh, and you’re in such fit condition to fight?” Ink glared up at Dream. “You look like you’re gonna faint any minute. Bet there’s hardly enough positivity to keep you afloat, not with your brother here.”

“INK, THAT’S NOT FAIR-”

Dream cut over Blue, who fell silent, staring at the two of them and wringing his hands. “That’s different.” He informed Ink coolly. “I need to speak to Nightmare.”

“And I’m the one who started this whole mess.” Ink retorted. He studied Dream’s expression for a moment longer, before putting his healed hand on Dream’s arm, a tiny mimic of what Dream had done to him earlier. “Dream, you’re not winning this fight without me.”

Dream visibly softened at Ink’s touch, his eyelights growing round and vivid gold. He stayed quiet for a moment, before he nodded, looking regretful. “I… I know. I just…” Dream opened and closed his mouth a couple times, before sighing. “I don’t want to make you do this. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Ink extended an arm and hugged Dream close again. “You’re fine, I promise. It’s not your fault, Dreamboat.”

Dream looked suddenly close to tears as he returned the gesture lightly, carefully. “It’s not yours, either.”

Ink sighed into Dream’s chest, and Error fixated on where Ink’s hand touched Dream’s spine, eyelights moving along all the points of close contact. His glitches spiked, crackling, and he saw Blue give him a confused look out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, currently.

Core looked at them both, clearing their throat. “Nightmare’s outside.” They informed the group, looking around at them both, their expression grave. “He’s waiting for you all. I… thought it would be best not to appear to him.”

Dream nodded, releasing Ink, though they all stayed close together, Error standing away from it all. A star cluster and the jagged debris that followed in its wake.

“ARE ALL OF THEM THERE?” Blue asked, brow furrowed, eyelights big and pleading with Core to tell them something that wasn’t ‘yes’.

“Nightmare and Killer are outside.” Core said, the faintest clench in their jaw. “Cross, Axe and Dust are already…” They trailed off, and everybody filled in the gaps.

“…WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?”

Dream held himself a little straighter. “We- we can’t let them get near the Core. Its defences will hold up for a little while, but not for long against Nightmare. And once he gets past them…” Dream trailed off, his fingers yanking at the material of his gloves even though they were perfectly straight on his arms.

“RIGHT. NIGHTMARE SHOULDN’T KNOW WHERE THE EXITS ARE, SO WE CAN DIRECT PEOPLE TOWARDS THEM.” Blue offered. “IF WE MANAGE TO GET MOST PEOPLE OUT, THEN… IT SHOULDN’T MATTER AS MUCH WHEN IT HAPPENS.”

Ink rounded on Blue, suddenly. “When what happens? When the place self-destructs?” He snapped, hands curled into fists. “That’s not gonna happen. Look, you and Dream can go after Killer, Axe, Dust and… Cross.” Ink sighed. “I can stall Nightmare until you two can come and help.”

“i-i-i’ll stall nightmare.” Error interrupted, looking away from Ink’s glare. “d-d-do you seriously-y think that d-dream and blue-e can do that?”

“We’re standing right here.” Dream ground out, glaring at him. “I know my limits, Destroyer, and I know my brother’s. You’ve never fought him before.”

“a-a-and?” Error shot back. “i-i know how he works. i’ve fought-t alongside him.”

“He’s never tried to do anything to you because you’ve always been under his thumb.” Dream went on, ignoring him, eyelights blazing yellow. “He gets in your head, Error, he can make you see things. If you sink deep enough into negativity, then he’s already won. Doesn’t matter how physically strong you are, because I can feel that mentally…” Dream paused before finishing. “…you won’t last five minutes.”

“DREAM, THIS IS NOT HELPING.” Blue said, his eyelights on the entrance. Ink was silent.

“y-you don’t know shit about me.” Error snarled, anger rising hotly at Dream’s almost pitiful expression, his acting like he had it all figured out. “i-i can handle it.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you, and so if you decide to up and switch teams halfway through this fight it could cost us the entire timeline.”

“i-i’d t-tear my own soul out be-fore helping him again-n.” Error said, earnestly. “i-i know where my loyalties-s lie.” But Error looked at Ink while he said it, willing him to look up at him. Ink’s eyelights were fixed on the floor.

Dream seemed to have finally lost his patience. “You would have killed more people if we hadn’t come here at all. Who knows when you’d have stopped if we hadn’t told you where Ink was? And don’t get me started on whatever horrible reason you want Ink alive for. How can I trust you to help us if you’re planning to hurt him-”

Error had reached his limit as well. “t-the only person-n in danger of getting hurt is you, you bastard, a-a-and if i hear one-e more word i will fucking-g dismantle you, got it?” His smile felt grating as it slipped onto his face, and he unfortunately meant every word of what he was saying. But the person who stepped up to him wasn’t who he’d expected.

“Never,” Ink began pleasantly. “talk to him like that again.” And Error felt jealousy curling up his spine at Ink’s protective stance, at the way Dream relaxed fractionally when Ink was defending him. Didn’t Ink see what he was trying to do here? Didn’t he understand that Error was on his side?

“n-no promises.” Error replied tightly, looking meaningfully over Ink’s shoulder at Dream, who glared back. Error couldn’t blame him, reluctantly he acknowledged that it made sense. They’d found Ink, hurt, and he’d been missing at the exact same time Ink was. They had every right to be concerned. But Error still desperately wanted to blurt out what they’d done – tell them every little moment, so that Error could have the right to be concerned, the right to be protective, just like they did. 

He also knew, if he did this, Ink would probably punch his face in. And besides, they were running out of time as it was.

Dream was clearly thinking something along the same lines. He turned away from Error. “Blue, me and you will still take on those four.” He said, abruptly moving on, something that made Blue’s raised, wary shoulders drop. “We have the Guard to help, and they can at least get some chip damage in before they leave.” He sighed. “Error and Ink, you… can handle Nightmare. Agreed?”

Error looked at Ink, Ink looked at him, and they both quickly looked away again, Ink busying himself with taking his vials and Error with the dusty cuff of his sleeve, aware Dream was watching them. Ink gave one small, stiff nod. Error didn’t say anything, and Dream must have taken his silence as agreement. Blue looked between them all, and together, their group left the safety of the warehouse, going to face what awaited them outside.

---------------------------------------------------

Only Nightmare and Killer were present, which made this situation even more hopeless-seeming. Nightmare had six tentacles now, bloated and squirming out of his back, a sign of the negativity he was drawing from the timeline as his smile split his face, and Killer’s dark, hollow sockets were focused, though it was hard to tell where he was looking due to his general lack of eyelights. They were stood close together, though not enough to touch, and they were miles apart compared to how the Stars pressed close to each other defensively.

Nightmare’s eyelight travelled them all, landing heavily on Error and Ink where they stood together. He sighed, loud enough to be heard over the several meters of distance that separated them, and when he spoke his voice was even more distorted, as if the overflow of black slime was clogging his throat, too. “My, how disappointing.” Nightmare’s voice was lazy, unbothered. Killer was uncharacteristically quiet beside him. “I see you still haven’t come to your senses, Error.”

The others seemed confused – especially Dream – at why Nightmare was immediately targeting Error. The uncertainty on their faces must have soothed Nightmare slightly. Error didn’t even bother to hide his contempt. “g-go fuck yourself.” He ground out, and Nightmare laughed, mouth stretched a little too wide across his black face.

“Oh, Dream, if it didn’t mean giving myself away I would have loved to show you these two about a week ago.” Hummed Nightmare, and Dream bristled, though there was a flash of oh-so-noticeable fear in his eyesockets.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dream snapped, his eyesockets narrowed.

“When he was-” Nightmare slipped up, nearly gave away more information than he had to for a moment, and paused, his smile growing. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I’m sure I’ll find out.” Dream replied, voice steely as his eyelights stayed on Error, and Error wondered if his distaste had been as palpable as Dream’s when he looked at him.

“Oh, poor, naïve little brother.” Nightmare smirked unkindly. “You surely don’t believe Error’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart?”

Dream was silent, and Error could see Ink’s eyelights shrink, tiny dots of bleeding colour trained on Nightmare’s every movement. Blue opened his mouth to say something, stopped- and then everything happened all at once.

Pain exploded in Error’s skull as he felt the heavy, familiar weight of a bone attack being cracked into it. He yelped, ducked, shielding his head and instinctively fired a Gaster Blaster towards the source of the bone, his whole body thrumming. He looked up, whirled around, and saw a very familiar pair of red and blue eyelights – Dust was behind them, but…

In his adrenaline rush, Error had somehow not seen the shield Dream had thrown up immediately – encasing them all in the bright golden dome, and Blue ran over to Error, eyes full of worry.

“ERROR! YOUR… YOUR HEAD…” Error moved his hand to his skull, and it... well, it didn't feel unharmed. The burn of pain made his vision a little fuzzy, but he doubted there was anything he could do just now. Blue was looking at him in concern though, so he waved a hand dismissively, even though what he felt like doing was cursing Nightmare out and wallowing in self-pity for a few seconds.

Ink and Dream seemed intact. Error had been the only one who didn’t dodge fast enough, and fuck, he was paying the price as a dull, reddish ache settled at the base of his vision and the back of his skull throbbed. Through the glassy golden half-circle, Nightmare was standing, watching, waiting, Killer dispersed from his side. One of his tentacles tapped slowly against the dome, and with each movement it splintered, cracking up towards the middle.

“Error?” Dream’s voice, urgent and hushed. “How big can you make one of your portals?”

“h-huh?” Error sounded as woozy as he felt. “i-i don’t know. t-the height of t-this shield?”

Dream nodded. “It’s… it’s worse than we thought.” He said slowly, clearly trying to compose himself, taking a deep breath before he next spoke. “I think it would be best if we got as many people out as possible instead of trying to stop their destruction. We should focus on getting portals up after we subdue Nightmare.”

Ink stared at him as if trying to find the punchline of a joke he was missing. “We can’t just give up on this!” He said, an incredulous laugh making his words sound shriller and higher. He turned to his other teammate, searching Blue’s face instead somewhat desperately.

“Blue?” Ink tried. “Bluebell? C’mon, this is stupid, right?” Ink tried to put his arm around Blue’s shoulders, and Blue wouldn’t meet his eyes as he shrugged him off.

“INK, WE’RE OUTNUMBERED.” Blue replied, his tone more clipped than Error had ever heard it. “I’M SORRY.”

Everybody flinched as a particularly harsh thud against the glass made the entire thing shake. Ink looked suddenly helpless, his eyelights flicking between Dream and Blue, clearly unsure of himself now that his friends were no longer on board. Then his face set in a determined scowl.

“This is bullshit.” Ink said, his eyelights hot and angry. “You’re both just going to let this timeline go at the first sign of trouble? We worked so hard on this, for so long, and now Nightmare shows up and we’re just done?”

“Ink, the casualties will be so much worse if we don’t focus our efforts on getting people out.” Dream’s tone had a definite edge to it. “Don’t you care about that?”

“No other universes are big enough to house this many people.” Ink ignored Dream, which caused even Error some suspicion. Then, quietly, he added: “Maybe it would be better this way.”

“What?” Dream, whose eyelights had been previously fixed on his shield, rounded on Ink in an instant. “Ink, I hope for your sake that you’re not saying what I think you’re saying-”

And then the shield shattered, scattering them along with it. Error should have thought lots of things about the situation – their argument, the fact that Nightmare was paces away, but instead all that ran in his head on loop was: we’re fucked. They had no plan, no strategy due to Dream and Ink’s argument, only a vague idea of who was supposed to be going after who.

Which left Error some room to do his own thing.

Error watched as Dream quickly portalled himself and Blue away, leaving Error and Ink standing there, Ink getting up from his flattened position on the floor, Nightmare looming over them. Error’s vision was getting increasingly worse, the blow to his head no doubt contributing. All he knew was that Nightmare was concerningly large, shadows joining together to create a taller, warped creature, and despite his sight blurring in and out he couldn’t miss the gleam of sharp white teeth and the icy-blue eye that shone eery light onto everything around it, illuminating the usually invisible planes of Nightmare’s skull.

And Ink was going for battle-banter now. Error could see it in the fake grin he plastered across his face. No matter what, he always had some sort of false bravado to flaunt, a certain quip or jab at the ready. “This is a little overkill, don’tcha think, Night?” Ink called, his hand cupped around his mouth, and Error internally groaned. There was a time and place for being an annoying bastard and now was not it.

Nightmare’s eye narrowed. “Trying to distract me with your typical back-and-forth nonsense is not going to work, Protector.” Sneered Nightmare. “I admire your sheer obliviousness, though.”

“I admire your dedication to wearing slippers without heels all the time.” Ink replied, voice full of sympathy as he bowed his head, fingers drumming on his brush. “It’s so annoying, isn’t it? They slip off all the time, and they must get stuck in your goop.” Ink’s eyesockets suddenly lit up. “Ooh! You could go barefoot like me?” Ink suggested, before he wrinkled his nose. “Not sure I wanna know what the Corruption’s done to your toes, though-”

Nightmare’s tentacle lashed out, but from the tension in Ink’s body he’d been expecting it, and he veered sharply to the left, tucking himself into a ball before he hit the ground and the tentacle passed over his head. It swung too sharp to hit Error, either, but it was close enough that he could wrap his strings around it. He knew they wouldn’t hold for long, but restraining one tentacle would have to do for now.

Immediately, Nightmare twisted around and the others shot down, so Error ran, summoning his usual Gaster Blaster, heat pounding in his skull as he timed it to go off after Ink had moved past as well. Something was still wrong with Ink’s leg, and Error could see sweat break out on his skull as he tried to keep up with Error.

Error glanced up – the strings around the uppermost tentacle were holding, if barely. Error gritted his teeth and reinforced them, glancing back at Ink. “i-i can keep them like that f-for maybe a minute.” He said, feeling his body already start to strain as he wrapped his strings around the other tentacles as well, the blue looking impossibly fragile against the bulging sludge, like microscopic pieces of thread around fat black worms. “p-patch your leg.”

Ink opened his mouth, maybe to protest, before he closed it again and yanked his trouser hem up, grabbing his brush and juggling both at odd angles so that he could actually use his ink. Error prayed he was right, and that his magic would hold up for as long as he’d said it would. Nightmare looked down, seeming not at all fazed by how tightly Error’s strings sunk into the goo.

“Tell me, Error.” Nightmare’s voice, though loud, was impossibly soft and silky. “What do you plan to do after this?”

The question was unexpected, but Error didn’t let his concentration falter as he worked on making sure the snapping strings were replaced promptly. “w-why do you care?” He retorted, refusing to look into Nightmare’s face as one of his tentacles twitched and wobbled dangerously, choosing to focus on that instead.

“Do you think they won’t hurt you, once they’ve used you?” Nightmare went on, voice smooth, free of the horrible, distorted gargle it had earlier. “When your magic reserves run dry and there’s no battle left to fight? People don’t forget your mistakes after one ‘good’ action, Error. They’re angry at you. I can taste my brother’s fury from across this forsaken timeline.”

Error’s entire body shook with the effort of keeping Nightmare restrained. He didn’t want to hear what he was saying, either, so he turned his skull to face Ink. “h-hurry up.”

“I’m trying.” Ink hissed back through gritted teeth. “They shoved my kneecap up inside my femur and it- owww. Ouch ouch ouch.” Ink’s hands were stained black as he managed to press his patella back into place, and despite his words he didn’t seem to feel much pain at all as he glued the bone down firmly with sticky paint. He let the leg of his trouser fall back down, twisted it a couple times, before he gave the slightest nod of his head.

Error removed the strings and Ink threw up a shield. However, when Nightmare’s tentacle hit, it bent, Ink’s magic distorted and warped beneath the weight of the appendage, and it may as well have been an attack because Error could feel the searing intent from behind the ink, and it made his head swim from its intensity.

Ink was watching Nightmare closely. Then, he turned to Error. “I think I’m gonna grab his tentacle.”

It took a moment for that to process. “w-w-what?”

“I can actually hit him that way. I’m better close range.”

“y-you’re better when-n you’re not dead.”

Ink responded by pulling the shield down, waiting for Nightmare’s next tentacle to thrash in their direction and latching onto it, his brush held firm on his back. Error’s choked shriek of surprise went unheard by both Nightmare and Ink as Nightmare stilled for a moment, and in that split-second hesitation Ink ran right up the tentacle, slipping and nearly falling as he went, before digging his heels in and slamming his paintbrush into Nightmare’s face.

Nightmare howled, and sealed his tentacle around Ink’s neck, before dashing his entire body against the side of a nearby building, causing brick and peeling paint to spatter in all directions around the hit. Ink’s legs jackknifed uselessly as he struggled, pushing his hands against the slick fat coil underneath his chin.

Error didn’t think twice. He wrapped his strings around the brush to stop it from splitting open on impact with the ground, before wondering why Nightmare hadn’t caught it first. And then he realised; Nightmare was flailing Ink around so wildly because Ink had painted his eyesockets shut. Error stabbed a flurry of bones through the tentacle holding Ink and it dropped like a stone, literally falling off Nightmare’s body to be replaced by a new one.

Ink’s curled-up body bounced against the quickly melting tentacle, cushioning his landing, and he scrambled to his feet unsteadily.

“y-you okay?” Error asked, eyelights searching Ink for any sign of injury, and Ink nodded, even though Error was already inclined to not believe him. Ink pushed at his neck and there was a sickening click, before he shook his skull several times and nodded again.

“ink, you can-n go.” Error urged, the sight of this horrific sudden placement of bone where it clearly shouldn’t have been. “p-please. just go.”

Ink stared at him, a mix of emotions flashing through his eyes. “And what kinda Protector abandons ship before they’ve got all the people out?” He laughed, but it felt forced as he kept his eyelights on Nightmare. “C’mon, we need to-”

“don’t pretend-d you care about them.” Error said, his expression set as he tried to get Ink to look at him, stepping into his line of sight. “ink, i know you-u have to say that in front of dream but i k-k-know, okay? you already-y got taken by nightmare, and-”

“And whose fault was that?”

“i-i’m fucking trying-g to make it better, ink. believe it or-r not i don’t like seeing-g-g y0u have to break your-r own neck.”

“You like seeing me fall apart on the floor because the only thing I can feel is sadness?” Ink yelled. “Oh, and fear too. You know what I was thinking that whole time? It was all, does he hate me? Does he think I’m annoying? Will he leave? Over and over again, because I thought everything except you was trying to hurt me and  I was so fucking scared, Error. And now- now you’re doing this, and I don’t know if I can even trust you not to stab me in the back.”

The words felt like they were scraping back layers of progress – or what Error had thought was progress – until they were back where they started, yelling at each other in the cavern.

“i’m on your side, ink-k.” The words felt pitiful and small, but they were also the truest thing he could’ve said. “look at me-e. please. i’ll do whatever-r you want me to.”

Reckless. Stupid. Stupid. But painfully true. He reached for Ink, glitching, and Ink flinched away.

“Stop gawping at me like that.” He turned his skull away, his smile long gone. “Stop- stop treating me like I’m your new cause.”

“…what?”

“You’re looking at me like I’m the codes to enter the Doodlesphere and rip everything apart.” Ink’s shoulders shuddered. “You don’t actually mind what it is, do you? As long as you have something to distract yourself from the fact that you’re so fucked-up you went from killing kids to begging me for forgiveness.”

“y-you don’t care about that-t!” Error stepped closer. “you don’t-t even understand how bad-d that was, you’re just parroting-g dream. we both know-w that if these people weren’t useful to you you’d be gone in-n a soulbeat.”

...Destroyer, who felt too much. Protector, who felt too little.

They were at a standoff. Ink’s neck dripped blackness.

Then, his eyesockets widened. “Error-!”

And everything went dark.

Black and icy wet, like being contained on all sides by the slippery stuff you’d usually avoid at the sides of roads and pavements when it was cold outside. He turned, frantically, but it was all the same. Shadows on vaguely-moving dark bulging lumps, a vile pulsing mass that was gleefully caging him in.

He yelled Ink’s name, and there was a faint, echoing response which he chased desperately. Velvety-soft darkness parted for him as he ran, panting, the only noise in this place aside from the faint warbling that sounded so familiar. He was shivering, his whole body freezing, an icy hand closed over his soul so that its beat was a dull, emotionless thud against his ribs.

stay on guard. remember what dream said.

His spine was straight, stiff as a board, and he felt something closing behind him, but there was a distant light ahead he was determined to follow. What other option did he have? He tried his strings, but they simply extended from the ceiling of the darkness, refusing to go further through. He remembered Nightmare talking about this. An altered reality caused by negative emotions. He never thought he’d be the one trapped here, though.

The squishiness began to give way, eventually, its path widening to accommodate more people – a battlefield. And the first thing Error saw was the bright glow of Nightmare’s eyelight, before he moved his gaze down.

Ink on the floor, hands digging into the slime which refused to accommodate his fingers, cutting useless imprints in the floor of whatever this place was. There was a tentacle around his middle, pushing him into a contorted belly-down position, and his brush was slowly sinking into the abyss of pitch darkness. Error’s breath immediately vanished from his ribcage as he saw Ink cough up his namesake, indistinguishable among the dark floor.

He reached forward – then hesitated.

What if it was one of Nightmare’s mimics? What if this was all a trap designed to tug on his soul? Ink reached for him again, looking up at him, and Nightmare’s tentacle drew him a little further back.

“Ah. I’m flattered, Destroyer.” Nightmare’s voice, barely recognisable under all that distortion and heaviness, like the effort of keeping them contained was weighing on his voice. “But my shapeshifting isn’t quite up to that standard yet, I’m afraid.”

Nightmare’s tentacle swelled to bursting, then folded in on himself. His whole body contorted, grew smaller, tentacles bursting out of a new back that did not belong to him, the colour of his eyelight forced into two separate, colourful dots which changed as he blinked. A familiar fanged mouth that smiled at him, slanted eyes quirked up. He stepped forwards, hauled Ink upright using Ink’s own strength, the tentacle back around Ink’s throat as his ragged breathing filled the space, as Ink’s hollow copy pressed itself against the original as if in comparison.

“Whaddya think, Error?” Ink’s voice coming out of his mouth. “Good resemblance?”

“f-fuck off.” Error snapped. “i-i should’ve known-n you couldn’t even get-t this right.” A lie on all counts. Two Inks were staring at him, and his glitches were running haywire.

The Nightmare-Ink pouted. “Always so mean.”

Error wrapped his strings around the real Ink and heaved. The muddy black sludge was clinging to his clothing, sucking him down like quicksand, but with an almighty tug Ink’s body came free – Nightmare let his tentacle drop - and fell limp in the strings afterwards, Ink’s body leaning heavily on them to keep himself upright. There was a gash-like wound, drooling ink, slashed across his skull, and Ink looked dizzy as he tried to keep himself upright.

He looked at Error, and mouthed one word. Broomie.

Strings wrapped around the oversized brush – which he could only tell was there by the hulk of it drenched in goop – and with less resistance pulled it free. Ink took hold of it quickly, free of the reverent, adoring look he usually gave it, and stanced carefully, his brush clipped to his back once more.

Nightmare was still holding Ink’s form. He took slow, almost playful steps towards Error in particular, who summoned his blaster. It hummed beside him, and Nightmare hummed back.

“Interesting. Obviously, my perversion of him fails to deceive you, and yet I still feel your…apprehension.” Nightmare-Ink’s mouth curved up in a sharp grin. “You truly do not want to hurt him, simply because his appearance is looking back at you. How deliciously pathetic.”

“i-i’ll still kill you.” Error snarled. It wasn’t too difficult to look at Nightmare’s tentacles and remind himself firmly that this was not Ink. He just had to avoid the face.

He overestimated his blaster shot, and the light from the force of the beam disappeared into the darkness. Nightmare ducked, clearly enjoying this lithe new form he was occupying. His tentacles were too quick, growing stronger and stronger as negativity worsened, and Error was knocked to the floor as Ink Nightmare stood over him.

 (This wasn’t the real Ink. The real Ink was bound at the waist by Nightmare’s tentacle.)

“What’s the matter, Glitchy?” Nightmare-Ink cooed, crouching down atop him, just barely brushing his sides and making glitches bubble up. The voice wasn’t any less convincing – in fact, more and more of the inflections and intonations were accurate. It sounded, terrifyingly, exactly like Ink. “Don’t you still like me?”

