Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The multiverse is a complicated, ancient thing, to say the least.

Error would know, he may not have witnessed the creation of the first couple AUs, and to be honest not even he knows exactly how old the multiverse is.

But he is one of its oldest inhabitants, only bested by Ink himself in that regard.

Therefore, he’s no stranger to all of its archaic and seemingly ever-shifting set of rules.

Ones that Error himself has never managed to fully work out, much less Ink who couldn’t care less if it doesn’t actively involve his ability to create.

The rule of balance is the one Error has the most clue about.

It’s the reason of his very existence.

It’s why he’s still allowed to live.

Why he must live.

For as long as Ink does, at the very least.

Life and Death, Positivity and Negativity, Creation and Destruction.

All of them components to a delicate and fragile system called Balance, so easy to mess with that it’s a miracle it’s still there.

Mortal beings can’t live forever.

You can’t live purely off of one set of emotions and get rid of the other.

... And there can’t be too many AU’s, because the multiverse -this one at least- is finite and only has so much room until it forcibly corrects itself via massive self-deletion
(Or simply Multiversal Reset, not quite the same as a normal one via how they work and come to be, but Error isn’t too far concerned with the technicalities of a personal term)

Error knows all this, the Creators (if that’s truly what they are) made sure to drill it into his head the moment his role as destructor was assigned to him, the moment he appeared in the Anti-Void.

Frankly, Error’s existence is meaningless…

The multiverse can manage itself just fine, he’s discovered, Life and Death, Positivity and Negativity, Creation and Destruction…

All things that don’t require a guardian or overseer, not really.

Life and Death would go on even if Reaper decided to go on strike, the only difference Reaper makes is manage a handful of souls himself, hard work, but unnecessary.

Dream and Nightmare don’t really affect Negativity and Positivity all that much.

They grow stronger from their respective set of emotions, sure, but they don’t really affect the balance itself.

The only problem would be if either ceased to exist in this multiverse, but that shouldn’t be a worry anymore.

Not after Nightmare ceased his attempts to take his brother’s life so long ago.

Error’s existence is meaningless… Until you add Ink to the equation.

And his endless need to create and add and add to an already overpopulated universe.

Error only exists to fix Ink’s mistakes, to correct his missteps and manage the numbers before the whole place collapses in on itself.

He has no doubts that the Creators would sniff him out of existence the moment Ink learnt to restrain himself.

Or rather, they’d finally allow him to die.

Error wishes for nothing but that small mercy.

He’s no stranger to death, he’s inflicted it onto others and has tried to inflict it onto himself.

No… That’s not quite right, Error has inflicted it on himself, he’s just been brought back far too many times.

He remembers each and every one of his deaths, each time he’s grasped Death’s hand only to be snatched away from it.

The first one was dozens of millennia ago, back when he first woke in the Anti-Void, confused, scared and resistant to the will of the Creators.

He ignored their shouts at first, their demands to go out there and do his fucking job, and it wasn’t hard, because at one point all those voices mix into a cacophony of noise, overwhelming yet nonsensical.

He must’ve crashed a couple of times in all that chaos, perhaps that’s why that slight pang in his… abdomen? Spine? Went unnoticed.

At least until it was too painful to bear, his perceived guts twisting and clenching as he grew frantic, because he didn’t know how to use his new unstable magic and could the fucking Creators sHuT UP?!
…

And then… A portal, he felt like crying- no, he did start crying from relief.

And then he couldn’t go through, because a window portal and a door portal are different things, but Error didn’t know that and kept reaching for the food right in front of his face.

He clawed at it until his fingers were battered, bloody and slippery.

He never gave up hope, not even when his body started shutting down, the invisible barrier being the only thing between him and salvation.

His first death was out of starvation, alone and feeling betrayed as he kept clawing at the window with what little force he had left.

That day he learnt many things, and one in particular was ingrained deep into his psyche:

Error isn’t some infallible, omnipotent being, he’s not a God, he’s not like the one he’d later come to know as Ink.