(This wasn’t the real Ink. The real Ink was gasping as Nightmare’s hold tightened.)

He shot his hand up to his eyesockets, his glitches burning, trying to draw his strings out, and Nightmare-Ink’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, porcelain phalanges tightening and jamming themselves into the gap between the two bones. His body tried to make itself crash, but it failed, leaving beeping, spasming, wailing glitching noises louder in the darkness.

(The real Ink’s fingers were broken, and messily patched with paint.)

“Look at that.” Ink murmured. “I caught you so easily. The Protector and the Destroyer’s bodies are designed to balance one another’s out. Made to break each other over and over again, fitting perfectly in the Balance.” A throaty sigh left Ink’s mouth, his eyelights burning teal as he leaned down, sludge connecting their clothing in strands even before Ink leant fully down, caging Error in.

(This was not Ink.)

“We are evenly matched. You could throw me off right now, if you chose. And yet…” Ink tilted his head. “You can’t. Your guilt is a wonderful restraint, better than anything I could have done.”

(…Was it?)

Ink’s mouth was beside Error’s skull now. “It truly is fear that brings us all together, mm? The gracious Protector, afraid of what his friends might think, afraid of losing the fragile balance that allows him to pretend he is not a soulless creature. You, Error, so terrified of your volitional loneliness that you were willing to grow attached to the first thing that showed you affection. Already doggedly loyal to your sworn enemy, so much so that you cannot even strike me now.”

“But I can.”

Error's reboot finally hit as Ink's Nightmare's skull was slammed into his sternum. 

Chapter Text

Dark.

Dark caging him in on all sides. Darkness seeping into his bones. Darkness a quiet whisper, then a rumble that jolted his bones, then filling him up and bloating him, just like Nightmare did earlier, a darkness that screamed comply and submit and you are nothing, nothing, nothing-

“Dammit, Error, get up!”

Hot little hands were digging into his sides. They burned, their delicate fingers branding onto his ribs. It hurt so much after such a strong reboot that Error twisted around and tried to hit whoever was holding him in the chest. Unfortunately, what he’d thought would be chest was actually face, and somebody – oh, Ink – dropped him with a yelp, clutching his nasal ridge.

Good. Now he was back in the dark, cool sludge, which was thick and inviting against his bones, his glitches fizzling and making odd popping noises against the slime. His ribs ached, and he wanted more than anything to go back into that soothing, insistent darkness, he was already halfway there…

A loud, visceral yell jolted him out of his steep descent back into unconsciousness, and he stumbled to his feet, alarmed. A wild tangle of tentacle and fists and teeth was rapidly nearing where he was standing, and he stepped backwards, nearly bumping into Ink again. He shook his skull to attempt to clear it, trying to process what had happened before he’d rebooted.

Oh. Ink had been talking. Error couldn’t remember when his overwhelmed post-crash mind had decided that Ink’s voice should also be unimportant background noise.

“…can you stand? Yeah, you can, o-okay, Error? Can you hear me?” Error turned towards Ink, who looked back at him expectantly, a tinge of nervousness to his tone and the corners of his usual smirk.

Error nodded. His voice was clogged with strange, filter-like noise and static when he spoke. “w-what… wh0’s h-handling him?”

Ink looked relieved at the sound of Error’s coherent voice, despite the fact that it sounded so garbled and scratchy. “Blue. Blue’s handling him.” Ink looked doubtfully at the two, the ground shaking from the force of Blue’s attack hitting the ground. “Error, you need to go help Dream and Core. They’re over beside the Newest Ruins central street. People are using the Station as a hideout, and Nightmare’s boys are trying to get in.”

Error stared. “d-d-do you seriously think i’m-m gonna leave you here w-w-with big-shot ‘royal guard’ to take down nightmare? after what he did-d?”

Ink let out a frustrated sound through gritted teeth, eyelights sharp. “Look, I’ll get a few hits in for you if that’ll re-inflate your ego, but you need to go.” The sound of Nightmare’s manic laughter and something hitting the ground with a dull thud made them both jump, and Ink turned. There were several bone attacks sticking out of Nightmare’s tentacles like he was a human pincushion, and one of them was wrapped around Blue’s ankle, clearly about to slam down-

Ink turned to him, eyelights moving from irate red to softer pink and lilac. “I can handle myself. Promise.”

And then Ink was streaking forward before Error could reply and Nightmare’s victorious sounds turned to ones of anger, the two smaller figures darting around him aiming exclusively for his face and tentacles. There was none of the fumbling like when Error and Ink had taken him on – Ink and Blue knew each other’s fighting styles, and complimented each other well. While Ink’s feet barely touched the ground as he ducked and weaved, Blue stayed down and firm, shielding him, digging attack after attack into Nightmare as soon as he let his guard down.

Error didn’t want to go.

But his own words came floating back. “i’ll do whatever you want me to.” It wasn’t a promise he was obligated to keep. He doubted doing this would be without major cost. But, dammit, he was going to try.

For Ink’s sake.

---------------------------------------------------

Sliding off of the Blaster next to the massive white building, the damage immediately made itself known. The air was static and charged with magic and malicious intent, and the air was thick with debris and dust and smoke, white, lit-up clouds of those substances gleaming in the moonlight. Error de-summoned the floating dragon skull beside him and cautiously looked around the edge of the building, and when he saw what he did his eyesockets widened.

Core was not in sight. Dream was, however, two ragged daggers clutched in his fists. Despite his waning aura, he was still so colourful that he stood out boldly, the twin yellow ribbons that fell down his back frantically twirling and dancing in the night air as he ran between valleys of sharpened bone attacks. Unlike Ink, his mouth was grimly set, no grunts of pain or taunting defiance leaving his teeth as he fought.

Unfortunately for him, Killer was not considerate enough to do the same. Standing atop his own Blaster, twirling a flashing kitchen knife, his grin was stretched taut across his face, newly-gained LV making his soul twist and warp like somebody was wrapping it around a pair of invisible knitting needles. “c’mon, c’mon, dreamboat!” Killer cried merrily as he stepped back a little on his Gaster Blaster to allow the jaws to snap open. “don’t tell me you’re gettin’ tired already?”

Dust appeared very quickly – a blip in between space and time, and there he was, suddenly beside Dream once more. Dream’s attempt to move out of the way of the impending Blaster beam was thwarted by a simple shove; Dust’s hands curled like claws in the light yellow fabric of Dream’s tunic and held. Dream’s eyesockets widened, he pulled, but he wasn’t fast enough, and Error realised very quickly he should probably do something. As much as he was enjoying watching Dream getting his ass beat.

Strings wrapped around Dream’s bright apple-soul and yanked him backwards, the beam hitting the ground with a loud crash of intense energy, and Error sidestepped to avoid getting an eyesocket-full of concrete shrapnel. Dream, whose struggle had originally been panicked and frenzied, had now gone momentarily limp with relief in the strings, like a fish on the end of a line resigned to its fate.

“w-w-where’s the abomination w-w-with the hole in its head? a-a-and the stupid-d x-freak?” Error demanded, twitching his fingers so that the strings shook Dream for emphasis, and Dream shuddered violently at the feeling, which made Error supress a small smile.

He took the opportunity to look a little closer at the Guardian – he’d looked awful earlier, and now looked about two steps from collapsing, eyelights small, almost dough-coloured little pinpricks, a sharp scrape up the bones of his forearm. Error realised Killer and Dust must have been dragging it out, draining Dream’s energy before Nightmare could come to do some real damage. Whether Dream realised this or not was unknown to Error.

“I don’t know.” Dream panted, snapping Error’s focus back to his original question. His skull was turned, staring up at Killer and Dust, who still seemed bewildered by Error’s presence. “After the shield broke, they all scattered. I thought you and Ink could take care of Nightmare?”

Error hesitated – and clearly did so for a beat too long, which made Dream let out a long-suffering sigh. “I knew it.” He said, wearily, and while it took Error a moment to understand what he was getting at, he bristled when he did.

“i-it’s not as if you’re-e doing a prime-e job of fending them-m off, dickhead.” Error snarled, gesturing animatedly at the two skeletons behind Dream. Killer must have picked up on the aggression and tension in both of their postures, because his relaxed, loose smile grew. He hopped off of his Blaster and strolled casually towards both of them, twirling his knife. Dust stayed where he stood, a taut circle of red and blue following Killer’s movements, watching, waiting.

“ladies, ladies, let’s not fight.” Killer raised his hands in some sort of peacemaker gesture, which didn’t exactly work when he had a knife firmly pressed to each palm. “i’m suuuure there’s enough of that ink guy to go around for all of you.”

Error froze, and Dream’s eyelights flicked forwards and backwards for a moment, his body remaining tense and prepared for an attack, mouth shut. Killer leaned back on his heels, entirely too smug for that one stupid comment, and Error narrowed his eyesockets at him.

“w-what’s that supposed to mean-n?” Error asked, unable to help how angry his voice came out, nor the way his cheeks felt suddenly very hot. Killer whistled lowly through his teeth, and Error wrinkled his nose; Killer always stank of death, and the stench was only getting worse as this fight went on.

“boss told me a few things.” Killer, though addressing Error, was clearly intending his words for Dream. “and, y’know, error? can’t blame you. i’m a sucker for a good romance myself. didn’t think you’d go for ink, though. bold choi-”

Killer sprang away from where he’d been standing as a red bone attack which would have impaled his pelvis shot up from the ground, and Error seethed quietly as Killer kept up that stupid breezy grin. Since when was Nightmare gossiping to his gang like this? Last time Error had seen them interact, Nightmare had only been politely antagonistic to all of them. Then again, he hadn’t really dropped by Nightmare’s castle in a long time…

Killer, now panting from exertion, was clearly not finished. He turned his back on them both, wrapped his arms around himself in a mimic of an embrace, and swayed from side to side, running his own hands up and down his sides, making disgusting wet kissing noises. “oooh, yes, error, kiss me more, i love you soooo much- hey!”

Thankfully, they were all spared Killer’s grating attempt at imitating Ink’s voice by Error’s attacks finally landing, and the blunt end of it slamming into the back of Killer’s skull with a hollow, satisfying thuck, making him crumple for a moment. Error finally noticed Dream’s silence and turned to him, and the Guardian stared unabashedly, several emotions flitting over his face.

“What was that all about?” Dream asked, bewildered, and Error did his best to shrug carelessly, thanking the stars above that Killer lied so much that hardly anything he ever said was taken seriously. He knew Ink didn’t want Dream to know, and if Error was being honest with himself, he didn’t like that Nightmare and Killer knew either. The gentle, tender moments that he’d thought were for only him and Ink were being warped into something shameful and weak by Nightmare, and made disgusting and crude by Killer.

His soul thrummed with anger, and he only remembered he still had his strings around Dream’s soul as Dream flinched and sucked in a breath at him clenching his fist. He hurriedly detached the stings, and as he redirected his focus to a groaning Killer, he realised Dust was nowhere to be seen amongst the rubble, and cursed under his breath.

“dream-m, go find that sli-slippery bastard.” Error barked. “i’ll stay here. y-you’re friends with-h cross, aren’t you? you can-n work something out with him while you’re at it.”

Dream wavered uncertainly. “Well, I wouldn’t say friends, but-”

“go.” Error pushed the muzzle of his newly-summoned Gaster Blaster’s mouth into Dream’s back, making him stagger in a vague direction, and Dream gave him another one of those strange, searching looks which Error hated, before he disappeared in an unenthusiastic little flash of yellow light, like a firework you lit up and anticipated only for it to give off a couple sparks.

Error, no longer worried about Dream hearing something he shouldn’t, wrapped his strings around Killer’s exposed soul, which was no longer shapeless, tamed into a jittery scarlet circle in front of his chest. He stared longingly at the tempting, bright target; normally this would be the perfect opportunity to fuck around with Killer’s soul, make him pay for daring to talk about him and Ink that way like he had any right to, but Error knew he was sort of on a clock.

So, begrudgingly, he stood over Killer, allowing his other strings to creep over the rest of his bones, his own grin widening at how uneasy Killer’s was getting. A bead of sweat stood out on his skull as Error leaned down. Was this jackass finally understanding that a one-on-one fight with him was not going to end in Killer’s favour?

“h-have fun in hotland~♡” Error waved, as the strings pulled back and catapulted a yelping Killer as far as he would go. Error watched, momentarily at peace as Killer’s sprawled-out body grew smaller and smaller before disappearing from view.

Then he finally, finally, looked around him.

The once bright and lively path up to the Station was deserted. Slowly disintegrating magic attacks littered the ground around him and the smooth concrete was dented and cracked, with several impacts as deep as trenches where a Gaster Blaster had dug in to the ground. The Station itself might have looked the same, if you could ignore the fact that the sign now read TATION instead, and one of the revolving doors was still squeaking sadly as it spun, one of the panes of glass inside it having been pierced by a red-tipped bone attack. There were little flurries of dust that went up each time it moved, and it was unfortunately clear that already people had died trying to get into the Station.

Error hesitantly pushed past the doors – and immediately, Core popped up in front of him, making him jolt in surprise. He looked around – and the station was crowded. Chaotic and full, rowdy and noisy, immediately making Error wince. Ink wasn’t kidding about people using the station as a hideout – it seemed like the vast space was packed full of every single person in the Omega Timeline. Most people were clumped in groups, moving towards one of the many portals Core had opened, huddling together and eyeing everything else nervously. And then it finally started.

People saw Error. They always did. And it garnered the usual reaction. A hush steadily descended on the group, the people at the very back the last to quieten down, and Core blinked, as if they’d forgotten to anticipate this reaction. They turned and said something, but everything was very quickly turning to white noise and static in Error’s mind, his eyelights steadily fixed on the surrounding crowd.

Terrified. They were scared of him. People were getting their attacks out, he could see it, could feel it in the air, the pop and fizzle of anger and fear and helplessness. They thought he was going to attack them. Maybe he should, maybe that would keep them in line, keep them out of his and Ink’s business. Nobody could say anything about them if they were dead. He’d keep the secret safe, keep them quiet, crush their souls between his fingers and then, maybe, just maybe, they-

“Error?”

They would be safe-

Ink would be safe-

“Error!”

Core’s voice, soft and insistent, pleading, broke him out of that particularly persistent train of thought. There were strings from his eyesockets to his fingers, held taut in a fist he didn’t remember making. One foot was stepped forward on the murky white floor as if he was about to march over towards the crowd. He didn’t remember his breathing getting that fast.

The darkening blood on his hands and his jacket seemed vividly red.

…He needed to pull himself together. Core was still looking up at him, wary, their black eyes filled with distrust and worry. “Error.” Core said again, their small, white fingers twitching as if they wanted to take hold of his sleeve to get his attention, but didn’t quite dare to. Not for the first time, Error felt like he was looking at someone who had seen far more than he had.

“s-s-s-st0p bleating-g my name like that, k-kid.” Error snapped, and Core seemed strangely relieved even just to hear him berate them, the tension fading from them in moments.

“So Nightmare didn’t convince you.” They observed, tilting their head up at him. “I had a feeling he wouldn’t.”

“what d-do you mean?” Error asked suspiciously, frowning. And despite everything that had happened, Core seemed to have a ghost of a smile on their face. They quickly straightened out and went back to neutral, though. They opened their mouth, as if to reply promptly, then shut it again with a shake of their head.

“Never mind.” They said hastily. “It’s not important. I do need you to open a portal to Haventale, I’m stretching myself with this many open as it is.”

Error could see portals that were leading to somewhere which was definitely not Haventale, blatantly unhidden, but didn’t say anything about it. Honestly, in Core’s position, he wouldn’t trust himself to know what other safe AUs people were being sent to. Hesitantly, he redirected his magic and a rift tore through the air, as large as he could make it.

Core nodded their approval, before they turned again and bellowed as loud as their tiny lungs would allow them. “Everybody! Make your way to any of the portals as quickly as possible. There should be one Royal Guard near enough to your group. If there isn’t, I will be with you shortly. Once you’re through the portal find somewhere safe for you and your group. I will be there to assist you.”

Error blinked at the sudden transition from soft-spoken to drill sergeant, but Core’s orders seemed to be working. Perhaps even better than before, due to the sudden shock of seeing the infamous Destroyer pop up next to Core, have the reality of their situation shoved in their faces. People began to move, slow then quick and frenzied, shouts and hasty voices filling the air. Core’s grey form flitted between people, flickering in and out of sight, but still next to Error, even though the look in their eyes was now more vacant and distracted.

“i-is this most of them?” Error asked, quieter than before, and Core turned their head towards him.

“Most of Snowdin is yet to be evacuated. I know some of Nightmare’s gang has made their way over there.” Core replied. “You should go.”

Error stared, before letting out an incredulous little laugh. “you-u want me to get-t those people over here?” He asked. “t-they won’t listen to a word i say.”

Core flickered distractedly, before their form settled once again and they raised their eyebrows at him. “Maybe you’ll find some use for that.”

---------------------------------------------------

Error was still trying to figure out what Core had meant when he approached Snowdin. His head was still sore from his reboot and the gained LV he hadn’t quite managed to process yet, so his thoughts were muddled enough already without Core’s vague orders and hints. The sight of the place managed to push those thoughts from his mind, though.

When he and Ink had been there, he’d thought the snow had been bad enough. True, it hadn’t been the main thing responsible for all the bad things he remembered about passing through here, but it was still a good contributor. But now the snow was falling in thick, intense flurries, and he could barely see two feet in front of his face for the packed, icy curtain that was relentlessly coming down. Error knew this probably wasn’t coincidental; unusually bad weather like this in the places Nightmare invaded wasn’t uncommon. (He was now extra glad he had thrown Killer to Hotland; it would probably be even worse there at this rate.)

This also explained why Core had had so much trouble getting people out of here. Error had originally planned to somehow get the residents of this place to go back to the Station before leaving, but he now recognised he was going to have to open portals and try and get people through in this place as well. It was becoming more and more of a difficult task the more he thought about it, but he was irrationally piling it on. When it came down to it, the faster he finished this, the faster he would be able to go back to Ink.

The first cluster of buildings he came across were much the same as ones he had seen on the train here as well. There were several rabbit, bear, and standard skeleton monsters standing outside despite the awful weather, lampposts casting an out-of-place cheery glow onto their miserable, worried faces. Error approached from behind a particularly small house, and after several beats of tensely waiting as the hushed, fearful murmuring from the crowd grew louder from where he was standing.

People reassuring one another that they were going to be taken, don’t worry, they’re coming for us too. I heard… I saw… The Stars said… Core said… Tiny little snippets of information were being shared as preciously as gold among them, and Error wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for how misguided their hopes were. Absentmindedly, he poked his skull around the side of the building, and made eye contact with one tiny rabbit monster clutching their parent’s sleeve.

He froze, holding it for far too long, and the child opened their gap-toothed mouth and screamed, shrill, high, like they were having their cottony ears snipped off at that very moment. They turned fluffy tail and ran, ducking under their parents arm abruptly and causing chaos around them as they wriggled through the gaps in peoples arms and legs.

Ah. Error understood now.

Hesitantly, as the child finally came loose out of the group, Error opened another portal to Haventale in the direction they were running to. And without hesitation, they bolted into it, leaving him plenty of time to shut it behind them. His eyesockets widened at the success – he hadn’t expected it to go over that smoothly, but come to think of it, most people who faced him were desperate enough that they’d dive into a foreign portal to get away.

Hesitantly, he stepped out from behind the building and walked towards the group. There was such a fluster about the missing child that it took a while for them to notice him, but once they did… oh, Error would never really get tired of seeing that slack-jawed, deer in headlights look on people’s faces. He raised one hand in greeting; and that was all it took for people to scatter in various different directions.

It was probably a good thing, then, that he’d barely talked to anybody throughout his time in Snowdin beforehand. He suspected that if this many people in the larger villages could recognise him then there would have been absolutely no hope of him getting this far without being discovered.

Error was amazed at how little he had to do to direct the people in certain directions. One footstep or menacing look or smile could have them running whichever way he wanted, straight into a different portal. Vaguely he recalled Core keeping people in groups with their friends and family, but you couldn’t be choosy when your timeline was getting uprooted by the Guardian of Negativity himself, could you? Besides, this system was so efficient because people were blindly running. If Error tried to pull a Core right now and start shouting at them to get into groups they’d probably all faint of fear or attack him.

Once most people had gone, though, it became harder and harder to see past the increasingly worse weather. Error’s trousers and coat were becoming unpleasantly wet and cold, and no matter how far he tugged his scarf up snowflakes prickled at the rims of his eyesockets and got in every time he opened his mouth, making him have to stop and shake his head rapidly to dislodge them. But from what he could tell, it wasn’t much more to go before he could move on.

Error’s footsteps made soft, crunchy noises as he padded to the edge of the roof he was on top of. He attached two strings there, fell backwards and hung upside down in front of the open entrance of the hall of this building, where two more monsters were standing, one a scarfed mouse clinging to the trouser leg of a tall Grillby with icy blue flames.

“boo.” Said Error. He wasn’t putting on a good voice, the word was as monotone and unenthusiastic as he felt about all of this, but still the Grillby crackled loudly and stepped backwards, one hand on the door behind him. Error made a portal right behind that doorway, watching as the fire monster twisted the doorknob hard and-

An axe swung through the open doorway, emerging from the portal and cleanly decapitating the Grillby.

Error stared as something- someone – drew the weapon back and brought it down with a brutal thud on the tiny mouse monster, which dusted immediately, its face melting like candle wax before it faded into nothingness. The person was pulling hard on the handle of the axe, its sharp metal half-moon stuck in the creaking wood. Those phalanges were awfully familiar.

And when Error looked up, he saw one bright red eye staring right back at him.

It sharply drew back and disappeared into the portal and Error was spurred into action, instinctively giving chase through into the familiar universe of Haventale. The bright sunlight was almost blinding in comparison to the stormy dark that had been the Omega Timeline, and Error barely registered that he was standing in the Ruins as he reached for Horror’s soul.

Of course, his strings were too far away. He’d gotten cocky with how easy his previous task had been and Horror easily slipped right through his grasp. Then Horror stopped, turned so abruptly for somebody of his large size that Error went flying into a brick wall, new pain blooming freshly in his face and his already-smarting ribcage. A firm hand on his back flipped him over and his glitches increased tenfold around the area of contact, clouding Error’s vision.

Despite the white foam of static slowly rising Error could see that manic grin and the massive dilated eyelight, and there was sharp pressure as Horror’s axe got itself acquainted with Error’s neck. He drew his chin up, away from him, glaring. But his body was shaking with the number of glitches bubbling up on his chest, and he knew Horror could feel it.

“real sweet of you.” Horror drawled, that impossibly deep voice cracked and husky from disuse. “led me right to them all. you really fucked up to get yourself into this mess, huh?”

“e-eat sh-it, cannibal.” Error wheezed, his voice barely coherent between the thick layer of grating white noise buzzing in his skull and pouring out whenever he opened his mouth. His hands pushed below the axe, but Horror easily held it there, and Error’s efforts made something pathetic of him, a Destroyer so easily defeated by one of Nightmare’s lackeys.

“i’m not a cannibal.” Horror ground out, an edge to his voice. “but i’m willing to turn into one if you don’t keep your filthy mouth shut.” Horror paused, sighed, almost as if he was pained by all of this. “you could’ve made this so much easier if you stuck with nightmare.”

“y-your boss is a fucking prick.” Error wrapped his hands around the handle of the axe and struggled, to no avail.

“a prick who didn’t expect you to act any better than you were.” Horror leaned in so close Error could feel his rancid breath on his face. “guys like us don’t get second chances, error. don’t come crawlin’ back when that ink bastard’s dead for good and you’re stuck going mad in that shitty little void of yours.”

There were too many glitches, numbers bolting across his vision, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-

Horror paused, a low, rumbling chuckle starting deep from his broad ribcage. “he cried, if you can believe that.” Horror told him. “when dust did that trick with his leg. twistin’ around in his chair an’ all.”

Error’s soul felt like it had been doused in gasoline and set aflame. Because he believed that. He could see it, in the cruel glint of Horror’s apple-red eye, in the stretch of his grin.

(The manic, violent joy he’d seen on his own face)

His hands tightened on the handle, he pulled at it again, watching Horror watch him until Horror’s smile grew lax, his eye lidded, and wrapped his strings around the metal edge, dragging with all his might until Horror was swept sideways. Error fell to his hands and knees now that the sharp edge of Horror’s weapon no longer propped him up, panting, running his hands up his arms, trying to self-soothe within the five-second opening he had presented to him.

He couldn’t afford to crash. Not now. He got to his feet unsteadily and stared Horror down, who had now recovered and was loosely draped in strings. Error raised them, trying to lift his hulking form up to dangle, but immediately Horror realised it and with one swing of the axe the strings were cut. It was being pulled up, out of the crumbling bricks, and Error ducked-

-he heard the sharp metal sound close above his skull, and stones dotted his skull like hail, but he’d dodged. Giddy with success, a high, slightly hysterical laugh left Error’s teeth as he drew up, but Horror’s fist was there, hard and so close to his ribcage, and he veered to the side, swearing, stumbling like a spooked horse-

-but he had his strings around Horror’s soul.

Error stared for a moment before his eyes flicked up to meet Horror’s, which had shrunk to a smaller red dot in the middle of his working eyesocket. Their chests were both heaving.

“i-if you say anything m-m-more about ink, i’ll k-k-kill you,” Error told him. “and send-d nightmare your-r dust.”

And because Horror was smart, he stayed silent. Error’s grin stretched across his face, even though it took so much to step back from Horror, leave him be – though strings wrapped around his forearms and legs for good measure. And to his credit, Horror didn’t struggle, stayed carefully still with the ease of somebody who’d been prepared for this outcome. (It was a shame, though – Error would have loved a reason to throw him to the ground.)

That was one down, four to go.

---------------------------------------------------

But the Omega Timeline itself was not on their side.

After Error had ‘evacuated’ most of the villages in Snowdin, his magic reserves dented from the amount of portals he was trying to keep open at once, he realised that the snow was not only snow – it was static. He had trouble differentiating it from his own constant glitching, but soon enough it revealed itself.

Error closed his eyes and looked at the code. No monsters showed, but he could see numbers and scripts quickly unravelling before his eyes. His own code buzzed gleefully along with it; in shattering worlds, it could almost trick itself into thinking it wasn’t bugged or broken by comparison. But other character’s scripts, other people’s fragile, un-hardened bodies, would break under the strain of the collapsing world.

Error remembered Ink’s face. The way his eyesockets narrowed as he focused desperately on Blue, trying to win him over. His anger at his friends seeming directed at himself more than anything. He knew, if the code continued to break apart and shut down like this, it would be uninhabitable for many. Unusable. Unsalvageable, but still barely existing.

If that was the game Nightmare was playing, then he was winning it. Slowly, but surely.

Error pushed the thought out of his head, and portalled back to Newest Ruins, (relishing in how good quick transport felt now that he knew the coordinates) right outside the station. It was quiet – eerily so, the streets so usually full of people gone, buildings dark and empty, doors shut, blinds drawn. But not far away, he could hear screaming. Not far away, he could hear two very familiar voices.

Streetlights that had turned on began to shatter. Error whirled around at the first instance of popping glass he heard – their luminous glow abruptly breaking out as the thin metal poles collapsed or leant backwards with an aching creak like they were being pushed by an invisible hand. Error didn’t know whether to chalk it up to the failing code or Nightmare’s influence. But it definitely wasn’t a good sign.

And as the shards hit the pavement, a tiny grey figure appeared once more. Error sprinted towards Core, grateful to see them more than anything. But they looked distraught, gasping in large breaths, one part of their arm static and flickering.

Error stared. “d-did nightmare get you?”

Core nodded, their tiny chest rising and falling rapidly, their hair a wild mess of tangled knots. “I saw that you handled Horror. Have you seen the code?”

“y-yes. only-y in snowdin, bu-but it looked-”

“Like it was collapsing?” Core finished for him. “Yes, it is. Ink is still fighting Nightmare alongside Dream. He’s not willing to back down.” Core’s voice broke momentarily. “And there are still people here. People who will be ripped apart if they stay in a place like this.” They ran a pale hand through their hair, gripping tight. “I told him, I told him-”

“w-w-where are they?” Error asked, urgently, not making the same mistake of volunteering to do Core’s dirty work twice.

Core hesitated, then wordlessly opened a portal.

And a sudden blast of heat hit Error hard in the face – so intense he reeled back, but he had to get closer, had to see what was going on. For several moments he watched through bleary eyesockets, seeing ash and embers and smoke, figuring it must be Newest Hotland-

“That’s Waterfall.” Core gulped raggedly; their eyes bigger than Error had ever seen them. “They- Nightmare set fire to Waterfall.”

And squinting through the portal, into the smoke, Error could see him – and he could see Dream, daggers in his hands, looking impossibly small next to Nightmare’s increasingly large form, the mass of shadows chasing the trails of his yellow ribbons, trying to curl their slippery tendrils around them, splintering off at the ends like the roots of a tree trying to embed itself into his brother’s body.

Nightmare’s eyes were no longer smug, or knowing – they were full of so much anger and hate and fear, which surprised Error the most. And Dream radiated it back, negativity rolling in waves off of his weakened body. And they were screaming at each other, words Error felt like he didn’t have the right to be hearing-

“Is nothing enough for you? Will it ever be enough? Because whatever you want, this is not how you’re going to get it, brother-”

“I will not stop, dear brother,” Nightmare snarled back, his tentacle finally rising and hitting Dream clean in the chest, sending the Guardian reeling backwards. “Until you have finally felt what I feel. Until I can make you truly understand how I suffered-”

“I was there too!” Dream shouted, voice shaking as he clutched his chest, shaking blood and tears out of his broken eyesockets, his polite battle-stoic expression erased. “I watched it happen! It was my home too, Nightmare, and you pulled my life apart and left me to pick up the pieces-”

“Your life?” Nightmare hissed, holding Dream close to him, almost like an embrace if not for the tentacle curled tightly around the delicate curve of Dream’s throat. “What about that child you failed to protect? The boy who would not have a life if I hadn’t intervened? They praised and petted you with the same hands that broke my growing ribcage apart-” Nightmare reached down and took hold of Dream’s ribcage. “One.” Snap. “By.” Snap. “One.”

Crack.

Dream screamed. But it took Error a dazed moment to realise that another horrified cry joined his – it was Core, who turned to him immediately, eyes blackly wet.

And it was horrible and shrill, the two sounds ringing in his skull so loudly that Error barely registered himself stepping through the portal, Core’s alarmed voice a dull ringing in the back of his head.

The heat was ten times worse now that he was no longer protected by an in-between barrier – he stepped right into a patch of flame and immediately his coat caught fire, his glitches capping the tips of the baby flames that quickly rose up – until Error patted them out, jerking horribly at the pain. Every part of him ached, and his skull was ringing dangerously. But he forced himself to stagger up to Nightmare – one step at a time, one foot in front of the other.

And a different skeleton flew at the Guardian of Negativity before he could.

Error stared, because fucking hell Ink was on top of Nightmare, and punching his face in, fists coated in black ink that moulded to Nightmare’s cheekbones, and Nightmare cried out but didn’t release Dream, so Error stuck the bone attack he had waiting into Nightmare’s tentacle and Dream was falling, falling…

Error caught him with his strings. Dream’s eyes were half-closed when he hurried over, because Dream was so badly broken (but Ink was here) and Error didn’t know if he could help him (but Ink was fighting) and Dream was trying to right himself and his face was twisted into an expression of silent agony (but Error had Ink in sight.)

“Error!” Error’s skull whipped around to where Ink was ducking over and under Nightmare’s tentacles. “Can you- hff - get him somewhere safe?” Ink sounded frenzied, his voice becoming suddenly sharp then muffled as he dodged about.

Error scanned the surroundings – saw a broken window with no bright orange flames reflected in the glass, and teleported, shoving Dream unceremoniously through. And only moments later, Ink appeared in the same room, brushing over the broken window, sealing the cracks with hardening ink.

“w-w-will he be okay?” Error asked – stupidly. And Ink ignored him, running over to Dream, cupping the injured skeleton’s cheekbones, making Dream’s eyelights slowly flicker back to life. There was a strange, uneven rhythm to his breathing, a birdlike, whistling woo-woo-woo leaving his teeth. Ink’s eyesockets were wide with alarm.

“Dreamboat? Hey, Dreamy, look at me, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” Ink gabbled, tilting Dream’s head up to look into his eyesockets. Dream looked back, seeming so, so out of it.

“He…” Dream coughed, words raspy. “He still thinks it’s my fault.” His words were slurred, melting into each other, eyelights the brightness of a dying candle.

Ink put his hands on Dream’s shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.” Ink said, his voice tight and choked with simmering anger.  “And don’t think about him, okay? You’re hurt, and…” Ink trailed off as Dream retched and coughed again, his thin phalanges tight in the fabric of Dream’s shirt.

Dream was crying again now, silent tears running down his cheekbones. Error had to look away from it – Ink’s tender touch, his dot-eyelights, Dream’s broken body lying in his own strings. A few soft reassurances were exchanged between Dream and Ink. The words love and brother and people and hurts drifted out of their mouths.

Then Ink turned to Error. “Open a portal for him.” The Protector reached down and took Dream’s body in his arms, the taller guardian’s skull lolling, and Error could see the uneven jut of his ribcage, the golden fluid that leaked from his clavicle to his neck, dripping onto the floor. Dream seized up at the contact to his bruised and broken ribs, his eyes widening suddenly, phalanges nearly tearing Ink’s overshirt, crying out.

 “It’s okay, Goldie, I know it hurts, stay awake for me…” Ink said, words quick and leaving his mouth too fast, coming out in a panicked jumble – the tone of somebody who couldn’t promise it would be okay, but was trying their best to believe it would be.

Error couldn’t hide his disbelief. “y-you’re not even going to try and-”

“Open the fucking portal Error.” Ink cut over him, voice wobbling like it was taking all he could to keep his tone aggressive and not desperately, desperately sad. “Now.”

Error opened the portal to Haventale with a lift of his fingers, and Ink all but ran through, clutching Dream’s limp body close to his chest. Error stood there, in the destroyed room with ink patched over the window. Glass was sticking out of his sandals. A sudden grey flash in his vision made him flinch, before Core was there with a worse-for-wear Blue at their side, crowded together in the wrecked bedroom, who was staring wide-eyed at himself.

With a horrified, choked noise, Error followed Blue’s gaze- saw that Blue’s arm was glitching. His injuries were surface-level and treatable, but there was a clear spot on his forearm down the back of his palm where the bone had gone bright, lurid bubblegum pink, and there was static already beginning to drift over the afflicted area.

“ERROR, WHERE DI-”

“w-w-what the fuck happened t-to you?” Error cut him off, looking right into his eyes. He saw something like frustration flashing across Blue’s features as the tops of his clenched teeth became visible, before Blue seemed to think better of saying what was clearly on his mind.

“I-I DON’T KNOW!” Blue replied, lifting his afflicted arm. “IT WAS- DUST WAS ON TOP OF ME, HE PUSHED ME DOWN INTO THIS- THIS POOL OF STATIC, AND…”

Error wasn’t stupid – he could already see the panic in those wide blue eyes, in the way Blue held his arm away from himself. He knew Blue was aware of what was happening to him.

“u-universe’s fucked.” He said, bluntly, as soon as he realised. “i-if-f even you can’t-t exist here without glitching-g out, then-n everybody else is corrupted or dead-d.”

There was silence, save for the sounds of the fire raging on outside the room.

“I DON’T BELIEVE THAT.” Blue said, firmly. His eyesockets had that annoying, persistent look in them. “THERE HAS TO BE ANOTHER WAY TO GET THE REST OF THE PEOPLE OUT-”

“b-blue, if you don’t-t get out of here-e in the next minute you’re going to lose-e that arm.” Error barked. “hell-l, i’d-d say it’s lucky you’re still talking to me.”

Another moment where he thought, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to do anything drastic, maybe Blue would see sense-

Blue turned his back on Error, started to speak to Core instead. “CORE, PLEASE, TELL ME WHERE TO GO. I CAN HELP THEM, I PROMISE, IT’S NOT TOO LATE-”

“nope. t-times up.” Error stepped physically in between them. One blink, and he had Blue’s soul. Blue’s mouth went slack, then twisted into anger.

Error spoke before he could. “y-you’ll thank me for this.”

Core said nothing, averting their eyes from Blue’s, their guilt palpable.

He tightened his fist, held Blue’s soul securely, and wrapped around his other limbs, twisting him into a slightly less harmful position before throwing him into the same portal, the same damn place as before.

It was only after closing the second portal did Error feel it. Exhaustion, pressing down heavily on his ribcage. Pain and fear and worry and that insistent little voice in his head going ink? ink? ink? and replaying what Dream said to Nightmare and Blue’s arm and Hotland and fire, fire which definitely doesn’t feel normal.

“You should go, too.” Core said suddenly, their appearance even more grimy than before. “You could make your code even worse.”

“p-pretty sure z3ro subtract-t z-zero is still zero.” Error replied, grim. “i-i’m not leaving until ink-k’s safe. until he’ll leave.”

Core stared up at him. “Why are you so worried about him?”

And dammit, maybe this emotional and physical turmoil was making him say things he shouldn’t have been, but Error couldn’t bring himself to try and deny it. He lifted his shoulders, and shrugged, even though he could feel Core trying to read his face, trying to figure out why he was doing this. Why he would put himself through this for somebody who opposed his every goal.

But right now destruction was the last thing on his mind.

“w-will ink’s scripts be-e alright?” Error asked, not taking his eyes off the wall.

“They’ll be fine.” Said the mentioned Protector, stepping back through the portal. And Error looked at him, really looked at him.

Because Ink had gotten thick grime on his clothes and shattered class clinging on as well like cat hair, and dark hollows beneath his eyesockets and blood, red and black and cold cyan blue, staining his front, dripping like wine from a bottle-top in a thin rivulet from those small, sharp fangs, and Error had no idea how he managed that, or how he’s still standing when his leg still looks wrong, but Error wanted to hold him more than anything.

He checked over Ink’s code quickly – but nothing seemed to be majorly out of place, no terribly unwound things, just Ink, familiar and spontaneous lines of numbers and brackets and letters.

Ink leant over slightly – the height difference between him and Core not enough to warrant him crouching or bending – and placed a hand in their hair, ruffling their tuggy black scalp. “Let me take it from here, kid.” His eyelights were warm and dull, searching their pale face.

Core grabbed Ink’s wrist, their eyes meeting his. “When it starts…” Core broke off, blinking rapidly. “Just… when it starts to crumble, know that… this won’t be the end of it, Ink. We can bring it back.”

And Ink smiled, and hugged Core briefly, their small body seeming tiny in his arms. There were more whispers, words meant for only them, before gradually Core faded from view, their usual sharp disappearance slowed down, their form lingering until Ink simply had a child-shaped armful of air.

And what hurt most was how the warmth dimmed and faded from Ink’s eyelights the moment they landed on Error. Conflict flitted across Ink’s face, and Error noted that this was probably the closest they’d been since the warehouse.

“You’re staying.” Ink said. Not a question, just an observation.

“y-yup.” Error replied, looking right at him until Ink looked away.

“Okay.” Ink moved his splintering brush off of his back. “Then we’ll fight til’ the end. Keep… keep the Core safe for as long as possible.”

Both of their words were blunt-ended and absolutely devoid of feeling. There was such a thick sense of unspoken things between them that neither of them could look at each other. A million pathetic things raced through Error’s head, a million violent solutions, a million apologies that wouldn’t quite fit the bill.

But all he did was nod.

---------------------------------------------------

Nightmare had gotten much, much closer to the Core while they’d been talking. Followed closely by a hooded figure – Dust – and a burnt-looking, limping Killer, who was very suspiciously close to Nightmare. The enormous metal wall that had prevented Error from accessing it so much earlier on confirmed Error’s theory about the fire – this was some fucked-up concoction Nightmare had had Sci make, specifically because if his Blaster couldn’t get through that metal then there had to be awful few things that could.

And now there was a massive hole, slowly spreading across it like it was paper instead of reinforced steel. And after coming out of Ink’s familiar black portal, Error finally set eyes on the thing he used to be so hell-bent on reaching.

It lived up to expectations. So tall it almost scraped the top of the half-Hotland, half-Waterfall cavern, it was built like a hesitantly unfurling flower, pieces of white silicone-like infrastructure curved around what seemed to be the Core, a glowing yellow ‘bud’ of the flower which was protected by thick, thick glass entrapping it. The entire building was much less decorative – ridged metal cut into the walls, watery side-lakes where presumably there would have been massive ice blocks before everything was destroyed, blue tubes of glowing aquamarine energy.

And it seemed, in comparison to the surrounding glitching landscape, to be surviving the code-purge quite well. No visible signs of corruption appeared even when Error closed his eyes and focused. He supposed that the Core would have been made to have the most reinforcements in a scenario like this.

However, it didn’t seem to take into account that all of the people who could have guarded it would now be killed.

Ink gave him a quick look to see if he was ready. When Error nodded again, they both teleported forwards, Ink sinking into his namesake on the floor. Error’s head pounded with glitches, light and fuzzy. His vision was blurry, and it took a few moments to regain his composure and balance, his magic reserves lower and lower, but he pressed on.

Slinking around the sleek, curved white wall of the bottom floor, Error turned the corner. Facing Nightmare head on again, who was barely holding form. Sludge slipped off of the fallen Guardian in blackened waves and hit the floor hard, making tremors that Error could feel in the soles of his sandals. Dust flanked his right; and Error could see the tension in his arms from where Blue had attacked him, a large grin slipping onto his face when it registered.

All of their codes were buzzing angrily despite their defiant stances. Error knew that the only one who would be able to stay for much longer would be Nightmare.

And Killer – Killer, who’d finally shut up, stopped trying to keep up banter, was panting, his arm held at a strange angle, one of Nightmare’s large tentacles curled around his shoulders almost…

Almost protectively. Caringly.

And then the penny dropped.

Nightmare’s overeagerness to expose Error and Ink in front of Dream, Killer’s expansive knowledge on what had happened between Error and Ink in the cavern despite seemingly having no way of knowing, the horror and anger on Nightmare’s face at his brother. (Because if Cross was nowhere to be seen, then Dream must have ‘handled’ him.)

And Error burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Deep, undisturbed, delirious chuckling that made his eyesockets open wide and his eyelights focus on Nightmare, and Nightmare alone. Nightmare looked slightly wary at this reaction.

“t-that’s gotta be the f-f-funniest shit i’ve seen in a long time.” Error giggled, almost loopily, wiping a genuine tear from his eyesocket. “y-you… heh… y0u c-c-care about them.”

Nightmare’s posture grew tense for a moment, his eye flaring, livid. Then he relaxed, almost forcibly, though it was hard to tell from all the goop rolling off of him. Dust’s expression was obscured, but Killer was blinking, looking at the tentacle as if he hadn’t realised it was there in the first place.

“You really think I have grown… attached to these fools?” Nightmare spat, but he kept the tentacle where it was, and it could have been Error’s imagination, his mind hazily making something up to fit his own narrative, but Nightmare seemed to shift further in front of Dust.

“i-i-i don’t think. i know.” Error raised his brows. “a-and that’s why you can’t-t fathom me and ink. b-because it takes you over half a century to-o trust people. to stop-p acting like you’re-e above it all.”

Error could see the sharp, sharp edges of Nightmare’s teeth. “And I, unlike you, am not so delusional that I have fallen for a being who isn’t capable of reciprocating.” But Error could see Nightmare’s shoulders squaring.

Almost there. “y-you are delusional enough-h to think-k that inflicting pain-n on d-d-dream will give you any-y kind of catharsis.” Error snickered. “b-because, from the way-y you’re clinging onto that little freak, w-what you really want is-”

And then, as anticipated, Nightmare’s tentacle came crashing down about two metres away from where Error would have been standing, causing a large dent in the clear white metal. Error coughed and spluttered from the immediate debris that got in his mouth, but quickly sidestepped another attack, pressing back against the wall.

“Be quiet.” Nightmare boomed, his eye a furious cyan slit. Dust took one step closer and Error recognised the pattern formation for a consistent bone attack – he forced his aching limbs into action, running around the side of the building to avoid them. He wasn’t the best at differentiating Killer and Dust’s attacks, but he heard Killer’s high cackle and strung himself up, sitting there cautiously.

Error was rewarded when the rounded head of a more bloodstained bone attack hit the bottom of his sandal. He clambered out till there was a ledge on the side of the massive building and stood there, knowing he had to buy Ink at least a little more time than this. And, since he knew fighting back would give himself away quicker, he flattened himself to the wall, panting, letting another attack shoot by him.

“You cannot delay the inevitable!” Cried Nightmare, joyous, suddenly sounding like he was below him, and Error’s eyesockets widened as he realised-

-he’d let Nightmare teleport out of his sight momentarily, allowing him to manifest in the building.

“ink!” Error yelled in warning, his voice so static and pixelated that it came out almost as loud as Nightmare’s taunting words.

He slid down the side of the building, using the very last of his magic reserves to once again grab Killer’s soul as he turned around. Killer, who still had a good deal of fight left in him, was immediately made to turn on Dust, who stood shell-shocked before the hooded skeleton realised that Killer’s soul was puppeted, ducking between rows of bone attacks that were being sent against his will, Killer’s whole body shaking with how much he was trying to break free.

“dammit, killer, c’mon!” Dust yelled, the first time Error had heard him speak, dry and cracked from disuse. “snap out of it!”

Error raced inside the now-non-existent entrance, just a massive hole with apple-smelling tar sticking persistently to the edges, and teleported up, not really knowing where he was going. Then he heard a thud, faint but clearly powerful, and teleported once more, praying, pleading that he’d get to Ink before Nightmare did-

And at the end of the hallway here, the sterile, hospital-like environment, Ink was standing. And Error called his name again, his whole body buzzing with the need to protect him, his eyes wide and panicked, desperate, as he ran down, not even noting how everything had gone oddly quiet-

And then, Nightmare was at the end of the hall, behind Ink, and there was a tentacle pointed at his skull but Ink didn’t see, Ink doesn’t have enough time to get out of the way-

And Error didn’t care about the touch anymore, he grabbed Ink’s arm and pulled-

And Ink was yelling-

And Nightmare was grinning-

And suddenly the other end of a slick black tentacle was pointing through his ribcage.

Error tasted blood as he bit down. Error felt two hands beneath his arms, the ringing in his skull was getting louder. He should have crashed, but he hadn’t, and Ink’s hands were suddenly pulling at his shoulders, and the tentacle was coming out of him with an enormous tug, and Error-

Error couldn’t think beyond the red-hot rush of pain that flooded him head to toe, and he turned his head, screaming into somebody’s shoulder-

Ink’s shoulder-

The sound was loud and visceral, distorted and ugly, and Error tried to apologise, tried to put a hand on his ribcage where the pain was so raw it felt like something had cut him in half, but Ink was lifting him, lifting him like he did to Dream. And they were moving down the hallway, past rooms and bright, bright lights and Ink laid him down, propped him up against the wall.

“ink?” Error’s tongues felt stuck together, mouth dry, bones sticky with sweat and blood. But in his swimming vision Ink nodded at the sound of his name.

Ink’s hands were plucking at the bottom of his shirt before he lifted it, and Error fought with himself to keep still, because it hurt it hurt it hurt like nothing else, but it’s Ink, and Ink isn’t going to hurt him…

And now he can actually hear what Ink’s saying, and the words come pouring out of Ink like they did earlier, like blood from an un-stemmed bullet wound. “Error, no, no, sit up, keep your head up, that’s it, that’s it…”

Error thought faintly that Ink was talking to him like an injured animal. The thought made him laugh, and then the laugh turned into something horrible, a gasp and a sob as his middle strained and something snapped with the movement.

“Shit, Error!” Ink again, kneeling on top of him now, two hands pressing at his ribcage. Ink’s forehead was close to his, his eyelights suddenly bright and filling up his vision.

“Error, keep looking at my eyes, alright? Just-just look at the colours.” Ink said. “See? Watch ‘em, Glitchy, try not to look down.” Ink kept blinking, but none of the colours brightened. Teardrops and snow and eyelights like the ones Error had and blue and purple and strange, sea-foam green, but Error was looking anyways, because his vision was getting black at the corners and his eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep to the emerald-green shimmer of Ink’s eyes.