Because despite everything, despite the power his messed up code provides him, he’s still mortal to some degree.

He still needs to eat, even if every few months or so; he can still be hurt, his body will just sew itself back together; and he can still die.

He’ll just be brought back every time.

He’s not a God.

He's nothing.

Just a dirty sinner.

And Error may have never asked for this job, or to exist in the first place.

Nor does he rejoice in all the pain and suffering he brings, as efficient as he may be or what the rest of the multiverse may think.

But people are still right to fear him, to call him a sinner, a killer, he’s all those things and his remorse will never take away that fact.

He learnt that in his second death, freshly revived and overwhelmed, but most of all… hungry.

Hungry and too desperate to not repeat his first death.

It didn’t take him much to open more portals, a couple windows until he finally figured out the doors, experience and desperation making the task far easier than the first time around.

You're bound to get the concept right after failing hundreds of time after all.

He doesn’t remember much about that first trip to an unknown AU, but he does remember the frigid cold seeping into his bones from facepalming into the snow.

He remembers wandering for a few minutes until he stumbled in front of a shop, various knick-knacks catching his eye, though the real treat was the smell of buns drifting into his nose.

And when he went in...

...

Blank.

A hole in his memory he’s never managed to patch up, but the conversation must’ve gone bad, since he ended up stealing the buns and running away, prize in hand.

And then… Nothing again… A fight, perhaps, probably someone that followed Error, the thief.

Whatever ended up happening destabilized Error enough that he… Snapped, and when he came to be the AU was no more.

That was also his first encounter with Ink, the other perplexed and curious about Error’s sudden appearance and apparent destructive powers, but most of all angry over the now gone AU.

Error didn't have much time to panic about just having taken down a whole AU.

Of having eradicated dozens of souls in minutes,

Because Ink struck far faster than Error could see.

His second death was at the hands of Ink, dark and silent with his skull caved in.

He ended up back in the Anti-Void after that.

A mechanism, he'd come to discover later, one performed after his demise, where a portal to the Anti-Void opened beneath him to drive his body to safety.

He's never managed to figure out if it's something he does automatically, or if the Creators have something to do with it.

He didn’t care then about that then though, more preoccupied with dissociating in the Anti-Void as he vowed to never go out of the infinite white again, ignoring the voices that switched between demanding and persuading him to do his job.

Eventually though, the hunger made itself known again, and with his anxiety spiking so much he rebooted a few times, he finally caved to the voices.

He opened a portal- a door, he carefully stepped into the snow again thefartoofamiliarsnowwhydidithavetobethesnow

And before he could execute his master plan of stealing again; this time at a distance with his strings...

A voice called out to him, a recomforting and familiar voice, distress and worry tainting it.

Error didn’t have much time to process the feelings such voice brought forth when some cloth- a scarf, was wrapped around his neck, not really doing anything against the harsh winds of that day, but warm, nonetheless.

Warmer was the place he brought him into.

“Grillby’s” his mind faintly reminded him after the smell wafted into his nose.

Error refused to look at any of them in the eye, or touch the food Papyrus had so generously bought for him, how could he…

Knowing he’d have to destroy their world soon enough?

Because that was his job.

Because even if he didn't want to, he'd end up doing it anyways.

Because he's just fucked up like that, all he does is ruin everything

And he cried, thinking that maybe… Things didn’t have to end up the same way, he could save at least one person.

…

It was a mistake.

Error only made things worse worsewOrsEWOrsE

He couldn’t bear the look of betrayal and utter hopelessness Papyrus gave him every time Error came back with stolen food, food he refused to touch.

No matter what he did, Papyrus wouldn't eat. He had thought he had more time to talk him into it.

He could bear even less the sight of a pile of dust, barely noticeable against the endless white of the Anti-Void, lying where he had last seen Papyrus

A hopeless look in his face

He tried- he helped Error, and Error repaid him like this

He had repaid kindness with Death and now Papyrus was no more

It was too much for Error.

He couldn’t bear with the guilt crushing his soul.