“Eyes open. Please, Error, stay awake.” Ink pleaded. His hands were hot and pressing under and over his chest, his own eyesockets wet and shining, making them glimmer and warp in Error’s vision.

“…i-ink?”

“Yeah, Error?” Ink sounding so, so relieved to hear his voice. “What- what is it?”

“y-y-your eyes…” And despite everything, Error smiled.

“they really do look like stars.”

With Ink’s watery, incredulous laugh tingling in his skull, Error’s eyes-

Fell-

Shut.

Chapter Text

Reaper had seen massacres in his time. He’d been around for the destruction of universes so vast that nobody had ever thought they could be toppled.

So, he didn’t quite know why he was finding it so hard to enter the Omega Timeline. Hope, maybe? That despite the amount of souls calling to him across the Multiverse, souls that needed to be collected and sent on their way, the damage wasn’t what he thought it was. Despite ‘not wanting people to die unnecessarily if possible’ being one of his lesser-known beliefs, it eased his workload and gave him less to think about when he did – rarely – have some free time.

Shaking himself out of it, he dragged his scythe through the air – creating a tangible, sharp oval tear in the familiar backdrop of Reapertale. He gave the calmer, prettier surroundings one last wistful look before reluctantly stepping through and snapping it shut behind him.

The first thing he smelt was something like sulphur, burning and cloying and making him grunt in his effort to not burst out in a coughing fit. His surroundings were mostly shrouded in thick, lonely clouds of dust which drifted like spilt icing sugar, and smog was still thickly settled on the ground but much less at skull-level. Reaper lifted his great wings – apologising to them internally for the debris he was about to cover them in – and beat them once, causing a mini-gust of air which very effectively cleared his surroundings, parting the hazy grey mist. Now he could look around properly.

He appeared to be in some sort of… shopping district. With a variety of food-centric places, especially, which made Reaper linger by one of them. The display was a variety of cakes and sweets, but they were covered in sawdust from the ceiling of the café caving in. There was no soul waiting to be collected, so he smiled faintly. At least if the Omega Timeline had casualties, they would still have whoever was running this place to make things.

The rubble of Ruins-brick stone was familiar, comforting beneath his bare feet as he slowly began the gruelling task, what he was here to do. The first soul he collected belonged to a small bird monster, not located far from its mother and father. Reaper grimly set his jaw as he gathered all three bright souls in his arms and carried on, his wings making soft, frail scraping sounds against the floor. It didn’t take long until his entire ribcage was lit up by soul after soul after soul, the human ones reflecting onto the pale white monster ones and making their glow even more apparent.

He eventually passed a large white-and-blue building which now read TION in bold white lettering. Half the building had crashed in on itself but a good chunk of it had stayed surprisingly intact, which pleased Reaper for some reason. He liked the look of the shiny blue paint and the hopeful energy it gave off in spite of the small number of souls that keened and wailed to him from within there. Maybe he was just glad to see something that wasn’t entirely broken.

“Early days, Reaper.” He admonished himself in a quiet murmur, as he often did when the silence was deafening in a universe. “Don’t jinx it.”

With that, he stepped into the building. There were several large ceiling-height pathways that peeled off from this massive white room with a cracked, jagged hole in the ceiling. Reaper had no idea if it had been there before or if something had dropped through the ceiling and caused it to break that badly. Some parts of the white floor were sparkling clean while others were covered in so many boot-marks, pawprints, hoofprints and other indistinguishable traces of life that they looked like an X-ray of a well-loved doormat.

The first monster soul was in one of the branch-off pathways, Reaper sidestepping a large fallen sign which read, tiredly: “LOST & FOUND”. The actual room itself was a bit of a let-down. A massive, unorganised heap of slightly-reeking clothes stood in the corner as though ashamed of itself, but there was a neat little pile of black folds and dark blue that caught Reaper’s eye, as if somebody had a) decided their clothing was too good for the pile or b) tried them on, disliked them, and not had the heart to return it by chucking it down like a log in a firepit.

And his heart sank when he picked it up.

Because it was Error’s. Of course it was.

He turned the worn clothing over in his hands, sighing long and loud through his nasal ridge, teeth clenched. Reaper tucked the deep blue scarf into the fold of his robes, moving the flurry of souls to the crook of his arm. He wasn’t really sure why; he just wanted to take something with him. He pondered saying something childishly victorious to the pile of clothing on the floor, given that what had happened to its owner couldn’t be anything good. But instead, he moved on, the scarf cool and silky against his ribcage, his arms still full of inverted hearts with scattered-through reds and greens and blues.

Slowly, as he traversed the timeline, he began to put the pieces together. Perks of being cleanup crew, he supposed; nobody had the chance to interfere before he got a good, long look at what was going on here. Craters in buildings and cylinders of concrete and plaster that had been burned out of existence spoke of Gaster Blasters and thrummed with the malicious energy of somebody who had definitely been responsible for Reaper having to do overtime.

(But that narrowed it down very little. Nightmare’s gang all had so much LV that when Reaper was near them the fresh scent of death amalgamated into one and made his head swim, unable to tell who had been responsible for what.)

The closer Reaper got to denser civilisation the worse the damage was. He knew there must have been one final destruction, one final stand Nightmare had taken to ensure that this world became uninhabitable. Obviously, Nightmare had been aiming for some people alive, because death was a mercy in scenarios like these and living would inevitably generate more suffering for him to leech off of, but when shown this was not possible, he had simply doubled down and destroyed it all.

Reaper was having difficulty keeping all these souls in his arms. Their whispering, which would normally be almost inaudible when a soul was on its own, was building in their numbers and Reaper shifted them closer to his chest, trying to ease their woes. Maybe he would have to come back to the timeline a second time, as much as he wanted to get this over with.

Wearily, he made his way towards the source of all of this madness, knowing that it was only going to get ten times worse from here on out.

More clues made themselves known as the semi-permanent crumbling code twitched around him, making him step back from sudden pools of static, ones and zeroes disappearing and reappearing in the corners of his vision. Reaper kept his wings close and the souls tucked tight, his baggy black sleeves tugged over his hands to keep him from accidentally touching something he shouldn’t. His code was relatively intact, and he’d like it to stay that way, thank you very much.

Golden arrows peppered a space on the path where there was a harsh indent like somebody had been slammed into the ground. Reaper plucked up a black-and-white scrap of fabric from the tip of a bloodstained arrow, and grimaced.

“Geez, Dream.” Reaper chuckled, slightly grimly. “You weren’t going down without a fight, were you?”

The arrows petered out and Reaper came closer to a massive iron wall, which had several lashes against an afflicted area centring a large hole with Corruption stuck to it. Ah, Nightmare. Reaper was wondering when the aftermath of one of his attacks would make itself known. He reached out, rolling his sleeve up as if he wanted to touch the acidic black goo, but then paused. Reaper couldn’t die but he could still make some regrettable choices regarding his physical health…

Ehhh, whatever. He stuck his forefinger in the slime. It was ice-cold, even to him, which was saying something because he was always frigid. It dripped off of his finger slowly, but the icy feeling stayed. It also smelt overpoweringly of apples.

“Gross.”

Reaper stepped through the hole in the metal and physically jolted at what he saw.

The code was visibly worse the second you were past the barrier – in fact, Reaper could see more broken glitches than actually functioning things. The building, what he assumed had to have been the infamous Core, had obviously exploded. Like somebody had freeze-framed it hallway through, though, whole levels of smooth white stairs and doors and furniture were floating midair, duplicated and spread out like frames of an animation all shown at once. The entrance had not suffered the same fate, though it had collapsed.

Hesitantly, Reaper stepped forward. There were surprisingly little souls that called to him through the gritty, broken code, and he thanked the stars above that this part would be quick. Everything around him was silent, the infrastructure of this massive building splayed out and eerily still around him, making everything seem weirdly zero-gravity. Nightmare’s goop left a snail trail up to the collapsed entrance before he could no longer follow it.

Reaper took another tentative move towards-

“Ow! Shhhit…” One of his wings had brushed against a particularly nasty part of damaged code and the feeling was like touching a hot stove. Reaper bristled, tucking his wings to his back once more. His voice sounded so loud in the quiet that he snapped his jaw shut with a click. He rubbed the afflicted area absently, staring at the space he’d touched, shifting the souls to one arm.

“…Hello?”

Reaper froze. Because no, he was not imagining it, that was somebody calling out in response to his cry. He instinctively stood up straighter, forgetting all about his smarting feathers as he looked in the general direction of where the voice had come from. The building? Despite missing outer walls, there was still layers to the building, and no movement followed the sound.

Who could possibly still be here? Were there any civilian inhabitants who could be strong enough to withstand its collapse? Come to think about it, were there any Royal Guard inhabitants who would be strong enough to even survive this? Reaper tried to match the voice to someone and… failed. It was too weak and too quiet, he would need to hear them closer, or at least speaking a sentence.

Hesitantly, Reaper crept forward, his eyes fixed on the entrance. He couldn’t see any visible openings, but some of the rubble looked like it wouldn’t be hard to push away. And he was correct – despite bumping into another one of those hideous glitching areas, eventually he could duck and creep through into the unlit hallway, the sun of the Omega Timeline finally seen in its entirety without any fog or smoke obstructing it.

Drawing the brim of his hood back, Reaper finally saw the figure who had made the noise.

“…Ink?”

Ink squinted, his eyelights blurring and swirling slightly as if out of focus before he started backwards in surprise. “Reaper?” He gasped, and dropped the bone attack he’d been holding, letting it puddle into ink on the floor. His smile was wide, but seemed more of an overwhelmingly-relieved-you’re-not-Nightmare-or-Error one than a glad-to-see-you-pal one.

Ink stepped out of the shadows quickly, and Reaper took him in, giving him a quick-up-and-down. He noticed three things; one, Ink’s entire shirt was so stained in black that it may as well have been a dark grey shirt at the most generous, two, there were several wire-thin cracks across every single bone he could see, and three, he was shaking. Genuinely, visibly trembling.

“What… what the hell happened to you, Ink?” Reaper stared. “Were you there for the explosion?

Ink nodded, self-consciously tugging his torn waistband further up his abdomen as he saw Reaper examining one particularly nasty crack in his hipbone. “Yup.” Ink said, bizarrely cheerfully. “It wasn’t good.”

“I can see that.” Reaper paused, trying to mentally take stock of what was happening right now. Ink, who had once again been gone after finally being spotted once more, was standing in front of him. “Have you… been here the whole time? Everybody’s looking for you.” He tilted his head, considering. “And I say that because even Tori knows you’re missing and she’s been doing very little except her job and falling into an unresponsive coma every twenty-four hours when she has the time.”

Ink beamed. “Aww, I’m flattered! Tell Life I said hi, yeah?” Ink seemed to take a moment before he realised there was a part before that last bit of the sentence. “Oh, uh, sorry. Yep, been here the whole time.”

“…Why?”

It was the only reasonable thing Reaper could ask at this point.

Ink didn’t reply. He fiddled with his clothing, trying to make it cover more of the increasingly obvious cracks in his bones, expression unreadable – maybe he was regretting stepping into the light. Miraculously, Reaper didn’t see anything actually crushed, broken or snapped, just… cracked, like something glued back together. The souls hummed loudly in Reaper’s arms, and he shifted uncomfortably, because one of them was moving, squirming and disrupting the balance he’d stacked them into against his chest.

Ink was now following the movement of that soul, his hands suddenly stilling their restless fidget. He stood in front of one of the doorways in the hall, casually, his hands in the deep pockets of his trousers, but for some reason the movement immediately got Reaper’s attention.

“…How’s Dream? And Blue?” Ink asked, eyelights swirling into a blueish grey as he spoke. “A-and the others?”

“I don’t know,” Reaper responded, honestly. “Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

Ink’s skull snapped up. “I can’t. Not yet, at least.”

Reaper took one, careful step closer. “What’s in that room, Ink?”

 Ink stayed quiet.

 “…Ink, why can I sense a soul?”

“Reaper,” Ink shifted a little further in front of the door, but this was futile, as Reaper was still two heads taller than the Protector. “Look, I can explain this, just-”

“Listen, pal.” Reaper reached forwards, putting one hand heavily on the Protector’s shoulder. His death touch obviously didn’t apply in this scenario, but Ink still flinched, dark violet eyelights fixed on him. “I don’t know what happened, or why you’re here, or how the big tough destroyer wrecked the only good thing you guys had going for you, I’m just here to do my job. And if there’s another poor sucker in there that’s about to dust then I’m willing to wait around for it, because I don’t wanna come anywhere near this place again, or at least not until it stops looking like a broken video game.”

And with that, Reaper pushed a stunned-looking Ink gently aside and swept into the room, before abruptly stopping.

Reaper’s wings unconsciously unfurled slightly, and he only noticed when he felt a feathery tip brushing against his skull. But he couldn’t bring himself to move it down. He rounded on Ink immediately, pointing.

“Why the hell is Error in… why do you have… why is he here?” Reaper asked despairingly, looking between Ink and the figure stretched out across a wall-fitting couch.

It was unmistakeably Error…and he… well, he’d seen better days. Reaper felt like tearing his feathers out as he looked at him. Appearing deeply unconscious, skull tipped back over the arm of the sofa, blood and magic and clotted gore staining Error’s torn shirt, a dirty pale blue jacket beneath his back, presumably to support it. There was a scarf – Ink’s scarf – knotted around his middle, and a fury of glitching and static around what Reaper assumed would be the wound area, like pus around an infection, angry and pulsing a steady beat against Error’s ribcage.

Error looked decidedly weaker and more vulnerable to attack like this. Reaper had only ever really seen Error on the battlefield, mouth set in a demented yellow smile, eyes wide and full of a kind of wonder and righteousness only known to him, hailstorm of glitches just daring anybody to try and get close enough to land an attack. Now he looked on the verge of dusting, limp and unresponsive even as Reaper’s voice raised enough to definitely alert someone out of a normal sleep.

(Reaper got a tiny kick out of seeing him this injured. People often assumed he and Error were friends, due to the similarity of their specialities. But destruction and fighting were not a friend to death, it was more the reason he relied on coffee to stay awake during reaping, more the reason he even had souls to reap in the first place sometimes.)

Ink quickly paced around and stood in front of Error, momentarily shielding the wounds on his ribcage from view as Reaper peered down, trying to get a closer look.

“Reaper, listen.” Ink pleaded, voice rising to the intensity of a snap, eyelights one large red cross and a hopeful green star. “I know how it looks. I know it’s bad. But I’m-”

“What happened to him?” Reaper, easily letting his curiosity win over the small voice in his head saying that maybe he should hear Ink out. “Was he too close to the blast?”

Ink stilled, his raised, protective hands dropping in defeat as silence crept over the room for a moment or two. “He…” Ink inhaled raggedly. “No. Me and Error had a plan. We didn’t know Nightmare would target the inside that quickly. Error tried to warn me, but I didn’t hear him, and then Nightmare was there and-”

Ink blinked rapidly several times, breathing in, out, in, out, and Reaper, secretly and selfishly, was glad that Ink was not the type to burst out crying in front of a near-stranger, because Reaper still wanted answers but simultaneously didn’t want to be the one to comfort him.

“And?” Prompted Reaper. Maybe a little too soon.

“And I didn’t fucking know if he was going to die or not, Reaper, do you expect me to have a-” Ink cut his outburst off with another quick, sharp inhale and looked askance, frowning. When he met Reaper’s eyes again there was a sudden, too-wide smile on his face, an expression trying too hard to look relaxed.

“Sorry. Vials, y’know?”

Reaper was very glad he didn’t know, but nodded in an understanding manner anyways. “Of course. Sorry.” But even as he realised that he might need to back off the interrogation a bit for Ink’s sake, more questions flooded him. Why was Ink so upset over Error being possibly fatally wounded? He stood for everything against what Error wanted. Their battles tore across universes and caused mayhem, often where both would be heavily injured and no clear victor arose.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ink spoke again. “I know you probably don’t understand why I’m… like this. About him. But… Error’s essential to the Multiverse. Without him, the Balance tips, the Creators lose one of their best sources of inspiration and-”

Reaper cut in again. He couldn’t help it. “The… they’re inspired by Error?”

Ink waved his hand. “Of course they are.” He said, dismissive. “He’s nice to look at.”

A couple beats went, and Reaper could swear he saw Ink’s cheekbones colouring slightly, a flicker of rainbow momentarily.

“Objectively.” Ink added hastily. “Colours, and th- y’know, contrasts, and the appeal of…” Reaper cocked a brow at him. “… nevermind.”   Ink stopped floundering abruptly, hands fidgeting and his eyelights dropped down to the unconscious Error behind him, before he looked back at the wall to his right, where white plaster had been crumbling off of the wall steadily as he spoke.

Reaper could not even begin to unpack the fact that Ink had just described Error as ‘nice to look at’, never mind the words that followed, so he chose to ignore it beyond that one gesture. “…Right. I still think you should go, though. People are worried. If Error’s lived through this on his own, then-”

“He didn’t.” Ink interjected, before pausing and clarifying. “Live through it on his own, I mean.” The hollows under Ink’s eyesockets seemed darker than ever.

“What do you mean, Ink?” Reaper sounded as tired as Ink clearly was. This whole conversation felt unreal, and completely draining, trying to predict how Ink was going to react next, if the next thing Reaper said would make him snap again.

Ink looked directly into his eyes once more, almost disarmingly intense. “Promise me you won’t touch him.”

Reaper didn’t stop looking at him, but besides that he was almost completely thrown. “You know what they say about Sanses and promises.” He replied lightly, crossing his arms.

“I’m going to show you something,” Ink ignored him. “But I need you to promise.” Ink’s eyelights searched his face, the gaze of somebody who was inexperienced in reading people but was trying his damn hardest to detect any deceit or mal intent.

Reaper tilted his head down at him. “Alright, I promise. Just make it quick, I have a job to do.” He conceded, raising his hands. Reaper kept his face neutral as he re-approached the sofa, and after a moment Ink’s shoulders dropped. Up a little closer to Error, Reaper noticed the same blackness on Ink’s shirt, spread across Error’s, making it stick a little tighter to his clavicle and ribcage. Reaper was unsure how this could have happened, except than if they’d fought, which was entirely possible but didn’t seem to add up with how Ink had been acting.

And with shaking fingers, Ink untied the scarf from around his midsection, pushing up the red fabric. Taking a deep breath, he curled his fingers around Error’s glowing soul shard and displayed it to Reaper.

__________________________________________________________________

Was this right?

He was turning over a brush in his hands, staring down at the smooth, polished wood, running his phalanges through the bristles. He slotted it onto his back, where it fit perfectly between the straps he’d created, its weight foreign but not without the promise of something that could become familiar and comforting in time. He tested his weight against the ground and found it no different than before, making a giddy yellow bubble up in his ribcage at his success, as bright as the gold band which wrapped around the brush near the end.

“You need a name, I think…” He hummed, sitting down in the sand to slide it off again and place it in his lap, legs crossed. He immediately thought of Buggy, the name he’d christened his Blaster because it was easy to remember. Besides, he liked names that started with B – enjoyed the way you got to say them, closing your mouth before expelling the sound quickly. What was a good B name for a large wooden paintbrush?

He could hold it like a baseball bat… Batty? No, not that. It didn’t stick. He liked the consistency of the name ending in a Y sound, though. Long, wooden, Beam-y? Eugh. No, that was terrible. He thumped the heel of his palm into his forehead slightly annoyedly, hoping to jolt his mind into action, pick something. Wooden, long, with a bristly end… Mop. Moppy.

“Okay, there has got to be something better than Moppy.” He said aloud, snickering, before it finally dawned on him, eyesockets widening. 

“Oh my stars.”

Broomie. His brush was Broomie-

…Ink?

Are you there?

Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink? Ink?

“Dream?”

Dream acknowledged his name with a quiet ‘mm’, but nothing more, not looking up from swiping down the riser of his bow with the soft cloth, letting Ink know he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. At the noise, an ugly greenish puce feeling ran through Ink for a moment. He didn’t want Dream to be angry at him, even if he truly couldn’t understand why what he had done was so bad.

…Actually, scratch that. He knew exactly what he had done to upset him originally. He just hadn’t been thinking about Dream’s reaction when he’d done it. Clearly, there wasn’t enough empathy in his current mix of vials. He quickly picked up his scarf, squinting hard to try and reread his own illegible chickenscratch handwriting, but found nothing about his recent emotions, which puzzled him.

“Are you maaad at me?” Ink singsonged instead, throwing the scarf back over his shoulder, shuffling on his knees across the couch till he could tuck his chin into the crook of Dream’s neck, wrapping his arms loosely around the taller skeleton’s waist.

Dream laughed without opening his mouth, expelling the air through his nasal ridge. “Get off, Ink.” But Dream made no move to shrug him away, simply continuing the measured strokes of the rag across the wood.

“We’re good, right?” Ink continued; eyes fixed on Dream’s expression. Despite his words, icy, light blue was pricking at his insides. He didn’t like it when they left things unresolved. He didn’t want Dream to be upset with him.

Dream didn’t reply, the tiniest sigh leaving his teeth, so Ink kept pestering. “Hey! Hey! Earth to Dreamy, Dreamboat, Sunrise, Gold-”

“Yes, Ink, it’s fine.” Dream half-snapped, though there wasn’t any real malice behind it, just a hint of frustration. “Leave it, will you?”

Well, with a response like that, there was no way Ink could ‘leave it’, was there? Reluctantly, Ink fell back onto his side of the couch, watching him with a trained eye. He tucked his knees up to his chest, tilting his skull. And gradually, the rigid line of Dream’s shoulders slouched, and he stopped looking back at Ink before pretending he wasn’t. The sounds of bow-cleaning resumed, and Ink slowly crept back towards him, noiselessly.

“Ink, I swear to- oh!” Dream tensed up immediately as Ink pressed his hands into his sides, scrabbling for a ticklish spot, and the bow clattered to the floor and slid beneath the couch as Dream creased up, curling in on himself, raggedly laughing.

“Get o-off! You, hahahaaa- idiot!” Dream shrieked, writhing on the arm of the couch as he tried to get away from Ink’s hands. “No-hoho! Stoppit!”

Ink’s grin stretched smug and wide. “We’re good, riiiiight? You’re not mad at me?” Ink taunted, and Dream shut his eyesockets, gulping in air as Ink’s fingers momentarily stilled, the Guardian’s chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Ink. He eventually looked back up at him, glaring, no real heat behind it.

Ink waggled his fingers warningly. “I can be merciful. Just say it.”

“Fine, fine, I’m not upset.” Dream sighed, righting himself. His cheeks were flushed bright gold from exertion as he dug Ink in the ribs. “You’re a royal pain in the ass, you know that?”

“You love me.” Ink replied happily, watching Dream retrieve his dagger and rag. Dream gave a huffy ‘mmm’ in response to this, but moments later, Ink felt Dream’s warm arm loose around his shoulders, and he happily leant his cheek against the taller skeleton’s chest, tucking his legs up once more.

Now, he was happy to watch Dream slowly clean the curved blade, flecks of blood disappearing under his skilful touch, making the shining silver look brand new once again.

These memories weren’t his, so why….?

Ink was almost numb as he sat back on the couch, his arm bent in an odd fashion, fingers twisted in a way that made them creak uncomfortably when he tried to move them. Huh. That didn’t seem right. He tried to focus on his own injuries and not the glare of Stretch as Ink dripped messy black blood across their couch. He knew Blue’s brother already despised him, and so he tried to bleed onto his trousers instead, shifting his arm, and – oops, no, he’d just smeared it in. Oh well.

Thankfully, a door opened quickly and he heard Blue’s trademark loud, stompy footsteps before he bounced into view, bandages in hand. Ink blinked at the things he was holding.

“Bluebell, that’s a lot of stuff for a broken arm.” Ink said, gently, unsure if he would be stating something Blue was unaware of. “I don’t need that much, but if you’ve got any food…”

“NONSENSE!” Blue replied, firm in a way that made Ink’s next protest die before it could leave his mouth. Blue took hold of Ink’s fractured arm at the elbow, his gloved fingers surprisingly careful. Ink still felt a little twinge, but nothing much to wince at – he barely felt any pain for it in general aside from a low, gently throbbing ache. “YOU NEED IT WRAPPED UP SO IT HEALS PROPERLY! AND YOU CAN EAT AFTER I’VE DONE THIS, OKAY?”

Ink, certain that anything else would just get him immediately shot down once more, nodded. Blue got to work winding the bandage around his arm, healing intent evident in his every movement and making the pain recede swiftly. Eventually, a green glow softly lit the room, and Ink tipped his head back for a moment, eyesockets closing. The feeling was warm, and safe, and gradually his fingers stopped feeling like unmovable bone sausages hanging off of his palms and more like… fingers, again.

Once Blue was satisfied, Ink stood up and willingly followed him to the kitchen, sitting and swinging his legs on the counter while Blue got to work. He watched glitter, sugar, syrup and hot sauce getting put into the tacos Blue was making whilst he waited, and the smell was an odd amalgamation which reminded Ink of the taste of the paint for excitement.

“If you hold back on the glitter,” Ink started, watching Blue turn for a moment. “I could get Dream to come over and eat some, too.”

“MMM.” Blue made a sound of acknowledgement, scooping mincemeat into the taco shells. “I SUPPOSE, BUT PAPY’S ALREADY ON-EDGE ABOUT YOU BEING HERE, I THINK. I DON’T WANT TO STRESS HIM OUT ANY MORE.”

“He likes Dream.” Ink pointed out, taking the gelatinous mess of a taco and cramming half of it into his mouth, before making a euphoric sound. All the different textures were good, and he could feel his body already working to repair his bad arm with the extra influx of magic.

“NOT WHEN YOU’RE AROUND.” Blue replied, grinning. Ink would have smiled along with him, but he kind of had a mouthful of taco. Both of them sat at the kitchen counter and ate. Ink finished before Blue, licking his fingers for sauce, before watching the other skeleton eat his. A strange, yellowy-blue-green feeling came over him, and he opened his mouth.

“Hey, Blue?”

Blue turned his head, shining, aqua eyelights fixed on him, round cheeks full of taco.

“I…” Ink swallowed, looking away. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

And the rest of the meal went in silence.

And the visions wouldn’t stop, they flooded his skull in a million voices-

The birdsong just outside Aster’s tower was what roused Ink in the end, and he groaned as he got up, shuffling into the joint living-room-kitchen, his joints creaking as he sat heavily down on the leather sofa sat in the middle, curling his legs up. He yawned, running his fingers across his vials, wondering which one to take first-

“Are we not acknowledging each other now?” Gaster’s voice, slightly sharp with disapproval, made him jolt, and Ink turned, hasty, his eyes flaring wide before he smiled sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught off-guard like that.

“Sorry. I… thought I was the first one up.” Ink admitted, and Gaster nodded understandingly. That was usually the case when all three of them are together under the same roof, rare as that was nowadays. He turned and leaned over the couch, peering hopefully over at him. “You makin’ breakfast?”

Gaster sighed. He was already dressed, crisp as always, gold trimming against the dark navy button-up, not a stitch out of place. “I suppose. I don’t trust you and Aster pulled another all-nighter, so even if he does manage to rouse himself, he won’t be any use.”

“Woooow.” Ink whistled lowly, mock-offended, his vials clinking together as he began to pour them into a single empty one. “Tell it how it is, Dad.” He was still getting used to the whole ‘Dad’ thing – but that didn’t mean he disliked it. He fought to keep the smile off his face as he said the word, and he could see his father smiling, small and terribly restrained, before he turned back to the other kitchen appliances.

They chatted idly as Ink shuddered through every emotion he had to take, and eventually Aster awoke as well, wings ruffled, quiet voice even softer than usual from lack of sleep. Ink watched them, smiling, as they shared a quick, affectionate kiss, Ink returning Aster’s ‘goodmorning’ enthusiastically, before resuming the breakfast-making, albeit with a lot more bickering.

“Will you at least let me help with the eggs?” Aster wheedled, as Gaster poured milk into a mug.

“We’re going to be eating very crunchy pancakes if I let you help. You always leave bits of shell in-”

“I do not!” Aster folded his arms across his chest. “Look, that one time before was because you kept on distracting me while I was trying to fork them out.”

“Mhmmm.” Gaster grinned all-knowingly and flicked his eyelights towards a wobbling pot of tall metal utensils, which had been set shaking by a single brush of Aster’s wings. Aster made a noise of alarm and turned, catching it before it could fall. He stood, bent over and wide-eyed for a moment, before righting it and standing to his full height.

Gaster laughed and pressed another kiss to his teeth, which Aster seemed to reluctantly return. “I cannot believe that there are still things in your kitchen that aren’t nailed down. If you turn too fast everything will go flying, my dear.”

Aster groaned, but he was laughing too. “Fine, fine. You win. Kitchen’s yours.”

Ink looked out of the window again, seeing all of the mountains laid out before the tower, the pale blue sky dotted with clouds, placing his vials back into his sash. His parent’s laughter sounded behind him.

For now, Ink thought, everything was good.

Then, finally, finally, Error saw-

Ink stared back at the crimson eyesockets above him, vision swimming, his spine curving under the weight of the bone attack in his shoulder, a sea of static surrounding his phalanges as he curled them like claws into Error’s shoulders-

Ink beamed wide as Error shrieked in alarm, watching the offered chocolate bar hit the blank floor of the Anti-Void, closing the portal afterwards, happy despite the image of Error’s five tongues being planted in his brain-

Ink looked down at the strings knotting their palms together, watching Error stand, taste of grease in his mouth, yellow fizzing in his skull at the fact that he was tied safely to the only certain thing he remembered-

Ink pressed the charcoal under Error’s eyesocket, hearing his breathing stop for a moment, watching the blue flush and swirl and spread on his dark cheekbones, making eye contact for one moment and seeing Error’s eyelights drop for a split second to his mouth-

Ink tucked the daisy into the string fold of Error’s jacket, the young, white petals airbrushed pink, unable to stop the grin that split his face, watching Error try and hide his smile in return-

Ink felt every colour on his sash running through him when their mouths met, setting every single bone in his body alight as he curled his fingers into Error’s hipbone, the fuzz of his glitches making his breath stutter-

Ink’s hands shook as he saw the string of blood and ink connecting them to Error’s ribcage, curling himself around Error’s still, broken body, the calm before the storm of the explosion shaking the ground-

Error opened his eyes.

He was looking up at a wooden ceiling – hard wood planks. There was a long shadow cast across it, and dying sunlight lit a small square of it yellow. A low, steady thrum behind his ribs that was distinctly not his soul made him close his eyes again. It should have alarmed him – but Error was too tired to do anything but sink back into oblivion once more.

The onslaught of not-memories that had followed him had gradually stopped, trickling to a halt. They were replaced by snatches of nightmares – but at least then, Error was in his own body. At least then, Error wasn’t looking up at himself from somebody else’s view.

Blood spattered his face. Nightmare’s cold cyan eye watched as he dug his hands into the scorched dirt. Ink stared down at him, eyelights cold and white, uncaring and unfeeling, before he turned away from him. Error heard Ink’s voice, again and again, desperate as he knelt over him. Error saw each shifting pattern of his eyelights; cloud, star, planet, dot, square, cross. And every time Error felt a slash across his chest, a phantom pain that intertwined with real hurt until he wanted to tear every last rib out of his body, anything to stop the constant fucking ache that made them pulse and throb and keep him in this barely-conscious state.

Error was unable to rest fully due to nightmares, yet when he woke up pain sent him back into delirious half-sleep again, no matter how hard he tried to regain coherent thought. Sometimes, a figure would drift in and out of his vision. Or was it two? They had a similar-looking face, but he gradually began to tell them apart – the one with the colourful shapes in their gaze (remember remember remember), and the one with the loud voice that made him wince.

He could never tell what they were saying to one another.

But maybe it was that absence of speech that caused him to wake one day. His eyesockets opened, and surprisingly didn’t immediately lid. The sudden release of tension from escaping that nightmare so suddenly made him limp as a dead fish against the mattress, and gave him a temporary relief that allowed him to prop himself up on his elbows, an involuntary grunt leaving his teeth as he did so, pain sharply streaking up when he tried to get into a more upright position.

Error looked over the room again, blinking when he saw something that was decidedly not white wall and doorframe. The loud one, he recognised, was sat on a chair, eyesockets closed, clothes rumpled. His skull was tilted down and inwards, and was slowly going down farther before he snapped his head up and it immediately began to sink down again. There was a soft, heavy breathing sound, and Error watched him lazily as he continued to nod off – literally.

There was a sudden, sharp creak of plastic from the protesting chair that made Error jolt – that was his only warning before the loud skeleton sleeping on the chair was crashing down onto the floor, letting out a funny, pained sound and scrambling upright. Error watched him all the while, steadily, as he scrambled to his feet. Two cyan eyelights followed his own hands, brushing himself off, before suddenly, they snapped up to meet Error’s.

The direct eye contact made something click in Error’s skull, and suddenly a million questions flooded him all at once. Why was Blue here? Was he watching him? How long had Error been out? Where was Ink? Where was Dream? Why had Error seen all those things? What was the discordant thrumming in his soul? Where was Ink?

Error tried to sit up straight, alarmed – and then clutched his chest, letting out a horrible-sounding pained half-gasp as fresh, red-hot agony tore across his ribcage at the movement, squeezing his eyesockets shut. But if his body could survive being stabbed in the ribs by Nightmare’s tentacle then he could survive standing up. He reached out blindly, fingers slipping over the wooden bedframe before he grabbed it hard, hauled himself upwards and onto his feet-

“f-f-fu-ck!” Error hissed through gritted teeth, but he hardly heard himself over his body screaming at him, his spine bowing as he doubled over, his legs feeling more akin to noodles than actual limbs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blue hurrying towards him. The movements, unthreatening as they were made Error flinch backwards, knocking himself into the wall behind him as his entire body screamed at him. It felt like the pain in his chest was eating him alive, his breathing sharp, shallow.

Blue stared at him, and he glared back. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“ERROR,” Blue said, and to his credit the obvious unease and helplessness on his face didn’t slip into his tone. “I KNOW YOU MUST HAVE A LOT OF QUESTIONS, BUT YOU NEED TO LIE DOWN. YOU’RE NOT WELL.”

“n-n0 fucking-g-g-g shit, genius.” Error gasped, grinding his teeth hard as he stood up straight as best he can, another strained noise escaping his teeth as he did. He didn’t turn to face Blue, though, fearing that trying to in the small gap between the bed and the wall would end up in him knocking himself unconscious.

“w-where’s ink?” Error demanded through his harsh, half-breaths, and Blue looked slightly taken aback at the question.

“HE’S… HERE. IN THIS UNIVERSE.” Blue supplied immediately, no dancing around the answer, which Error felt a vague sense of appreciation for. “HE’S SAFE NOW.”

Error kept his eyelights on Blue’s expression, but Blue stared back earnestly, no trace of insincerity on his clear, open, unmarked face. Error flicked his eyes down to Blue’s arm, remembering what he had said to him before. The glitching was still there, and despite everything, Error felt a tiny pang of sympathy at the discolouration of the bones, turning them a light lilac off-white that looked very wrong against the rest of his outfit.

He could feel exhaustion gathering on him, making his eyes ache to slip shut again, so he knew he had to be quick. He nodded, opening his mouth as if to ask another question – then threw his hand up in a sharp arc and opened a portal, and he saw Blue’s mouth drop open. The Anti-Void, blank as ever, was the sweetest sight Error had ever seen in his entire life, and he used the last quickly-fading burst of energy in his body to limp halfway into it.

“ERROR!” Blue’s voice was high and alarmed, with a frantic note that Error was unfortunately familiar with by now. “NONONONO, ERROR, YOU CAN’T-”

Blue’s voice was swallowed by white as Error snapped the portal closed. He collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath as both his hands clutched at his chest.

And then everything immediately got worse all at once.

Error’s vision went off, first. When he looked at his chest, the red colour on them seemed to stain his vision, so even when he closed his eyes, he could only see red swirling ominously. Then the already-unbearable throb in his chest started to be less of a pulse and more of a pounding, and then-

Error’s visceral scream was distorted and backwards-sounding as his body immediately collapsed under the new burst of spasming, angry, tormenting sensation. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, why wouldn’t it stop, why wouldn’t it go away, he was safe now, so why did feel like he was unravelling bit by bit? Why did it feel like somebody was repeatedly shoving their fist into the wound in his ribs? Why did it feel like every reboot he’d ever had all at once?

…Was he dying? Was that it? Had all this movement finally taken what little HP his soul still clung onto? When Error looked down at the floor of the Anti-Void he could see crimson smeared on it from his desperate, agonised writhing. Error bit one of his sore tongues and didn’t realise until he tasted blood in his mouth, thick and metallic.

i should’ve died sooner, Error thought dimly. i should have died when ink was next to me. i should have died looking into his eyes.

Error let his own close again. He tried to think about Ink some more, feel that bittersweetness because it at least brought him some positive feeling, but his thoughts were scrambling over each other and impossible to keep a hold of, his mind becoming heavier and heavier. The Voices were screaming at him, probably, but their noise was only a distant hum, which felt not comforting, but at least familiar.

The last sound he heard, which puzzled him, was light, hurried, clicking footsteps.

__________________________________________________________________

Error wasn’t dead. Somehow, he was still breathing.

That was the first thing he himself thought when he was dragged up from the murky depths of unconsciousness. He wasn’t dying in the Anti-Void. The second strange thing, he noted, was that he hadn’t startled awake from a nightmare. He’d been totally blanked-out until now. The third and final thing he was aware of was a delicate, fragile fluttering feeling on his face.

Error opened his eyes, and resisted the urge to rear backwards as he saw two colourful spots filling up his vision. The spots shifted, and he felt a barely-there skittering sensation all the way down his face, before the tiny thing rested on his teeth. The touch was so miniscule he didn’t panic, but his glitches still flared up. He squinted hard – the thing was so close to his face that it was difficult to see.

An… insect?

Bone-deep exhaustion prevented him from examining it further with a hand, but he tipped up his chin, and with another gentle brush of its wings against his face the insect took flight, clearly alarmed by the white squares of static on its new home. As it flapped upwards, Error saw it was a butterfly, and it spun in unsteady circles before it flitted out of his vision, flashing turquoise and orange. Hot and cool, complimentary colours.

Error smiled, faintly, just because it was pretty, and because it had decided to wake him up. He tested his movements, slowly, one at a time. His fingers responded easily enough, and trying to move his spine was still painful as it jarred his chest, but doable. He flexed his phalanges and pushed the heels of his palms into the mattress (mattress? He was in the Anti-Void) and sat up.

The pain that accompanied made him hiss a little, but it was remarkably subdued compared to before. His smile grew a little, simply out of pure relief at that, and he looked down at himself. Still shirtless, the same festering wound still buzzing with glitches, but his trousers were not in the same state of disrepair as before. The butterfly was now between his splayed-apart knees, making itself a home on the mattress. Error looked up from it, grin still lax from the euphoric ability to breathe without pain-

His smile slipped away as soon as he processed what he was seeing.

The same doorway, the same white wall, the same wooden bedposts greeted him, and there was that same plastic chair at the foot of the bed. All the same except one key difference.

Instead of Blue – sweetly concerned, honest, stupid Blue – Ink was sitting right there, hand midair with a thin paintbrush between two fingers, eyes fixed on him, eyelights consisting of a hard red cross and a soft green question mark, expression unreadable save for them. His legs were tucked up on the chair, a sketchbook on his lap, filled with loose ink lines and half-coloured in with transparent reds and blues. His sash was nowhere to be seen, his undershirt untucked and loose from his waistband, coming down to his femurs. His hipbones stuck out visibly from underneath it, like the arms of a sofa under a sheet. 

Ink looked uninjured, and clean, better than he seemed throughout the entirety of his time with him. His bones were smooth and pristine. Butterflies, all different colours, rested on the floor around him.

“…ar3-e-e you real?” Error blurted. His voice sounded, odd, heavy and thick, and he was having trouble getting all of his tongues to enunciate properly, something he thought he’d mastered a long time ago.

Ink’s brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at Error. It was clearly not what Ink was expecting to first hear from him. “Am I… real?” Ink repeated, his high, clear voice making Error’s soul tug hard, but he refused to think about it. Not if this was just another nightmare.

A long stretch of silence passed, and Ink tapped the paintbrush against his chin, holding Error’s manic, searching stare with ease. “…Yes.” Ink said, after a pause, a tiny thread of mirth in his voice. “I’m real.”

“pr0ve-ve-ve it.” Error almost snapped, his voice shaking. The tiny, disbelieving smile that was on Ink’s face dropped as he saw how glitches were bubbling up Error’s body, heard the borderline desperate edge in his voice. Error couldn’t bring himself to care; he was ready for something horrible to happen before he woke up again, tensing and curling in on himself.

“Alright.” Ink agreed, still painfully unreadable, as he pushed the sketchbook onto the floor and stood up, slowly and deliberately – giving me time to see what he’s doing, Error realised. He was almost languid as he approached the bed, and his gaze was almost uncomfortably intense. Error didn’t dare hope that this was different yet.

Still watching him, Ink leaned over him. Error bit back a noise which he was sure would come out as a garbled, fearful sound. Ink’s paintbrush-free hand came up and Error watched it, warily. At a snail’s pace, torturously it came closer to him…

…and finally Ink flicked him between the sockets.

Error froze up at the touch, but as Ink rapidly drew back, he felt the slight sting. He felt it.

He stared up at Ink, paralysed.

He had no idea what to say. What could you say after all of this? Would any words do anything but make things worse? Error had been caught entirely unprepared for the tidal wave of emotion that seeing Ink, the real Ink and not the twisted or helpless version from his nightmares, that he dropped his gaze from Ink’s, self-resentment bubbling up bitterly in his ribcage.

“Why did you ask me that?” Ink asked him, quietly. He was pulled back now, and he perched on the edge of the bed, watching Error’s frantic glitching with a cautious, weary look in his eyes.

“i-i kept…” Error swallowed, knowing how insane this was going to sound, even for him. “i kept seeing-g-g you. when-n you weren’t there.” His eyelights looked Ink over once again, wishing Ink was wearing his outfit normally. The baggy white undershirt swamped his abdomen and made it impossible for Error to see any injuries if they were present there. “are-e… are you hurt?”

Ink laughed incredulously-

Ink’s frail laughter turned into a horrified, rising sob as he tried to staunch the wound-

“Error…?”

Error blinked at the sound of Ink’s actual voice. He tried to focus on that instead, reminding himself that there was no blood in his mouth, Nightmare wasn’t here, it was just him and Ink. Error’s chest hurt a lot more with how he’d started to curl in on himself, his knee shifting up as if any movement he did right now could protect him from an attack or threat.

Ink’s eyes were wide. “Error, you’re…”

The room seemed too small, and Error pressed his back against the headboard of the bed, his ribs rising and falling in an odd, uneven rhythm. He looked down at them, and there was blood, darker, sinister crimson splashed across his bones, an awful amount of pressure and power forcing his ribs to cave as he stood there before collapsing into-

Ink took hold of his hand.

Error emitted a low, static beeping noise of confusion in response, eyelights flicking down to where their palms touched. He’d expected to be repulsed and terrified by getting touched like this, without warning he should have been, but in actual fact, while the contact made his glitches spike yet again, the violent shaking in his hand eased a little, and he curled his fingers around Ink’s reciprocally.

“There,” Ink said, shakily. “You’re okay, you’re not there anymore.” Ink searched Error’s face for something, and Error didn’t know what it was. “We’re in Wintertale. Pacifist timeline. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe, Glitchy.”

Error continued to look at where their hands were interlaced. He managed maybe a minute more of touching before the glitching became too raw and painful and he retracted his arm, curling it around himself instead. His breathing was steadier, but his chest still throbbed with sinister pain that threatened to get worse the moment he moved too quickly or let his guard down.

Ink, who was somehow now sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully perched as far away from him as possible, started speaking again. “I brought you back here from the Anti-Void. I’ll tell you why, but first you need to summon your soul, okay? Just… just look at it.”

Error remembered Hotland, suddenly: Ink’s helpless face, looking up at him, “Stars, I’m awful at this.” Error could hear some of that same out-of-his-depth feeling in Ink’s tone now, but Ink was persevering, trying his best, something that made Error feel like he’d just been forced to swallow several rocks.

…Obediently, Error summoned his soul, its weak glow illuminating both their faces. His jaw went slack, and he found his voice very quickly.

“w-w-what the fuck is that!?”

His usual, shattered soul-shard was cracked and marred, fizzling pathetically with static, but the damage wasn’t what Error was paying more attention to. Starting at the middle and spreading across the brittle edges was what looked like a splotch of ink, faded and smudged into the glowing white, the little spots coming off of it looking like it was dripping off and falling even though it wasn’t actually liquid. Error pressed a fingertip to it, and sure enough; the out-of-pace hum that he’d kept feeling was originating from here. It felt… warm.

“That…” Ink watched him cautiously. “That’s my magic.”

“how.” Error asked, teeth gritted.

“I don’t know!” Ink replied, tone so frantic it sounded almost like a yelp. “It just- it just happened!” He watched Error move his hands towards his soul and added warily: “And don’t try and take it off yourself. I tried that.” Annoyingly, directly anticipating Error’s next move.

“r-r-random marks on somebody’s-s-s soul don’t ‘just happen’, i-nk.” Error snapped, staring down at it, unable to look away. “w-when did it show up?”

“It’s been there since Nightmare attacked you and I touched it. I wasn’t trying to leave a mark there, or anything, I was just so-” Ink turned his head from Error’s, running a hand over his skull. “I just wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how! I-I’m not a healer, I only know how to patch myself up, really, so I thought…” Ink trailed off, hugging his knees.

“Look, all I know is that it’s there and it’s helping.” Ink pressed on; his ‘reassuring’ smile more confident than his tone sounded. “Me, Dream and Blue talked about it, and-”

“o-oh, so my s0ul-l gets fu-cking drenched-d-d in your magic-c and i’m-m the l4st-t-t-t one to know?” Error interjected, smiling dangerously. “isn’t-t that convenient?”

“You were unconscious, idiot. And even if I did wake you up you’d be out of it anyways.” Ink said, sharp and dismissive. “Besides, you ran into the Anti-Void first chance you got, so I would’ve been able to tell you if you’d stuck around.”

Ink looked at him pointedly, eyelights a crosshair and a triangle. Error had nothing to say to that.

“That’s what I thought.” Ink replied. “What I was trying to say was, when I talked to the others about it they said it sounded like a soul bond. Which,” Ink looked at Error in a ‘shut your mouth and let me finish’ way as he opened it to interrupt, and Error reluctantly did so. “Shouldn’t be possible. Because I don’t have a soul, so in the most basic sense possible, my magic’s keeping your soul from falling apart.

“You had such a negative reaction to it in the Anti-Void ‘cause I wasn’t there. That little patch of magic on there sort of… resonates. So the closer I am to you, the less pain you’ll actually feel, and the farther away I am to you, the closer to dying you get.” Ink paused, and pinched his nasal ridge between his brows. “And don’t call it ‘drenching it in my magic’, for god’s sake, that sounds weird.”

“b-but soul-bonds don’t-t even work like that.” Error ignored Ink’s last comment. “if you d-die when you’re bonded-d to the other-r-r person, they die-e too. it isn’t-t supposed-d to… go like this. and-d besides, if we-e were bonded you’d be able to hear-r my…”

Error trailed off, his eyes widening in realisation.

“Error?” Ink asked, blinking down at him. “You look like me before I’m about to throw up.”

“t-thanks for that-t mental image.” Error grunted, and Ink cracked the first real, trademark-Ink smile Error had seen since waking up. “b-but i did… see some things-s when i…” Error tightened his fingers around his ribcage. “…i t-thought they were nightmares.”

“You’re not being very specific, here.” Ink replied, almost nonchalantly, but there was a slight, worried crease between his brows.

“i-i-i kept seeing things i’d-d never seen before.” Error sucked in a breath. “i-i think they were your memories.”

“Oh.” Ink’s smile dropped completely. He looked at Error, far more intensely than was comfortable. “…That’s invasive.”

“y-you say that after-r leaving a mark on-n the culmination of-f my being-”

“You were dying!” Ink retorted, far louder than before. “What would you have done in my position? Just sat there and watched? Of course I would try to do something! And by some miracle that actually worked, and you’re still alive, and you’re acting like you would have preferred me leaving you to bleed out!”