So, despite knowing it wouldn't do anything.

Knowing that he'd come back and Papyrus wouldn't.

He brought forth one of his strings.

He tied a knot.

He stepped forward.

And he pulled.

.
.
.
.
.

Error startled awake, blinking away the stray tears and warning signs from his eyes, breathing heavy as he held back a sob.

It didn’t help that the first thing he saw, once the warning signs were gone, was the infinite white of the Anti-Void, blue strings hanging from the ceiling.

Blue strings coiled around his neck, making it snap over and over again until they cut right through his neck, freeing him from the trap he'd set in his grief and subsequent regret.

His eyes settled on one of the many dolls he’d made over the years, hanging from the neck despite Error always making sure to hang them from the torso.

Would that doll's neck also snap, if left long enough to rot in place?

It must have slipped, his magic tended to get unstable on bad nights and loosen up.

Error knew this, still, the view elicited a whimper from him as he curled up, arms coming up to his face to cover his eyes.

Arms coming up to his neck to try and fail to loosen the strings' grip.

He’s not going to cry, this is too dumb a thing to cry over.

He’s okay

He’s okay

He’s ok-

“Stop being a baby Error, look, Ink’s gone into another creative spree”

His head snapped up, so fast so a crack was heard and his neck started hurting.

All the other voices hushed down, though it made little difference to Error, who hadn’t even been able to hear them before in the middle of his little scene.

They watched silently as Error made his way to one window portal he always kept open, the multiverse beyond as breathtaking as always.

Well… to them, Error himself had long tired of the sight.

He'd long started to dread it, just looking at it made him sick.

But indeed, as his eyes peered in and took everything in he confirmed it, Ink’s gone into another spree.

Ink’s overpopulating the multiverse again, with more fervor than Error’s seen in years.

A shudder made its way through his body as faint snippets of his nightmare resurfaced.

The snow.

The dust.

Papyrus.

His third death-

He took a deep breath, and forced the memories away as his teeth gritted, hands clenching into fists and fingers digging into his very bones, grounding him.

It didn't make the memory go away.

The Creators exploded again, rushing to talk over each other in either gossip among themselves, or complains about Error not moving to do his job fast enough.

Normally a bother- scratch that, it’s always a bother for Error, to try and figure out what everyone is saying.

But right now, the noise served to distract him from other thoughts, even if still overwhelming, at least it brought some relief.

Some distraction from the suicidal thoughts those memories always brought forth.

He stared, for a long time, thinking, analyzing, considering his options and planning ahead for the conversation that would ensue; now intentionally tuning out the Creators.

Contrary to popular belief, and unbeknownst to the Creators...

(Who Error discovered long ago were confined to the Anti-Void and didn’t have way of knowing what happened outside, unless he opened a portal for them to look through, yet still somehow could tell when Ink created or Error destroyed).

... Error’s and Ink’s relationship is… not that bad.

Not nowadays at least.

That “popular belief” did come from somewhere after all, the tale of eternal enemies and two opposites.

Error used to be terrified of Ink, still is most of the time, even if subconsciously.

And Ink used to despise his guts, still does sometimes, even if uncommon.

But more often than not, they get along okay.

Not even Error is exactly sure how it happened.

One day he was fighting against Ink, shivering from fear while fighting desperately like some rabid cornered dog.

He lost, as sinners like him should, and Ink tried to break all his bones apart and scatter them around the multiverse in an effort to get rid of him once and for all.

They had both hoped that would get rid of him.

It didn’t work, Error still came back of course he did, even if later than usual, newly traumatized and thrice as fearful of being touched.

Thrice as plagued by nightmares and hallucinations of Ink coming at him from the corner of his eye.

It was then, when he hid away in Outertale, to try and recover mentally, that Ink found him.

Pure casualty, Ink wasn’t hunting down Error, being under the incorrect assumption that he managed to finally kill him.

Ink was just going around AUs, and he happened to come by Error.

At least that's what he told him later, Error's never had the hearth to question it.