Ink slid off of the bed, standing as if to leave, and Error’s eyes widened.

 “n-n0, no, no, ink-” A desperate noise wrenched itself from Error’s throat at the thought of Ink leaving him to stew in his own mistakes. His hand wrenched itself around Ink’s wrist, and Ink stiffened, looking down at him as his phalanges dug in.

It hurt, glitches crackled like a well-fed fire against the palm of his hand, but panic drove his movements on. “please-e.” Error’s voice was only slightly louder than a whisper. “stay.”

And after several moments that felt like prolonged torture, Ink slowly sat back down, moving Error’s hand down to hold it again, sending a warm rush through Error. He flicked his eyelights up to meet Error’s. “How’re you… feeling? Pain-wise.” Ink gestured towards his chest. Error’s soul was still out, and looking at it again, Error was surprised at how… okay he felt with this development. The offbeat, flickering thudding that the stained patch provided was almost soothing, now he knew it was Ink’s.

“i-i’ve had worse.” Error yawned.

“Liar.” Ink called him out immediately. “You definitely haven’t.” But Ink squeezed his hand anyways.

Error looked at him, really looked at him, and his mind flashed with all the things he had to apologise for. All the lying, and the death, and how he’d barely asked Ink about how he was. Error spoke even though his teeth felt glued together as dread filled him. “i-ink, we should-”

“No.” Ink said.

Error stared at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ink said, stiffly, dropping Error’s hand and causing an extra sting of hurt to go through . “You should be resting, anyways. Your eyelights are all fuzzy.”

Ink was right, Error realised. He was exhausted, the pain in his ribcage lulling his battered body into drowsiness. Talking made his chest ache, trying to concentrate on Ink’s words required almost all his focus, and everything that had just happened was running through his skull and threatening to become a headache.

As if reading Error’s thoughts, Ink gave him a small, fake-looking smile. “Later, Error.” He said. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“w-who’s a liar-r-r-r now?” Error mumbled, rubbing his eyesocket with a wince, and Ink’s eyelights tightened into thin slits, his forced smile freezing.

Then, as if Error hadn’t spoken: “Do you like the butterflies?”

Error looked at him, but Ink was determinedly avoiding eye contact, so Error sighed and flicked his eyelights across to where the butterflies were flitting about the room, all different colours, shapes and sizes, a welcome amount of colour in the blank space. “y-yeah.” Error replied, shifting further onto his back. Even he was painfully aware of how half-awake he sounded at this point, his tongues tripping over one another.

“Cool. It’s difficult to get them right ‘cause they’re so delicate, and, y’know, alive, but I figured you’d want something in this room. I know I would.” Ink looked at the walls and shuddered lightly before he stepped off of the bed, retrieved his sketchbook and paintbrush from off of the ground before coming and sitting on the bed again, this time a little closer.

Error wanted to stay awake, wanted to worm some genuine emotion out of Ink’s too-placid smile and tense shoulders, he’d had enough of sleeping, but somehow his eyesockets were drifting shut as the scratchy sounds of a pencil on paper filled the room. Ink hummed something Error didn’t recognise, a slow, held collection of high, happy notes.

Error let the noise lull him into a now-dreamless, restful, sleep.

Chapter Text

The next time Error woke up – surprise, surprise! – Ink was not there.

He’d called it last night, predicted it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less as he roused himself. Tightening his phalanges in the bedsheets, he tried to sit up and was immediately reminded by a quick, lancing pain that shot across his ribs that, despite his hopes, the hole the size of a pop can in his ribs had not magically disappeared overnight. Error let out a half-coherent noise of disgust at himself.

He was already so tired of the pain, the effort and exhaustion that came with just sitting up, but he forced his body to do it anyways. He instinctively checked over the wound, grazing it gently with the tips of his phalanges and receiving a tiny warning twinge in response.  He inhaled and exhaled and there was a pressure that threatened to become something worse, but the act itself wasn’t too straining.

Error looked over to the empty chair beside his bed. There was a glass of water on it and nothing else. He attempted to angle his arm in a way that allowed him to pick it up without jarring himself, then he turned his skull to drink – and discovered, very quickly, that probably nothing had passed his teeth for however long he’d been like this. Panting, he set it back down.

He already wanted to collapse back against the bed and perish, but with some effort he straightened his spine slowly, inched his feet towards the edge of the bed, and moved so his legs were hanging off of it. He wasn’t sure where he was planning on going, or what he was planning on doing, all he knew was that his shirt was gone, he was very susceptible to attack right now, and felt horribly vulnerable like this, all helpless invalid in a sterile white room.

Error was about to make the final move to stand up when he paused, considering. Even if Ink had left, that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t being watched right now. Error focused, closing his eyes and looking at the codes surrounding him – and lo and behold, Core was very much present there, the telltale flash of grey among the ones and zeroes that they were not able to hide. Immediately stiffening, Error opened his eyes and swivelled his skull to glare at every single space where Core could be invisibly hidden.

“i-i know you’re there-e, kid.” Error ground out, loud and clear, and after a couple beats Core blipped into view.

They also looked considerably better since the fight, neat bob unruffled, clothes without a trace of dirt, their expression newly calm. Error had trouble matching this face to the one that was twisted in pain, the wide blackly tearful eyes that were pleading with him. They seemed almost determinedly composed now, their hands clasped behind their back, head held high, large eyes without a trace of emotion.

“…Please don’t try and throw yourself out of this universe again.” Core said, almost earnestly. “I promise you Ink is still around.”

“a-a-around?”

Core sighed. “In this building. You do realise it’s a two-way street, right? Ink can’t leave this universe unless you leave it with him.”

“why-y are you here then?” Error let that question come out as rude and aggressive as he wanted it to, and Core frowned.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is still a massive hole in your chest,” Core began, slowly. “And you need it healed. Urgently.”

Error physically flinched. “i-i-i am n-not letting any-y-y of your h3alers touch-ch me.” He snapped, drawing his arms back over his chest defensively. Just the thought of some random Toriel or… fuck, even Dream’s hands on his ribs made his bones prickle uncomfortably. “w-where the hell is ink?”

“Ink isn’t a healer.” Core ignored him. “He can’t fix you.”

There seemed to be a lot more than physical injury implied in those last four words. Error narrowed his eyesockets, before determinedly placing one hand on the headboard of the bed again, and, after some hesitation, the other on the seat of the plastic chair, heaved himself upwards.

“fuckfuckfuck!” Error bit out beneath his breath. At least his legs didn’t feel like they were going to collapse at any point now? His chest, however, still throbbed, static oozing from the edges of the wound and fizzing at his lower ribs. He clung to the headboard and chair for dear life, his eyesockets nearly shut as he focused. There was a spinning, dizzy feeling in his skull that didn’t want to abate no matter how securely he was standing.

“You having some trouble there?”

“shut the fuck-k up.” Error barked. This would’ve been a ‘Flip Core Off with Both Hands’ moment if he wasn’t desperately trying to stay upright by grasping two separate pieces of furniture.

He glanced at Core, glaring daggers at them. Their expression looked like half-pity, half-alarm. “You can barely stand, Error. What’s your plan here? You can’t leave, you can’t go to the Anti-Void, you’re only alive because Ink’s magic is keeping your soul together. So you either talk to me and we can work something out or….” Core gestured vaguely to Error’s current position. “…You can keep doing this.”

Error did his best to gingerly straighten up. “f-first off: eat shit and die.”

“Very mature.” Core butted in, and Error’s scowl sharpened.

 “sec0nd: there-e is noth-ing to w-w-work out. i-i helped you with the-e timeline-e, it-t’s gone now, we-e can all go-o back to living-g our normal lives. capiche?”

“Uhhhhhh.” Core paused, brows knitting. “No?”

Error was about to start screaming at this stupid grey asshole for making this harder than it needed to be, for not just giving up and leaving him alone but-

-the door opened and a loud voice came through. “CORE, WHAT’S-”

Blue stopped short at the sight of Error awake once more. His eyesockets were suddenly wide, almost reminiscent of Core’s perma-spooked round black eyes. His bandana was pointing up to its usual height behind him, two flashing blue exclamations as he turned his skull slowly, like a rabbit’s ears swivelling and flicking for the sound of a predator. he has a lot more reason to be afraid of you than you do him, Error rationalised.

But Blue’s eyelights darted down to his chest, where he was still vulnerable and weak and prone to attack, and Error forced himself to stand taller, to glower, to rip some strings from his eyesocket. He wasn’t going to even try to have a semblance of conversation now he knew he couldn’t leave. No, he didn’t think Blue would hurt him, but he did need to remind him who was in control here. At least currently.

Error saw a bead of sweat form on Blue’s skull – he clearly remembered all too well what it felt like to have his soul puppeted.  To his right, Core put their hands on their hips and puffed their chest out, posturing, clearly mocking Error, but Blue didn’t see this, and Error couldn’t be bothered to flip them off.

“H-HELLO, ERROR.” Blue reached a hand up to toy with the end of his bandanna that hung over his chest. “I… DON’T THINK YOU SHOULD BE TRYING TO WALK ABOUT JUST YET. WHY DON’T YOU, UM, SIT DOWN AND WE CAN… TALK?”

Error glared at him. And then sat (shut up only because his chest was aching and his legs felt shaky again). “t-talk then.” Error said, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. He soothed his internal self-defence instincts from flaring up by reassuring and reminding himself that he could have Core and Blue strung up in about five seconds.

“OH.” Blue clearly hadn’t expected him to comply, and honestly, Error didn’t blame him. “WELL. YOU’RE IN WINTERTALE, CURRENTLY, BUT I THINK INK SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT…?” Error gave a small, stiff nod in response to Blue’s questioning look.

“RIGHT. WE CHOSE IT BECAUSE THEY’RE A MULTIVERSAL-AWARE AU, AND IT’S A TIMELINE NIGHTMARE CAN’T ENTER. THEY ALSO,” Blue gestured to the room Error was in. “-HAVE A VERY SPACIOUS SNOWED INN.”

 Blue’s fingers kept tug-tug-tugging at his bandanna as he spoke. “YOU CAN’T GO BACK TO THE ANTI-VOID, AND INK CAN’T LEAVE YOU HERE. S-SO, WE’RE IN THE PREDICAMENT OF DECIDING WHAT TO DO.”

“Maybe we should wait for Ink to get back. Would you be willing to talk if he was here?” Core questioned, and Blue looked at them doubtfully. He clearly didn’t believe Ink would be the best mediator in any kind of conflict they might have.

Error, however, nodded eagerly. A chance to get Ink back in here and simultaneously have Blue and Core leave him alone for five minutes sounded good.

Core, looking relieved, smiled. “Alright, I can do that for you.” And blipped out of existence. Blue had been looking at them in a very ‘don’t leave me here’ before, and it was hard to miss how he immediately went rigid with tension when it was just him and Error in the room. It was kind of bizarre, how the cheerful skeleton had willingly fought Nightmare when his power was bloated with negativity, but seemed afraid of Error even when he was like this.

“…UM.” Blue vocalised as he hovered, the tip of his bright blue boot nudging at something only visible to him on the floor.

“DO YOU,” He hedged. “NEED… ANYTHING?”

Error smiled his friendliest smile, wide eyesockets and lots of teeth. “j-jog on after-r core before-e i string-g you u-up and dangle y0u out-side the window for the b-b-b-birds to peck at.”

“O-KAY!” Blue chirped in response, visibly sweating and giving Error a shaky thumbs up before rushing out of the room, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor in his haste. Error’s grin dropped off his face once he was gone.

 He sat back in the bed, letting out a long, relieved sigh. The movement of his ribs in the bottom of his vision made him once again realise he still did not have a shirt on, and he felt deeply uncomfortable at a) the idea of being conscious around Dream and b) the idea of being conscious around Dream without a shirt on. Frowning, he considered yelling for Blue, but that would be a little humiliating after just sending him packing like that. Normally he wouldn’t think twice before just opening a portal and stealing a shirt from a shop, but…

Hey! He could totally still do that now; limited movement be damned.

Humming in concentration, he opened a portal and directed it to hover above his head. It was some Underfell AU where he constantly took chocolate from and simultaneously dumped all his garbage in, he should be able to find a standard red shirt here somewhere. (He would have found it hilarious to attempt stealing the turtleneck that the Sans in this timeline wore, but he wrinkled his nose at the thought of that smoky mustard smell. Eurgh.)

The portal opened in the floor of one of those shops which in the original, better timeline had been exclusively selling pastries, but in this timeline bought and sold pretty much anything. He lowered the portal so he could lean up into it, making only the top of his skull and his eyesockets visible above ground like a crocodile’s eyes above water, and moved the portal so he could look around.

A-ha! There was a clothing rack, among a mass of clutter and other precariously stacked things. And good timing too, because there was no shop owner in sight, and he wouldn’t have to strain himself much to get to the rack. With another shift of his hand, he moved the portal over, leaning his skull to the side to avoid touching the edges of it – he knew from experience how bad that could be.

Reaching up, careful not to move too much, he grabbed onto the metal frame and brought it a little closer.

Oh.

The shirts and jackets on the rack were out of reach.

Sitting up straighter, he shook his head. That didn’t matter! The portal was big enough that he could just tilt it down, swipe something off of it and then close it up quickly before anybody noticed. Satisfied with this plan, he took hold of the place where the frame connected to the wheels it had and pulled on it-

“ow-!” The whole bastard thing tipped over from the momentum and the wheels of it bashed into his shoulders. Sharp spikes of pain shot up his chest from the movement, and he grabbed onto the frame to try and lift it, severely underestimating how heavy it was going to be. Panicking, he tried to grab it with his strings and lift, but froze when he realised he could hear voices approaching – from inside the portal and out.

“Jerry? Izzat you, dickhead? This is the last goddamn time I catch your sorry ass sneakin’ round my shop, ya little-”

Error frantically tried to move his skull out of the portal. The rack wobbled dangerously and he watched in horror as everything stacked atop those rickety shelves in the shop above him began to tip. The indistinct voices coming from outside the portal began to seem a little clearer.

“…just don’t know if we can trust him, and…”

No. No no no no no.

This was not happening-

Error shoved harder at the metal on his shoulders.

“…Dream, I really think if you just talk to him…” Ink was using a calm, cajoling tone of voice which was steadily getting louder as he got closer, and a door clicked open. “Besides it’s not like he can do anything right now! He’s practically…”

The sound of footsteps stopped. Error gave one last pathetic tug on the ends of the rack, and suddenly a billion things tipped through the portal all at once. He yelped, putting his hands out in front of his face-

Ink, again demonstrating his ability to move faster than you could blink and twice as silently, was holding onto the end of the rack, preventing it from careening straight into what remained of Error’s ribcage. He stared down at Error, who could not meet his gaze, staring at the wall instead, cheeks burning.

“…helpless.” Ink finished, slowly, before making a little sound of exertion as he shoved the entire rack back into the portal. Error snapped the portal shut (trying and failing not to wonder just how much stronger Ink was than he looked).

There was an audible crack that had Error snapping his head up to look at Ink as Ink bared his teeth at Dream and Blue standing in the doorway in poor imitation of a smile. “Why don’t you two wait outside? I hear there’s a very lovely water dispenser right down the hall that has plastic cups and everything.”

Error flicked his gaze to Dream, who blinked at Ink, despite Blue’s gloved hands already gently trying to steer him out of the room. “Wha-”

Ink paced over, frogmarched Dream out into the hall (“Buh-bye!”) and slammed the door shut, breathing heavily.

There was silence for a few beats, and Error was about to say something, but Ink beat him to it. “Could you not,” Ink began calmly. “have just waited until we got back?”

“i-i wasn’t about-t to let dream-m see my ribs.” Error muttered. Sullen.

“Like he hasn’t been seeing you shirtless for the past several days you’ve been unconscious.” Ink snapped, pinching the space between his brows. “Dream already thinks you’re planning to kill everyone in their sleep, could you try not to make it worse for five minutes?”

Hmm. Might be quite cathartic actually. For a brief but sweet seven seconds, Error pictured jerking Dream awake by the soul-strings, slamming him against the wall several times and then swapping that wall for a giant metal mace. “h-he’s aware i can’t stand up right now?”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a threat in his eyes.” Ink jabbed a finger underneath his own left eyesocket, trailing it down to mirror how Error’s tear-tracks ran down his cheekbones. “Also, could you not threaten Blue when you know he’s only trying to help you? I know you think Dream’s some pompous asshole but Blue would never try and hurt you. Lay off him at least.”

“i-i wouldn’t-t actually do anything to him.” Error replied, but he could hear the uncertainty seeping into his tone.

“Uh-huh. If you’re staying with us, Error, that needs to be a definite ‘No I will not repeat that one time I had a mental breakdown in a Judgement Hall and kidnapped a Swap variant for seemingly no reason.’” Ink looked over Error, sighing as he bristled. “I can get you a shirt, hold on.” (Error realised it made much more sense for Blue to be wary of him if Ink had told him about that.)

Ink slid into a puddle of black on the floor, and within a couple minutes reappeared, tossing a standard red shirt at him, just like the one Error had been wearing before. Error suspected, from the faint chemical smell when Ink tossed it at him, that Ink had promptly given up on finding a shirt and just made one instead. Error wasn’t complaining; he finally felt a little less exposed as he eased it over his shoulders.

He also noted, that despite not being able to leave this universe, Ink certainly could still teleport – or whatever you called his weird liquid-shifting thing.

“So-o-o.” Ink tapped his forefinger against his chin. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to get healed.”

“n-not happening.” Error replied, clipped, and Ink frowned.

“Oh come on, Gl- Error.” Ink looked pained as he corrected himself from the affectionate nickname, rueful blue filling his eyesockets, and Error felt a sting of hurt that he tried to push down. “You realise it’s not just you you’re screwing over if you refuse our help? I haven’t left this universe in nearly a week and a half! The only time I did leave was to get you back from the Anti-Void after you decided to run off!”

“t-t-then take your-r mark off my soul-l. i-if you can-n put it there, you can-n take it off.” Error insisted, and Ink let out a low, scratchy, frustrated sound, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyesockets shut.

“I can’t do that. I don’t know how I even put it there in the first place.” 

“t-then let me t-t-try.” Scowling, Error placed his hand before his chest until his unenthusiastic shard of a soul reappeared. Ink was suddenly very still as Error put his hand over it. He traced the edges of where Ink’s magic was splashed across, and Error was suddenly struck by just how much it resembled black blood against the sharp, fractured cracks. Error took the vee of the bottom of his soul between his fingers, and gently, experimentally pinched, as if he could drag it off like loose skin.

The humming of Ink’s magic twinged, warningly (“Error.”), but Error refused to let the pain show on his face. He pressed harder, and felt something weakly shift between his phalanges (“Error, stop.”). He cupped his whole soul in his palm and pressed three different fingers into different spots of Ink’s magic, biting his teeth together as the ache ramped up into something hot and unbearable-

“Error!” Ink’s hand grabbed at his wrist, making Error yelp as he forced it away from his soul, and then with careful, curved fingers Ink snatched up Error’s soul, too, cupping it to his own chest like it belonged to him instead.

“g-get the f- d-d-don’t touch-ch me, assh0le.” Error yanked his wrist from Ink’s grip with a firm tug, scowling and wringing his hand, eyelights locked on where his soul was glowing against Ink’s palm. “and gimme that-t back.”

“Stop trying to hurt yourself, then.” Ink scowled. There was an edge of discomfort to his expression and voice that made absolutely no sense to Error – Ink didn’t react like that to people being in pain. Maybe since it was his magic, Ink had felt something? But again, through Error’s vast knowledge of souls, that should be impossible. None of this made any sense.

Ink sat back on the plastic chair; hands still clasped around Error’s soul. They looked at each other in silence, and Ink opened his mouth to say something several times before closing it again.

“t-the timeline.”

“Huh?” Ink blinked. “What about it?”

“i-is it… h-how bad is the-e damage?”

“…Bad.” Ink grimaced. “It’s hard to tell right now though. A lot of it’s still on fire, and technically me, you and Reaper are the only ones who have been there in its current state without suffering irreparable damaged code or whatever.”

“w-were we there-e after the explosion?”

“Yyyyup.” Ink was nonchalant, like this wasn’t information that should’ve been told to Error a lot sooner. “I didn’t- I didn’t really know what to do, so I just kind of stayed there, kept watch, until Reaper came. And then I took you here.”

“why.” Error finally asked. “why-y bring me here at all-l. why didn’t you just-t leave me there.” Error scrumpled his fingers, closing them tightly over the mattress. “y-you’re acting like-e this is just-t- just another-r inconvenience for you. i-it doesn’t have to be.”

“It does.” Ink replied. His eyelights flicked down to the glowing sliver of soul left in his fingertips. “The faster you heal, the faster I get to go where I want, when I want, alone.” But he didn’t look at Error as he said it.  

The next few moments were more charged silence until Ink coughed. “Do you… want me to get you some bandages?”

Error wanted to laugh. Bandages. On a wound like his, which needed attended by an actual Healer, it would be like putting a band aid on a bullet wound. Bandages would do nothing for the massive hole in his chest. But Ink - who was now talking to him, at least - was looking at him, a little hopeful and a little desperate. And so, Error heaved a long sigh which made his ribs hurt, and nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, and Error was considering asking Ink to knock him over the skull with his paintbrush just to give him a relief from the discomfort. His soul was now safely back in his chest as he’d promised Ink he wouldn’t do anything again, but now his ribs were being touched, too, a fresh kind of torture.

Ink was knelt across from him on the bed: close enough that he could reach Error’s chest, shirt rucked up, by fully extending his arms, which he did, but also far away enough that Error didn’t feel that their legs would accidentally brush or their chests bump. He could tolerate the pressure of Ink’s fingers if Ink warned him beforehand and he could brace for it. Ink was gentle, his phalanges barely skimming the exposed stumps of Error’s ruined ribs, and Error hated that Ink had definitely learned how not to trigger his glitches from all the time they’d spent in that cavern.

The stupid fucking cavern.

Ink had bandages looped over his wrists and spilling down in a soft white coil over the mattress, a look of intent focus on his face. The case for the bandages was at his side, along with some sort of green healing ointment neither of them had any idea how to apply. He’d asked Error if Dream could oversee this, make sure Ink was bandaging him correctly, but Error had again refused. He didn’t want Dream to be privy to any of the emotions he was feeling right now. Besides, the whole ordeal was humiliating enough in front of Ink: Ink, who’d had all his fingers broken and barely winced about it.

The sharp clap of pain every time Ink tightened a bandage snugly against his ribcage made Error suck in a breath at best – at worst, it had him flinching, rearing backwards, levelling Ink with a glare even though he was trying to help, and taking at least half a minute to calm down before Ink could continue.

This mostly went in silence, both of them clearly mulling over the previous conversation they’d just had in their heads, but when Ink started reaching above and under to fasten a strip of white over the centre of the wound, Error’s eyes widened, then shut, his body fizzling agitatedly with glitches. He opened his eyes again, struggling not to say anything, but the way he tensed desperately beneath Ink’s touch made the other skeleton draw back.

“We can stop for now, if you want.” Ink offered, tilting his head. His face in the last few minutes had smoothed itself out, removing any emotion that wasn’t ‘passive happiness’ from it, but his eyelights were the tell that he was still turning things over in his mind. They varied from stormclouds and lightning bolts to hot pink hearts and deep blue stars and other things that he blinked away too quickly for Error to get a good look at.

“n-no.” Error forced himself to say, tearing his gaze away from Ink’s colourful eyesockets. “k-keep going.”

Ink’s brows lifted, in an ‘are you sure?’ way, but he picked up the loose end of the bandage again and looped it over Error’s collarbone.

“i-ink?”

“Yes, Error?” Ink asked, ripping off enough bandage to mummify him, and then ripping off a smaller part when he realised that.

“w-why did you take-e me here?”

Ink sighed. “You know why. You’re hurt. The first principle of the Star Sanses is that we help people who’re hurt.”

“oh, because you care about principles so much?” Error scoffed. “i-i could hurt everyone else here. i could d-do what i did-d in the timeline-e again.”

“You wouldn’t.” Ink said, but he didn’t sound sure.

“w-why the fuck not.” Error responded, flatly, his ribs burning, smarting, aching under Ink’s careful touch. “y-you of all people-e should kn-ow i don’t let this stuff-f hinder me.”

“I would stop you.” Ink tugged the bandage a little harder than was necessary, making Error wince. Error didn’t care, though; suddenly he wanted to see Ink’s placid smile slip out of place, see anger spark in those flashing eyes.

“i,” He began. “c-c-could kill blue. before-e you even had-d the chance to stop-p me. his hp’s not t-that high, is it?” Error tilted his head, a mean ingenuine grin spreading across his face. “h-he wouldn’t be able to st0p me if-”

“Stop.” Ink snapped, finally, pulling back to level Error with an angry red glare. “Stop talking like that. Whatever risk level you think you are, trust me, I’ve already thought of it a million times. I know what I’m getting myself into here.”

Error’s eyes narrowed. “n-n-no you don’t.” He twitched backwards when Ink’s hand reached out with another bandage, swatting it away. “you think-k that just-t because i d-didn’t do anything for a few days- that i’m-m capable of being b-better. i- what h-happened in the timeline wasn’t me, o-0kay? i-i-i wasn’t myself.”

Ink stared for a long moment. Then, he spoke again, voice tinged with some kind of irony. “I should be saying that to you.” Ink’s mouth thinned before he continued. “Most of the time I was with you, I was just a better version of me, wasn’t I? The perfect thing to mould into whatever you wanted, right? Yes, Error, no, Error, three bags full, Error.” Ink tore off another strip of bandage aggressively. “Come here.”

“i-it wasn’t like that.” Error replied, but now he was less sure. Ink’s thumb skittered across his collarbone as he fumbled inexpertly with the bandage and Error hissed.

“Wasn’t it?” Ink laughed, a cruel sound, eyes fixed on Error’s chest as they flashed amber. “We trekked all the way across the Timeline because you wanted to, you didn’t even tell me why. I followed you around like a lost puppy because I didn’t. Know. Who. I. Was.” Ink punctuated every word with a sharp tug on the bandage, tightening it, and Error imagined it going further, bending his ribs into a concave ugly mess, creating the tight thickness that was rising up into his throat at Ink’s words.

“That’s the version of me you want. The one who didn’t know who you were, not really. The one who only saw the good and agreed with you on everything.” Ink’s voice rose and rose. “It didn’t even have to be me. You just wanted somebody to make you forget who you were- who you are.” Ink punctuated this with a shrug, clearly meant to be a carefree gesture, but it came off stiff and rigid, a jerk of his shoulders like Ink was a badly-strung puppet.

Error was angry now – angry because of the pain in his chest, angry at Ink’s assumptions, angry at himself that he’d made Ink think that. “why-y the fuck,” He began, voice dangerously light. “would i-i tell you things about-t yourself if i wanted-d to stop you remembering?”

Another robotic shrug, as Ink finished the bandage and leant back. “Maybe you got bored of me being a naive, idiotic-”

“stop trying to tell me how i feel, shithead.” Error sat up, shoulders rising, eyesockets narrowing. “i-if i was really only-y sticking around because i didn’t-t want the real you, w-w-why wouldn’t-t i have upped and left-t when we got to the cavern?”

Ink was silent.

“w-w-well, asshole?” Error asked, louder, harsher, pressing on the point of weakness. “i thought-t you had allllll the answers.”

“I-I don’t know.” Ink admitted in a harsh exhale of breath. “I was so upset when…” Ink trailed off, clearly remembering the break of voices and the tense silences and the sobbed apologies he’d offered back then. “Why didn’t you get me my vials?” He asked, quiet.

“i-i didn’t-t know how.” The truth. Error knew it had something to do with the Doodlesphere, but he didn’t know how to access that without Ink’s portal, and Ink had seemed far beyond attempting something like that at that point anyways.

“You didn’t even try.” Ink burst out. “I kept thinking you were doing these horrible things, I was scared, Error, and you didn’t even try one portal.”

“because-e i didn’t-t want to leave you.” Error replied, fingers fisting in the duvet, voice small and exasperated and tired. “i didn’t want it to end.”

Ink was quiet for a little bit, fumbling aimlessly with the bandages beside him on the bed, shifting them in white loops in their plastic case. Then he spoke:

“You’re a dick.”

Error barked out a laugh when Ink said it, making a sharp bolt of pain travel up his spine and linger in his chest. Ink’s grim expression showed the ghost of a smile. “a-ahuh.”

“No, I really mean it.” Ink insisted. “You are a massive dick. Nightmare-levels of dickery.”

“t-that’s a bit far. i-i don’t have a statue-e of myself carved-d out.”

Ink made a ‘snrk’ noise. “Of course he does. I’d forgotten about that.”

…Error’s brows drew together as he looked askance.

“…i-i’m sorry, ink.”

“Wow!” Ink pressed his hands to his face in mock-awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those words! Next to each other! Can I get it again, real loud and clear, so I know I’m not hallucinating?”

“ink.”

Ink’s smile dropped, the stars in his eyes spinning away into earnest circles and squares as he sighed. “I… I know, Error.” He eyed him warily. “I’m still mad at you, by the way.”

“i gathered-d.”

“It’d be a lot easier to be mad at you if you wouldn’t literally die if I left to go kick some rocks around in another universe or something.”

Error pushed down the part of himself that wanted to tell Ink to just leave, regardless of the consequences it might have on himself, and nodded. Understanding, but silent, as he had no idea how to make it better.

…Maybe there wasn’t any way to make it better, not yet.

“You can put your shirt down now.” Ink informed him, before hopping off of his bed, taking the white plastic case with him.

“t-thanks.” Error said, gruff and quiet, as he pulled it down. He watched as Ink made his way to the door. “w-w-where are you going?”

Ink tilted his head at him. “To reassure Dreamboat you didn’t try to kill me.” He told him. “And to get chocolate, if I’m feeling generous. You need your HP up.”

Error stared at the door long after Ink had vanished through it, his fingers tracing the white-hot lines Ink’s own had made across his ribs through the bandages. For a while, sitting up in that bed, his chest hurt a lot less.

“You’ll need to tell me what happened eventually.” Core said, fists on hips, their tiny height succeeded greatly by how vastly annoying they were being right now.

Three days after Ink had applied his bandages, Error was still mostly constrained to the bed he’d been put in. Time passed in a bleary haze of sleep and talking to Ink and then more sleep, and Error honestly had no motivation to wander beyond the room he had been put in. It was probably for the best that nobody had to see him anyway; in most AUs, the Destroyer was not a welcome sight, and Error figured it would be the same case in this one.

Dream had still not spoken to him, but Blue and Core appeared in various little intervals. Blue was still extremely nervous about him, that Error could tell, but still his optimism and pure goodness shone through as he brought Error things. First, a sewing needle (“BECAUSE I ASSUMED YOU’D WANT SOMETHING WITH STRING, RIGHT?”) then knitting needles, then crochet, and peppered in between were Blue’s attempts at small talk which Error steadfastly refused to engage in.

He did accept the other things, though. He’d missed knitting.

Core, on the other hand, made no such attempt to coddle him or mollify him like Blue did; their arrivals were unexpected – Error suspected they timed them for when he was groggy with pain and sleep – and they questioned him mercilessly. The annoying thing about Core’s natural existence was that they saw everything as long as they were hidden in scripts, and so when talking to Ink Error had to be careful to only extremely vaguely reference what had happened in the cavern. Ink still shied away from the topic, shutting it down with a simple change of subject or feigned distraction, and Error couldn’t push him on it. Honestly, after what he’d done, Error was just unbelievably grateful Ink still talked to him.

perks of almost dying, i guess. Error thought glumly. forced proximity leads to eventual resolution.

Core clearly knew that they’d missed something between Error and Ink, and that seemed to make them frustrated beyond all belief. So, again, they were standing next to his bed, looking down at him, as Error shoved his face in his pillow.

“f-fuck off, you little-e idiot, it is too early in the goddamn morning-g for this.” Error groaned, muffled, lifting one hand to flip them off, then wincing in pain as his chest shifted. He could forget about the pain sometimes, and then he would move too quickly or too sharply and it would be like somebody had picked up the knitting needles beside his bed and knitted his ribs into a jumbled, stinging mess.

“It’s 1PM.”

“y-you aren’t-t suffering from chronic chest pain-n.” Error snapped, turning his head to glare at them. “a-and that chest pain is telling me it’s three i-i-in the morning.”

“You’d have less pain if you let us get a real Healer in here.” Core retorted. “Instead of letting Ink put bandages on incorrectly because he doesn’t know how to do this stuff as some sort of penance and then wallowing.”

“i-i’m recovering, fuckhead.” Error corrected, bristling, glitches buzzing around him as he turned over to avoid Core’s piercing black stare, pulling the duvet over his head.

“You can do both.” Core responded, their voice moving around the room before it settled next to his bedside again, and he heard the telltale creak of somebody’s weight in the plastic chair.

Error groaned again. Core seemed impossible to get rid of. Intimidation? Worked on Blue like a charm, didn’t work on them. Being an asshole? Barely worked on Ink at the best of times. Demonstrating that he could cause them a lot of pain? They barely batted an eyelash at that. This was a kid who faced things that could hurt them every single day, and they were unphased by most of the things Error tried to throw at them.

“Why is Ink mad at you?” They persisted, again, and Error lifted himself from his pillow, duvet still over his head, glaring at them tiredly.

Core giggled. “The infamous Destroyer. Those who look upon his blanketed form quiver in fear.”

“d-do you ever shut up?” Error questioned.

“Only when it’s convenient.” Core tapped their fingers on the edge of the seat. “Did you and Ink get into a fight in the Timeline?”

“w-why the hell are you so interested-d?”

“Because Ink’s upset and he won’t tell me why - and you definitely have something to do with it.”

Error responded by putting the covers back over his head and refusing to resurface until he fell asleep again.

Ink kept checking in on his soul.

It hadn’t changed much since they’d originally looked at it together: a splat of ink on its clear white static surface, its edges jagged and chipped, the cracks running through it patched by black. Soul-sharing, an act Error had previously thought to be incredibly intimate, became almost second nature for him to show to Ink. Error had handled lots and lots of souls across his reign, it had become second nature to him, but Ink was the first being in years who he willingly showed his soul to.

“You know,” Ink commented, as he brought Error’s soul close to his face, “It looks a bit like kintsugi.”

“kiwhat?” Error looked up from where he was losing the battle with his knitting – he didn’t have his glasses on, and while he was still near-sighted, the fact that he had to focus quite particularly hard on this was making his vision go a little weird.

“Kintsugi.” Ink repeated, handing Error his soul back. “It’s a practice where you fix a broken vase or bowl or something and fill the cracks in with gold.” Ink paused, frowning consideringly. “I think that the point of it is not to hide the history of the broken stuff, but highlight it. Make it beautiful for having been broken.”

Error snorted, staring at the broken, ugly scrap of soul that barely glowed as he hid it safely behind his ribcage again. “w-w-when did you start getting-g philosophical, squid?”

Ink shrugged, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, shoulders lifting at the familiar nickname, and Error's smile slipped off his face. “I have a lot of free time on my hands now.”

Error knew that this was not strictly true. While Ink didn’t speak to him about it, Error could hear his and Dream’s arguments, faraway and muffled but never remotely friendly. Error knew that this was a subject Ink was dancing around, how Error was not wanted here by at least one person. He asked Ink why Dream didn’t ever come near him – not that Error actually wanted him to, of course. And Ink had grimaced.

“Dream is, uh. In the loosest sense, he’s a mind-reader when it comes to dreams.” Ink swiped his paintbrush over the page. “The closer he is to the dreaming person, the more intensely he experiences it like it’s his own. And none of your dreams have been pleasant, apparently, so he’s keeping away and making himself useful.”

“u-useful?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Another infuriating non-answer Ink gave him often.

But through their conversations, Error learned a few simple things: that the universe they were in was MVA, Multi-Versal-Aware, (“Coined by moi!” Ink had beamed) and so people – survivors – from the Omega Timeline were being held in it as well. According to Ink, it was only a small group of outsiders, though – most of the people from the Omega Timeline were scattered across different universes to avoid suspicion or another attack from Nightmare.

Error couldn’t help run through his head all the people he’d talked to in the Timeline, how so many of them had treated him kindly, kindness he didn’t deserve. The good food and the talking and the arguments and insults. The thought of those people dead made something prickle uncomfortably in his bones, but Error forced himself to push it away. abominations, he soothed himself. mistakes.

He also knew that Nightmare had not been sighted since the fight, as far as the Star Sanses knew, and ‘had probably ran off to lick his wounds’ as Ink put it. Error suspected that the things Ink relayed to him were not always reliably narrated, as Error was the one bed-ridden with a hole in his chest, but Ink barely addressed this.

He knew it frustrated him – Error’s lack of willingness to get better, to even leave his bed sometimes – it hurt too much, he tired too quickly, there was no real point if he couldn’t actually leave. He had caught Ink stress-pacing down the hallway outside Error’s room several times now, like an animal about to start tearing out its own fur.

But instead of this, Ink determinedly distracted himself. He painted more things, more creatures, anatomical and biology books open on his lap, pink and green and red neat-coloured drawings of certain features. None of the things he made lasted more than a few hours, but Ink tried anyways: butterflies, spiders (surprisingly entertaining to watch when they weren’t staying still) a cat, a dog. The cat and dog were black as ink and behaved sort of like the liquid too, trailing it all over the floor and the bedsheets when the kitten jumped up, curled up, and seeped back into ink.

Ink made him a window so he could see out into the Wintertale Snowdin – which was mostly covered half the time in gritty ice and slush, defeating the point a little. But Error did like watching the residents go about their business from his room – for a while, he could forget about how much it hurt to move, how uncertain he was, how every day he could feel himself draining a little. For a while, all he would see was a rabbit and her brother on a leash, leaving tiny, shallow pawprints in deep, soft snow.

Sometimes talking to Ink had that same effect. Ink still hadn't brought up the kiss(es) and Error didn't want to try - not after being shut down so thoroughly the last time. Ink behaved like a spider in a cosy corner when it came to these things; he didn't move when gently encouraged, you had to poke and prod until he shot out the gate with it, spitting the words out like poison. Their conversations were drifty and mostly one-sided as Error tried to keep it up, but Ink sometimes just sat, not talking, and Error let him, even though it hurt.

He thought that, somehow, if he said all the right things one day, didn't raise his voice, kept his disturbing distorted noises to a minimum somehow, that Ink would stop frowning and looking at him disbelievingly, angrily, with those deep blue and bright crimson eyelights. But Error was learning, slowly but surely, that even if you worked for forgiveness, you weren't owed it. 

Error just had to wait. Luckily, as Ink said: he had plenty of free time.

Sleep was a strange thing for Error recently. He liked it, it was an occasional break from the ache in his chest and the disappointment on Ink’s face, a reason not to be doing anything. He loathed it, he was tormented by nightmares which chewed him up and spat him out worse for wear. It was then he was especially grateful for the things Blue had brought him, because sometimes there were instances when the last thing he wanted to do was be asleep.

But then there were the good dreams – or worse ones, Error wasn’t sure. The ones where Ink talked, laughed, sunny yellow eyelights flicking up to him. The ones where he touched Error casually, fingers on his arm, hip to Error’s hip, shoulder to shoulder. Even then, it felt like everything and nothing all at once, the physical contact like a million doors slamming open, but also simple and easy. Error never glitched in the good dreams.

But sometimes – oh, sometimes – Ink would put a charcoal-kissed hand on Error’s clavicle, smile coy like he did back then, and push his toes into the ground to press his mouth to Error’s. Sometimes Error pushed him away. Sometimes Error kissed him back, pushed his hands underneath Ink’s scarf to feel the warmth of his neck, his sharp shoulderblades that stuck out, knife-like, underneath Error’s hands. Whatever he did, it all ended the same way: Error sitting up straight, cheeks burning, a mixture of guilt and longing pulsing along with Ink’s magic in his soul.

He wondered if Ink dreamt like that too. He wondered if Ink dreamt of anything at all.

Now, Error dreamt of Ink in the cavern, hollows beneath his eyesockets, a little smile on his face. Ink didn’t wear the expression of emotional exhaustion like he had back then – instead, he looked pleasantly tired, black hoodie swamping him, eyes looking very big and bright in the dark triangle the hood cast around his face. When he leant into Error, he smelt of acrylic paint and sea salt and fresh air-

“Wake up, Error.”

Ink’s voice, his real voice, sharp and frantic as a weapon held shakily to somebody’s throat, jarred Error out of his sleep. He hadn’t heard a note as frantic as that in anybody’s words until now, and when he opened his eyes, Ink was leant halfway over him, hands waving in front of his face. Error jerked back, instinctually, shooting Ink a confused look, but-

Ink wasn’t looking at him. Ink’s eyelights were glued to the monochrome figure in the corner, who simply looked at them both, expression newly unreadable.

“w-what the fuck is going on?” Error snapped, glaring at Core, at Ink, hating their silent standoff. He already felt uneasy, a mortified flush creeping up his cheekbones from the dream, shame coming in an unpleasant prickle on the back of his neck. He was still half-asleep, eyes refusing to fully open, everything seeming just a little bit too bright.

Core looked at him, and it was only then – too late – that Error understood. Scrambling for something to say, eyes wide, Error opened his mouth.

But Core got there first.

“You kissed him, didn’t you?”

Thankfully, Error was spared the immediate, ugly aftermath of these words by his first crash in a full week.

 And, for its timing, he almost welcomed it.

Chapter Text

Error was getting pretty fucking sick of giving people reasons to cry, to be honest.

Maybe the old him would have been delighted that the three members of the group that threatened his end goal – his purpose – were arguing like children over his head. Maybe he would have mocked the caught, half-breaths of choked-down sobs, maybe he would have scoffed and left them all to it, maybe he would have brought it up in fights afterward, another little bargaining chip that he’d benefit from whilst smashing one of their skulls in.

But now? Now, Error just stared straight ahead at the wall. It was… strange. He was hearing things, but he wasn’t hearing them. Even if he consciously tried to listen to what was going on around him, it kind of filtered and faded away. Trying to keep track of the conversation was like trying to keep sand from slipping through his fingers.

Ink was standing closest to him, a fact Error took a little comfort from, and his body language could best be described as a two-sided coin – his eyelights would soften, his hands out beseechingly, his smile timid and faintly pleading, and then something would happen, one of the others would say something, and his mouth turned downwards, and he’d press closer to Error’s side until they nearly touched or pull sharply away, cheeks flushing rainbow overcast with angry crimson. Error wasn’t sure which was worse.

Dream made lots of gestures, his finger jabbing at Ink every time he wanted to make a point, his eyes narrowed. Anything offensive about the sharp tone he was using was quickly overtaken by the aching, painful concern that he wore like an embarrassing tattoo, softening the rigid frowning until his eyes were wet, swimming with gold. His scarf was polka-dot tearstains, dark little patches on the sunny fabric. He barely looked at Error, but each time he did the concern didn’t change; it stayed just the same, making Error wonder why on earth he bothered at all when it caused him so much obvious hurt.

And, the voice of reason, the middleman, Blue stood in between them, trying to talk something down, his teeth curved unhappily into an upside-down bean shape as Ink and Dream’s conversation became more and more of a spat. Occasionally he looked at Error as if begging for help, but Error only saw this in his peripheral vision, and kept his eyes on the whitewashed wall, flat and unobservant as he felt right now.

Core, oddly enough, was out of sight, probably spectating. Error couldn’t be bothered to check. He felt oddly detached from it all, even though he could see mouths making the name ‘Error’ he couldn’t hear it, and his skull thumped like a rattly cabinet upstairs from a bass-thumping nightclub from the reboot. Stars, he hadn’t had a reboot that bad since-

There was a sudden tapping on the bed next to him and Error flinched, hands uncurling from where they were in the bedsheets to instinctively swat away whatever or whoever was so close to his thigh. Looking upwards, he saw Ink, hand outstretched, looking at him expectantly. Fuck. What the hell was going on? Ink’s mouth moved, and he tried to follow it.

But his head really was pounding. He hadn’t had a reboot that bad since the kiss, his system trying over and over again to kickstart and hitting a bump in the road every time. That awful limbo of not-consciousness but not-unconsciousness where he could sense things, vaguely, just enough to know he was in pain and the situation was bad (which, honestly, it usually was, if he’d crashed.)

“-with me?” Ink finished, staring at Error almost desperately. Error stared back, trying to force the cogs of his mind to work and figure out what the hell Ink was actually saying, why it’d all drowned out, but before that another voice cut in hastily, loud and objectionable enough that Error couldn’t not hear it, not even with the weird fogginess settling over him.

“No, that’s not happening.” Dream snapped, and Ink’s head turned reluctantly, grin morphing into a grimace. “Ink, please. We just got you back, the last thing we need is-”

“Error!” Ink addressed him again. He beamed, a big happy exaggeration of a smile. “Me,” He pointed to himself. “You,” he pointed to Error, “Anti-Void.” In a sloooow, simple voice, but the actual implications made Error’s soulbeat quicken.

“d-d0n’t patronise m-me.” Error muttered. “prick.” He got to his feet, despite this, and the way Ink’s eyelights nearly tripled in size almost made him start backwards. Dream looked at them both, eyes full of… something. Not hatred: Dream couldn’t even look hateful when his brother was caving his ribcage in. Error noticed the fold of his arms across his ribs, how they shifted away from a certain area on his chest.

“That’s right, Ink.” Dream said, voice soft. “Run away from it all like you always-”

“Shut up!” Ink shouted. “I don’t want to talk about it to you right now- I just need some time to work things out, okay?”

“WHEN WILL YOU BE BACK?” All heads turned to Blue as he asked, and Ink groaned, pressing a palm against his cheek.

“Don’t know,” Ink muttered, coolly. “Sometime.”

“Core will just follow you anyway.” Dream said, and Ink’s eyesocket twitched just a fraction. “Ink, help me understand. Explain, please, and maybe we can actually get somewhere.”

Ink didn’t reply. He raised the brush where it was discarded at his feet and painted a portal with one careless flick, putting one foot in before looking back to see if Error was following. Maybe if Error was a better person, he would’ve refused, talked Ink out of this, the obvious avoidance of conflict which definitely needed to be talked out before anybody could do anything.

Instead, Error stepped into the portal.

The sweet relief of the Anti-Void’s utter nothingness almost numbed the pain of movement for Error, and he sighed, eyes training on his beanbag in the distance. Ink must’ve had this spot memorised, otherwise they would just be sitting in the infinite white somewhere totally random, and Error could definitely see some of his stuff. Error didn’t have much time to dwell on where they were, though, because-

Long time no see, buddy!

                                                                    You’ve been busy, huh, Glitchface?

Sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich

                                                                                                                      We thought you were dead ngl

                                   Ink’s here!!!!! Hiii Ink!!!!! ^-^

                                                                                        Why is Ink here??

                                   lmaao

                                                                 DAMNNN you fucked up big time windows vista XD

Error felt his mouth twist into a scowl, glaring at the space above him, resisting the urge to clap his hands over his skull. He’d not missed this, the constant bombardment of a) random gibberish and shit he didn’t understand, b) straight-up insults, and c) terms of endearment, like he actually knew any of these weird fuckers. All in different voices, sometimes in languages he couldn’t understand, but he’d learned to tune that out and focus on anything he could actually pick up. Stars above, though, it was completely overwhelming after spending weeks without having to properly deal with it, and especially migraine-inducing after a reboot like the last one.

“a-all of you can-n kick r-rocks.” He spat, and Ink’s skull snapped up so quickly it was a little scary. His eyes were wide.

“Are they talking to you right now?” Ink asked. There was something in the way he said ‘they’ that made him vaguely uncomfortable – reverent, worshipful, like how a God’s pronouns capitalised into His – They. Error could hear the capital T in his voice.

“y-yeah.” Error replied, uneasy, voice glitching upwards in pitch for a moment before settling. “they always talk to-o me.”

“S’not fair.” Ink muttered, barely audible but for the total bitter resentment, and Error frowned.

“what’re you-”

“What are they saying?” Ink cut him off, and Error genuinely wanted to slap the impatient fucking arrogance off of his face. He’d never realised how much Ink did that before – completely stopped him from finishing a sentence because he thought what he had to say was of so much importance it couldn’t wait, not even for a moment. This feeling, unfortunately, made Error’s next words come out much more hostile.