He'd rather believe in him than live with the possibility of Ink somehow being aware of his location at all times.

He was sure he was dead meat, that Ink would try to finish the job and this time grind his bones into dust before scattering his remains across space.

That would be a nice way to rest, if you excluded everything before the “scattering his remains” part.

He knows he doesn't deserve such a nice final resting place.

He doesn't deserve to rest at all.

But instead, Ink got curious.

Curious about this destroyer that wasn’t destroying.

Curious about the most feared monster in the multiverse crashing at the mere sight of him.

Error didn't meet his eyes when Ink much later confessed to having felt satisfied at that.

So, as Error would later learn via Ink telling the story, Ink stayed.

To analyze Error.

To learn about him.

To look at him, and through him.

Perhaps Error was like him.

Error dreaded the thought.

Not soulless, Ink had tried to destroy Error’s soul enough times to be certain it existed.

A tiny, pitiful fragment of a soul, patched up from said attempts.

But still defective, closer to being soulless than not what with that single fragment he had.

A mistake, something the multiverse chewed and spit out again and again.

And most importantly, more.

More than a destroyer.

More than his role.

Just like Ink, Ink loves creating, and thanks to his paints- to his emotions, he knows he’s capable of more.

Of rage and destruction.

So maybe, just maybe, Error could also do more than destroy.

Of love and creation.

The way Ink always gives this speech with such fervor never fails to make Error shiver in unease.

The way Ink always looks at him not as simply a friend, but as proof that validates all his beliefs and hopes about himself.

Ink didn’t just stay around, he settled.

He moved over some of his stuff, some canvases, a couple sketchbooks, a few pencils, and a lot of paint.

He painted some details to make the space comfier, like some echo flowers, some grass, some life.

And he waited for Error to reboot and come back to life, for a long time.

It was… disturbing for Error, to say the least, when he came back to his senses only to be met with countless drawings of him scattered around and an unblinking Ink right in front of his face.

He nearly had a heart attack and a second crash right then and there.

Regardless, after countless small reboots, interrupted conversations and a disgusting amount of chocolate to bribe Error, he and Ink managed to find some common ground.

... And fear, what most motivated Error to hear Ink out was the desire to not go through another dismemberment.

Error learned about Ink’s lack of soul, and how his vials helped him work around the issue.

Most importantly, he got to know about why AUs were so important to Ink.

Ink just didn’t like to create, he needed to.

Because those AUs and their energy manifested as paint waterfalls in his doodle sphere.

Waterfalls he used to refill his vials with special pigments, unique paints.

Paints he used to keep his feelings and personality going.

And Ink learned about Error, and his work assigned by the Creators, about the Balance.

Error is pretty sure Ink doesn’t believe the whole “Creators” thing.

Which… Fair enough, not even Error himself is sure they’re actually a thing and not just him being crazy.

But Ink did believe him about the Balance, which was more than enough for Error.

Even if Ink downplayed the issue more often than not.

But at least he was willing to indulge him.

Coming to an agreement was the hard part, neither party being willing to compromise at first.

Ink had more than enough waterfalls and reserve vials to last him a couple lifetimes.

But alas, he wasn’t willing to bet on his feelings, on his self, his identity.

Not when he could live hundreds- thousands of years’ worth of lifetimes, and still continue existing.

And especially when those waterfalls could dry up without warning, and never be revived.

Error understood that, he’s never experienced what being emotionless is like, and he never wants to.

Error, on the other hand, technically was dealing with a life-or-death multiversal situation.

And while he never saw or experimented what would happen if he let Ink do as he pleased, Error wasn’t willing to bet on it all being a delusion of his.

Especially when he’d have to deal with the Creators yelling at him whenever he went back home.

Ink understood that, I mean, he still didn’t believe the Creators were a thing.

But they were real to Error.

And dealing with the Star Council was annoying enough, so dealing with these Creators must be even worse.

Besides, while he still wasn’t sure about the Balance, multiversal overpopulation did seem like a valid concern.

They were on a stalemate for a good while, but they managed to work it out.