“random-m shit.” Error crossed his hands over his chest, ignoring the near-painful sensitivity. “they-y don’t m-make sense half the t-time.”

“Are they talking about me?” Ink looked so hopeful it made something in Error twinge.

“a-a little.” Error took a step forward, trying to read Ink’s wild-eyed expression. “i-ink, what the fuck is going 0n?”

Ink’s shoulders slumped, then came up again defensively after a moment, a determined look in his eyes. “You know… I’m the Protector, right?”

Error squinted, confused. “…yes?”

“I’m supposed to know how it all goes. Scripts, stories, they all play out the way the Creators want them to, and I stand there and watch it all happen, right?” Ink said again. Error nodded, feeling like Ink wasn’t quite aware of his surroundings at all. “Even if they’re bad. Especially if they’re bad.”

“e-especially? isn’t it all the-e same to you anyway?”

Ink shook his head, bringing his hands up to touch his own face. “I… I have to work extra hard to make sure those ones play out as intended. Because guys like you and Dream think it’s a bad thing, right? Making all those people suffer? But they’re not really people, are they?”

“j-just because-e they’re not outcodes-”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“just because,” If Error got interrupted one more time… “they don’t-t travel the whole multiverse and aren’t-t hyper-aware of the fact that they are-e-e a tiny inconsequential speck in the grand-d scheme of things doesn’t-t mean they don’t suffer. it doesn’t-t mean they aren’t real.”

“Who’re you to talk about suffering?” Ink snapped. “Don’t act like you’re any better than I am. Abominations,” Ink pitched his voice deep, mocking him. “Blips on the radar.”

“f-first of all: i d-do not sound like that.” Error sniffed. “s-second of all-”

“You’re not any better than me just because you destroy some bad universes.” Ink folded his arms across his chest. “You just keep telling yourself that they’re not real because you’d off yourself if you actually-”

“s-shut up.” Error snapped. The sudden sharp coldness in Ink’s tone slid its icy blade against Error’s throat, and he stared at him, genuinely hurt. “i-i’m more-e real than they are, at-t any rate. i m-make my own decisions, i-i don’t just follow a fucking-g script. you might as-s well be, though.”

Ink’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

Error laughed. Not kindly. “y-you’re only freaking o-out right now because-e this isn’t following your shitty n-narrative! when you get-t reminded t-t-that you’re just-t as useless and powerless as the rest of us.”

Ink’s mouth formed a thin line. He suddenly looked very small, worn-out, like a spindly, dusty puppet Error had forgotten about. “I’m not- I’m not like you.” He said.

“oh, really?” Error cackled, face aching from how far his smile stretched across it. “atleast every-one knows-s-s i’m-m crazy. but y-you’re just as bad as me! you m-might be their favourite toy-y right now-” Error pulled #14 down the ceiling, squeezing the puppet in his fist for emphasis, “b-but you’re delusional-l if you think-k they won’t move on once you-u slip up and-d stop being their-r favourite class suck-up.” Error untangled the puppet from his strings and let it drop to the floor.

#14 gave him a mournful look, and Error noticed the stuffing leaking out the side of his soft cloth head. Oops. Ink’s eyes fixed on the puppet before they flicked back up to Error, and he stepped closer, narrowly avoiding squashing the flimsy doll beneath his foot.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!” Spat Ink, his eyes wide, eyelights flashing angry, arterial red and pale, cowering blue. “This isn’t- none of this was supposed to happen! The Protector,”  He emphasised, pushing a finger into his own chest, “is the important one. They need me, I’m still useful, they wouldn’t have put me through all that for nothing!”

“t-they would, and they did.” Error said. “anything that entertains-s them.”

“No,” Ink shook his head frantically. “No, no, no, I was so careful, I did everything I was supposed to, this wasn’t supposed to happen to me again-!”

Ink suddenly broke off with another little jerk of his head, like a nonverbal oh of realisation as he took in his surroundings – and it was so morbidly intriguing how Error watched the panic set in through his eyelights, first in a crude alarmed cyan exclamation point and a hot orange triangle and then in two startlingly pale lilac ovals, which were darting about, fixed on several things intermittently: the floor, the foggy ceiling, everything bright white and everything not Error.

“o-oh, fuck.” Error realised aloud, feeling like an idiot for not getting it sooner. Ink barely twitched at the sound of his voice, chest rising and falling way too fast. “why-y did i ever let you take me here?”

Ink didn’t respond, curling into himself in that familiar way, except it seemed particularly bad right now. The quickly stretching silence between them allowed the Voices to flood Error’s head with noise once more.

                    Ooooh shit boi!!!1111

                                                                                                                     teaaaa

                                     what the frick guys

                                                                            Dude                                                   The girls are fightingggg

                                                           IM LITERALLY SCREAMING ERROR’S USELESS

                Sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich sandwich

Error just stopped from snapping at the Voices again. He felt like doing that would only make Ink worse, and Ink was already shaking his head at something invisible, eyesockets blown wide. He lasted a little longer on his feet before he crouched, arms wrapped around his knees. His teeth were ever-so-slightly bared, the sharp little suggestion of fangs curving at the corners of his mouth.

Error hesitated. He took a step closer, and Ink’s eyelights flicked up to him for a moment. Error sighed, bit the bullet, and sank to his knees in front of him, hand slightly outstretched. Ink looked at it for a long moment.

Ink launched himself at him so fast he nearly knocked Error backwards onto the floor. Error yelped, feeling Ink’s trembling little body brushing against the sensitive and sore spot on his ribs, as well as the immediate overload of all the fucking contact. He felt desperate little claws digging into his shoulders as Ink pressed into him impossibly closer, despite what must have been a tingling front from all the glitches. Error sucked in a breath, watery and distorted, trying desperately to calm down, the rapid rise and fall of Ink’s ribs against his not helping particularly.

(In the back of Error’s mind, he noted dimly that he felt stronger in all ways but mentally when Ink pressed close like this, the pain ebbing away and his soulbeat strengthening into a steady pace.)

He tried to shift away, gently, but Ink followed him, clung to him, shaking his head into his sternum and pushing his face underneath Error’s shoulder. “Don’t,” Ink croaked, muffled against his shirt. “don’t go, please, don’t leave me here-”

Error – with great effort – pushed down the visceral urge to spear a bone attack (or several) through Ink’s eyesocket. don’t crash, don’t crash, don’t crash, he willed, his eyesockets closing for a moment.

“i-ink.” Error said, near-frantic but trying to sound as reassuring as he could, “you- i-i-i want to help-p you, but you-u need to s-s-stop touching-g me.”

Ink let out a watery sound, half-sniffle half-inhale, and Error felt it, felt it against his ribs, and wanted to scream. “S’not white.” He sounded completely insensate.

“ink.” Error said, unable to let keep the panicky quiver out of his voice this time, and Ink loosened his hold. After several seconds more of agony and his glitches having an avid dilemma over whether to multiply in white flurries of static where Ink touched him or invade his skull, Ink moved away. He was still sitting on Error’s knees uncomfortably, and his eyes started to dart around again. Fuck.

“ink,” He said, gentle as he could, and thank the stars Ink looked up, one eyelight a blue crescent moon, the other a little navy spiral. Error moved his hands in front of him, pushing down his own anger to focus, tapping one finger with another, “w-what colour is my fingertip-p?”

“W-what?” Ink’s breath was a frantic rattle, and Error could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tried to force himself to focus on something not so overwhelming. “I- yellow.”

“yup. an-d what-t about here?” Error moved his finger up. Ink’s eyelights dilated a little as they followed the movement.

“Red.”

“good-d.” Error smiled, wide and exaggerated. “m-my teeth?”

“…Yellow again.”

Tear tracks. “Blue.” Left eyelight. “White.” But Error wasn’t satisfied yet.

“here?” Error prompted, pointing at his right eyesocket, and Ink looked for a little longer, eyes squinting.

“Re- no.” Ink smiled, weak and barely-there, and Error felt something unclench like a fist in his chest at the sight before Ink leaned back to put more of his weight on Error’s knees than his femurs (which was a relief, for more than one reason). “Crimson. Then… gold? N’ navy.”

Error preened a little, glad to have a nice colour comparison for once. He was also happy that Ink could come up with various pretentious shades for colours now, because that meant he was doing something right. Ink blinked a few times, his breathing still a little on the quick side, but it looked like he was waking up or something, the fuzzy bleariness leaving his eyelights, making them sharp and clear in his wide black eyesockets once more.

Ink cleared his throat. Error averted his eyes, both of them suddenly very aware of how close they were, it seemed. Ink scooted backwards, sitting back on the floor a safe way away with a little bump, his cheeks bright with every colour of the rainbow, except with a pinkish tint, something Error hadn’t noticed before. Huh.

“S-sorry.” Ink couldn’t meet his eyes, voice hoarse. “I… didn’t… yeah. That was stupid.”

Error rolled his eyes, confidence bolstered by Ink’s apology. “y-yeah, it was a little-e bit. but-t so was me agreeing to come h-here with you.”

Ink shook his head. “No. I only suggested it because you were barely there when we were talking, I knew you wouldn’t say no.”

“yeah, w-well.” Error basketed his legs, leaning back on his palms, a thousand times more at ease now that Ink wasn’t perched on him anymore.  “the-e calm aspect of the anti-void is a l-little offset by somebody-y having a panic attack-k into your armpit.”

Ink frowned. “That wasn’t a-”

Error raised his eyebrows at him, in a very go on, keep talking, way, and Ink’s mouth clicked shut. Error grinned, smug, and Ink scowled at him.

“I take it back. Your eyelight is schoolbus yellow.” Ink sniffed. “Gold is too good for you.”

“a-huh.” Error replied absently. He let himself look at Ink, really look. “ink, are-e you… alright?”

“Can we watch Undernovela for a bit?” Ink blurted, avoiding the question entirely. However, there was a thin thread of desperation in his voice that stopped Error’s instinctive rebuke. He sighed, and nodded.

“c-c’mon, then.” Error stood and gingerly sat on the beanbag, mindful of his injuries. Ink followed him, tucked himself onto the very corner of it, and Error appreciated the space between them, even though a part of him loathed it. He shook his head as if he could dislodge that thought.

Without further ado, he opened the portal, and Error’s smile widened with glee, soul kicking a happy little pulse against his ribs. The familiarity of this was comforting, shooing away the rest of the uncomfortable prickles from Ink’s unexpected touch, and as well as that – Asgoro was here! Asgoro and Toriel. Hanging out of Asgoro’s slightly-open mouth was the trademark fat cigar, and Toriel was weeping quietly – Error rolled his eyes. He hadn’t missed much, then. There was a bottle of wine on the table between them and a candle, and Error allowed himself to get lost in his favourite escapism for a while.

However, Ink spoke up quickly enough, voice a little hoarse. “Isn’t there any subtitles?”

“what? n0.” Error said, incredulous. “i-it’s a universe-e. not an actual show.”

“Then how do you understand what they’re saying?”

Error paused. Then, sheepishly, he admitted: “i-i’ve never really th0ught about it before.”

“Have you seriously spent so much time watching this that you’ve learnt an entire language to keep up with the plot?”

“i don’t know-w-w, okay?” Error snapped, trying not to go down an intense spiral of memories and rack through his mind for the first time he’d watched this, because that would definitely take him out of the immersion. “just watch-ch.”

Toriel was now threatening Asgoro, clawed furry finger outstretched towards him, her teeth bared. Something about running away with Sin? Asgoro responded in kind, short, sharp words about their children, and Toriel gasped, her eyes widening. Error watched through half-lidded eyesockets, resisting the urge to giggle at Asgoro’s more arch quips. He kept his eye on Ink, who sat silently, tense, clearly letting the words buzz through his skull like white noise. Error knew he just wanted something to keep the silence at bay while he tried to put whatever had just happened into words, so Error left him to his furrowed-brow quietness.

Toriel eventually burst into gulping sobs and got up from the table, slamming the door. Asgoro took a deep drag of his cigar and laid his head on his hand, great white muzzle tilted downwards.

“i-i would treat him so right…” Error mumbled to himself, staring longingly into the portal. It was only after an incoherent splutter of noise sounded next to him that he remembered with a jolt he was not quite alone.

“What did you just say?” Ink said incredulously, eyebrows raised.

“w-what?” Error blinked back innocently.

“You just looked at him and said ‘I would treat him so right’.” Ink repeated, smiling in a confused sort of way, grin slid to the side of his face.

“n-nope. you must be hearing-g things.” Error yawned.

Ink slumped further into the beanbag. “What, like you?”

“s’cuse me,” Error huffed, “we’ve-e already established i’m not imagining things.”

“Uh-huh,” Ink said, unimpressed. “I’m really not the person you should be looking to for that verification.” He stretched his arms out above his head, curving his back against the beanbag, and Error quickly looked away, though even Asgoro’s monologue couldn’t properly re-interest him in Undernovela anymore. He could tell Ink was watching him, and he could feel the warmth on his face.

“…Doesn’t it scare you?”

“w-what?”

“The… emptiness.” Ink shuddered, hand squeezing the beanbag firmly before he let it loose, leaving an imprint of his fingers. Error realised, faintly, that this was Ink’s candid version of a debrief.

“well,” Error cocked his head. “n-no. it doesn’t. i-it’s the only place in the multiverse-e i can just be.”

Ink sighed. “…I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Then, “Error?”

“m-mhm?”

“I don’t like it when you say things like that.”

“like what?”

“That I’m…” Ink spoke the word quickly and bitterly, like blasphemy. “…forgettable.”

“don’t-t feel too bad about it,” Error said. “we all are.”

“Well- that’s fine for you to say, but it doesn’t dictate whether you live or die.” Ink scrumpled the beanbag again. “My life expectancy banks on how interesting I am to watch. And when am I the most interesting?” Ink looked at Error expectantly.

“w-when y0u’re-e having a really-y shitty time?”

“Bingo.” Ink groaned, turning over and nearly dislodging Error from his position on the beanbag to press his face into the blue fabric.

“c-can’t you stay still?” Error had lost the pretence of watching Undernovela but he could at least be comfortable.

The smaller skeleton ignored him. “…I hate that you’re the only person I can talk to about this.”

Error waited for elaboration, and was not disappointed: “It freaks everyone else out, y’know? Because they don’t wanna face the fact that we’re just… I dunno. Ants on an ant hill? It seems weird to say ‘puppets’ when I know you’ve got at least a hundred hanging up above my head.”

“ink,” Error replied, flatly, “w-why would i be worried-d about the opini0ns of people who-o once spent what felt like fucking eternity t-trying to convince me to wear cat-t ears.”

Ink giggled, muffled into titters that Error felt rather than heard. “That’s one way to put it in perspective.”

“the-e right perspective.” Insisted Error.

Ink sat up suddenly, looking at Error very intently, eyelights blinking into soft green. “Aster died once.”

Error’s eyes widened; his interest now completely diverted. “w-what?” He said, staggered, not because he hadn’t heard, but because he needed a moment to process what Ink had just said. In all the things Ink had said about them in the cavern, Ink had never told him this.

“When Zephyrtop first came to be,” Ink picked at his scarf. “it wasn’t supposed to happen. It was Aster, visiting another universe, disturbing its code. His soul wasn’t strong enough- that universe’s Chara started taking it over. I tried to stop it. I took him back, told him not to go anymore.” Ink sighed. “But he kept leaving. They were inseparable, y’know? In love.” Ink smiled weakly. “So then Da- Top,” Ink corrected, “started going to Aster’s universe.”

Error, sensing something shift in Ink’s tone, felt secure enough to offer his hand to Ink. Ink pressed his small palm into Error’s, stretching his fingers out before taking it gratefully, fingers entwined, eyes not meeting Error’s, phalanges still gently trembling. Error gritted his teeth through the glitching, and eventually it eased.

“Aster was dying.” Ink said. “A monster’s soul can’t support the strain of a human one for long – especially when it’s a human soul from a different universe. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but the script had adapted to that, anyways. But then Top came, and the script didn’t adjust. So Aster died, in his arms.”

Ink squeezed Error’s hand. “…I was awful to Top. I told him, basically, to get over it.” Ink laughed, a harsh bark of a sound. “I told him it wasn’t meant to be. And we waited, for days, before they brought him back. And I was relieved.” Ink paused. “But I was relieved because now I wasn’t changing the script. I was relieved because they weren’t breaking any rules. Because if they followed them, then nothing bad would happen, right?”

“a-and you a-assumed that rule applied to you, t0o.” Error guessed, reasonably.

“I did.” Ink agreed, wearily, thumb running over the back of Error’s palm thoughtlessly and warmly. “I never expected that I’d- that we would…” Ink’s cheeks flushed rainbow, tinting vivid pink at the edges, and he cleared his throat. “I thought I’d never have to go through that again, and it scares me.” His voice was almost feverish, his eyes worried.

“t-this is how they get you, then.” Error was surprised at the anger in his voice. “they pretend they’ll let you-u be normal. t-they pretend they’re not-t going to irreparably fuck your life up again. then it hap-pens.”

“Establishing the norm is a good driver for plot.” Replied Ink, usual smirk just a tiny sideways tilt of his mouth now.

“i-i’m beginning to believe there was never-r a norm for you.” Error said, wryly.

“Well,” Ink laughed. “I’m usually disappointing Dream in some way. Kissing you is probably – definitely – not the worst I’ve done.”

Error froze – tried to retract his hand from Ink’s, his vision gaining a sudden, startling clarity, shame burning across his face. But the little claws clutching onto him did not let him retreat: they dug in tighter, heedless of his glitching, till Error blinked rapidly at the little stings of pain and allowed Ink to hold him there. Keenly aware that this was the first time Ink had acknowledged what had happened between them, Error struggled to keep his voice level.

“so you-u want to talk about-t it now?” Error asked, hoping the sound of his soul thrumming was only obvious to him. Ink laughed, eyes sparkling, blinding, dazzling.

“No.” Ink hummed, making Error blink. “I’d still rather pretend nothing happened. But look how that’s worked out for me so far!” Ink did jazz hands, rolling over to lie on his front on the beanbag.

“wow,” Error said, faux-awed. “you are t3rrible-e-e.”

“You don’t seem to think that.” Replied Ink, cheeky, his eyes quirked upwards. Error inhaled, short and sharp, vulnerability and its ugly connotations planting themselves in his mind. Ink’s smile faded as he scanned Error’s face.

“Error? Hey.” Ink’s voice lost its teasing, uncaring tone. “M’ sorry about Core. They’re just worried about me, y’know?”

“n-no, actually.” Error glared. “i d0n’t.”

Ink had the decency to look away. “Right, right.”

“t-tell them to lay off.”

“I will.” Ink tilted his head. “But they’re worried about you, too.”

“they’ve-e got a funny-y fucking way of sh0wing it.”

“Humans don’t age like we do.” Ink said. “They’re working with a little kiddy brain. And they’ve got a lot on their plate.”

“whatever, asshole.” Error crossed his legs at the ankles, sandals clicking together. “you’re derailing.”

Ink smiled. “That I am.” Something about the way he cocked his skull, the way his eyes glinted, endless sparks of colour against the blankness, made Error’s head swim.

“Error, I…” Ink sighed. “I didn’t just tell you all that for no reason. Sometimes I don’t prioritise these things. Sometimes I tell Outcodes without a home to stop visiting universes that aren’t MVA because somebody will die.” He glared at nothing in particular. “You nearly died.”

“y-yeah, but i’m 0kay now-w.”

Ink turned his orange glower on him half-heartedly. “Only because I basically glued your soul back together.” Ink huffed. “Stars, you’re an idiot, you know? If you’d just let me- if Nightmare had hit me instead- you know I can’t die, but you can, and-” Thoughtlessly, with a roll of his eyes, Ink reached his free hand towards Error’s face – to touch his cheek? His nose? His chin?

Didn’t matter, because immediately Error froze, leaning backwards, and Ink jolted, hand instantly falling back to his side. He tried to pull his hand free of Error’s, but this time Error was the one who clung on.

“Sorry, sorry-”

“it’s okay-y.” Error shook his head, re-focusing, grin spreading across his face. “so you’re-e saying- you don’t-t want me around-d because i am-m able to die. me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Ink protested immediately. “It’s just- I like to know that people I like are safe. I know that Dream and Blue aren’t going to do anything stupid. You, on the other hand-” Ink levelled him with an unimpressed look. “-have given me several soul attacks since we took you back to Wintertale, non-existent as it is. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know if I’m messing up the script by keeping you alive.”

Error swallowed, feeling cold. Carefully, he asked: “a-and you’d let me die? if you knew it was-s supp0sed to happen?”

Ink gave him a look so full of fury Error almost flinched. “You know the answer to that question.” Ink sighed. “You just- you don’t make it easy, Error.”

Error said nothing. The smooth softness of Ink’s glove shifted against his hand.

“…Look,” Ink proposed, eventually, blinking away the red targets. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“hm.” Error hummed, immediately suspicious, but intrigued.

“You promise to be the perfect patient, right? You let Dream at least try and heal your soul, no more escape attempts, try and make peace with Core and stop scaring Blue out of his wits.” Ink held his hand up to silence the start of Error’s protest. “And I,” Ink grinned, wolfish, and Error briefly imagined him biting into his cheekbone like it was an apple. “will take you out on a date.”

Error’s eyesockets must have tripled in size. He blinked several times, letting that sink in, feeling brilliant heat burst across his cheekbones. “y-you- i, um.” He responded incoherently, once again grateful for the glitching hiding his stammering. Stupid fucking stammering, because he was Error, he was the Destroyer, for stars’ sake, why was he stuttering over something this juvenile and stupid and-

“That a yes?”

“0h, g-go fuck yourself, you smug-g little prick.” Error seethed, pulling his hand out of Ink’s to press them both to his face, the sharp pain in his ribcage from the sudden movement not entirely drowning out the rapid, harsh pounding of his soulbeat.

Ink cackled, sitting up straight, knees pressed into the beanbag. “Oh, c’mon, Glitchy, I need to bribe you with something!” He crowed. His eyes gleamed, fully back in his element. “I’ll plan something nice. It’ll be fun.”

“you’re-e so full of it.” Error hissed.

…

“So you’ll think about i-”

“oh my stars-s- yes, i will think-k about it if y0u shut up.”

“Cool!” Ink beamed. “I have loads of ideas.”

Error let out a grumbling ‘hguehugh’ into his hands.

“Oh, and uh…” Ink rolled off the beanbag untheatrically, moving to stand up. He looked down at Error (though even this new angle didn’t give him much of a height advantage.) “Maybe, um, keep this on the down-low for now? I still kind of have to give everyone a proper debrief.” He looked down at Error beseechingly.

Error nodded, a short, sharp downwards jerk of his head. Down-low. He could do that. He could keep quiet about it. He wasn’t itching to tell Dream about this anyways (though, weirdly enough, at the same time, there was a clamouring, visceral urge to tell anyone and everyone). Fuck, he was still blushing.

“where’re-e you going?” Error asked Ink, who was suddenly a couple paces away. Ink cocked his head at him, smiling.

“To tell Dream you gave the go-ahead, of course.” Error felt a little ping of anxiety, like the wrong note played on a string instrument.

“n-now?”

“You got anything better to do?”

Error narrowed his eyes, offended. “i’m-m watching undernovela.” Thankfully, when Error looked back, there was an alleyway scene going on. Asgoro had Sin by the scruff of his shirt, asking him in a flinty voice where his wife was.

“Rrrright.” Ink nodded slowly. He paced back over, heels clicking, and sat down again, taking out his scarf and a short stub of charcoal from his bandolier. “Five minutes, then we’re leaving.”

“i-i will leave when i g0ddamn w-ant to, thanks.” Error replied snippily. He turned his attention back to the portal.

But even the exaggeratedly choreographed violence and his favourite character was not enough to distract him from the date, looping in his skull over and over again like broken code, making him grin madly like he’d just successfully excavated several universes.

A date. It was such a stupid thing to get excited about, really. They’d kissed and fallen apart in each other’s arms and survived a dying timeline together, but Error realised, with another little giddy rush, that this was the first time Ink had made any initiative towards romance after realising Error was who he was. He’d seen the ugliness, the bloodshed, his LV-warped sliver of a soul, and still wanted to hold his hand. The knowledge of this tasted sweet, victorious, like the best kind of chocolate from Underfell. Now he had something to look forward to.

…He just had to get through the rest of it, first.