Mainly by making it beneficial to both parties.

Ink would keep Error updated on which AUs and copies dried up, and keep his creation to a minimum, only creating to replace.

And Error would get rid of those dried AUs for Ink, maintaining the balance and keeping the Creators happy.

Of course, it wasn’t an infallible plan.

Mainly due to Ink’s tendency to forget to update Error and get into creation sprees, with total disregard to the agreement.

Like right now.

Annoying, but not totally unexpected, and not irritating enough to warrant falling out with Ink.

Error knows deep down he just doesn't have the guts to blow up on him and risk another beating.

Besides, Error supposes it provides cover for this strange friendship between him and Ink, both from the Creators and the multiverse at large.

No doubt the Creators would chew him out for ruining their perfect “mortal enemies” plot.

And the rest of the multiverse would never learn to accept Error, even if Ink vouched for him.

Which he wouldn’t, by the way.

Ink would advocate for not killing Error if it came down to it.

But he’d never ruin his perfect image by advocating for his integration to society.

Ink wants to be remembered after all, to not be forgotten, and maintaining the image of a hero is part of that.

Error also understands that, he himself would be perfectly content to be a nobody, but he comprehends why anyone would want the opposite.

Besides, Error has committed far too many atrocities to dare wish for even a sliver of normalcy.

He doesn’t deserve a normal life.

He feels bad enough about having a tentative friendship with Ink and the Gang and Blue as it is.

So, even if every new death he causes kills something inside him.

Even if he carries the weight of his sins in his shoulders.

Even if he’s never wanted to do this.

He’ll continue to do so.

Because it’s his duty.

Because a sinner- a true monster like him, deserves nothing else.

You could make a desert out of the Anti-Void if you placed all the dust of the monsters he's killed inside of it.

You could make mountains out of the countless humans that have perished because of him.

And no amount of regret would make up for it.

…

The frosty winds of Snowdin’s forest blew, calm in the way it barely made Error’s scarf rustle; yet chilly as he shivered a bit, prompting him to fix it up to his chin, the portal behind him closing up.

It was disturbingly quiet in here, not because it was the forest, but because it was only forest.

No Snowdin Town, no Ruin’s Door, no sentry stations, no cliffs no rivers no terrain.

Nothing.

Just a vast and endless snowing forest.

As he said, disturbing, and most of all… Unsettling.

This was far from normal, Error may not particularly care for Ink’s creative habits if they didn’t pose a threat to the Balance.

But even then he knows that Ink likes to flesh out things, he normally won’t bring a new AU to life only to leave it half-finished.

At least not this early.

Much less bare boned like this, with only one location.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s very wrong.

Ink’s not here.

And Error isn’t sure he wants to know why.

...

He should go.

It's just a couple AUs.

He can leave them alone for now.

For Ink's sake.

He's probably going to come back later and finish them.

No need to ruin one of his few friendships for something like this.

It’ll be fine if they continue existing for a few days, while he contacts Ink and sorts this out.

He probably just forgot.

So Error…

...

Will be a good friend.

And go back to the anti-void to watch UnderNovela.

He can deal with a couple enraged Creators.

He can-

Whoosh

His thoughts were cut short as he moved out of the way reflexively upon hearing the distinct sound of a bone soaring through the air.

It embedded itself in the snow, no doubt aimed at him.

The air grew thick, and as Error looked back, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Ink?

No.

That figure behind the trees isn’t Ink.

Nor is that figure.

Or that other.

He’s being ambushed.

He doesn’t think, he just moves, pure instinct guiding him.

He hasn’t fought in a long time, the peace with Ink letting him relieve himself of that pressure.

Of the fear of inevitably dying as a result.

He’s rusty.

But he’s also got millennia of experience behind his back.

A few years of peace won’t take that away.

...

It’s that same peace that dooms him.

Not because he can’t fight.

But because he does so automatically.

He doesn’t think, his body just moves on it’s own, desperate to not experience Death.

Even if Error wishes for nothing more.

Even if he knows he’ll be fine either way.

So, Error fights back, no plan, no strategy.

No holding back.

No mercy.

Error snaps out of it far too late.

And when he does, he freezes.

Dust.

Far too much dust.

Swaying in the air.

Piling on the ground.

Dyeing the snow grey.

Hundreds- thousands of souls lost.

Just like that.

It makes Error sick.

The dread pools in his stomach, and twists it around.

He knows he’s an irredeemable monster.

The ones that he’s killed today are nothing compared to the ones before.

Just a few more specks of dust in his desert of agony.

Still, Error’s not used to seeing the aftermath.

Not in this way.

He’s used to entire worlds collapsing and withering away because of him.

To sudden empty spaces in the multiverse, and echoes of cries for mercy.

Not to greyish air and snow.

Not to dust.

Not to the direct consequences of his actions.

Suddenly, it’s too real.

His knees weaken.

His resolve wavers.

And when another attack approaches, he doesn’t dodge.

He can’t bring himself to.

So, he endures, taking the hit.

And the next one.

And another.

Because he doesn’t trust himself to not kill when trying to defend himself.

Or to lose his composure again if he tries to evade.

He staggers back with every hit.

A couple bones to his ribs, and they come flying right off.

A few GasterBlasters to his leg, and it becomes nearly unusable.

Someone gets creative and uses their magic to send rocks over to his skull.

Error doesn’t notice.

Until he can’t see anymore.

It’s overwhelming.

The pain doesn’t let him think.

He wants to fight back.

He wants to dodge.

He wants to run.

The memories of all that dust stop him from doing any of that.

This is the best course of action.

If Error stays still, if he forces himself to not make any move, then he won’t kill anyone else.

It’s fine.

He can endure.

He’s immortal, he may will die.

But his soul will patch itself up and his body will stitch itself back together.

He knows that.

It’ll be painful.

But he’d rather go through that process again than take another life.

One step back.

He wonders when they’ll be satisfied.

Another step back.

Maybe they’ll stop when Error falls to the ground.

And another.

Or when they reduce his body to bits, like Ink did that one time.

And another.

Perhaps it’ll be when they see his pitiful excuse of a soul break apart.

And another.

Except he doesn’t find more endless snow, or even a rock or a tree waiting for him.

He finds…

Nothing.

He falls too fast to react.

His hands scramble to try and do something a second too late.

He tries desperately to shoot out strings, in hopes of grabbing onto a tree that may allow him to pull himself up.

But it’s a fruitless endeavor.

He’s too blinded to do such an action effectively.

And too deep in the nothingness to reach anything.

Suddenly, pain courses through his body, overwhelming his senses.

He’s being taken apart.

H̴e̶’̵S̴ ̷b̶E̶i̵N̷G̵ ̴T̵a̵K̵3̵n̴ ̷4̷P̶4̵r̴T̷.̸

O̴͖͗v̵͖̚3̶̣̈́R̷̟̍

A̴͕̓̀͜͝N̷̲̰͊ͅd̴̖̖͇͌̐̕ ̵̡̩͚͆̕0̵͖̖̊̀V̴̞̯̑3̶̩͓͝r̴̦̥̉

4̸͖̋̓͑n̵͚͚͕̱͙̋̃̊D̸̼̘͓͖͕̱̔͂̍͆͆̚͠ ̴̇̑̃͜0̴̰͙̱̈́̒̓̿̀̚͜͝v̶̰͔͔̓̒̑̕͝3̵̭̯͉̖͌̿R̵̩͈̘͘ ̸̛̺͇́4̸̪͕͛͛́͌̓G̶͍̼̘̯̃4̴̢̼̝͛͝͝1̸̠͉͎͚͔̫̽n̴̼̮͉͇̐̒͆

m̴̛̙̹̱̰͕̥̋͂̂̔̌̕͝͝4̸̡̧̻̲̭̏̀̽͌͝K̴̞͑̍͒͊̅͛̅3̶̱̲͕͔͔́̓̈̔̏̌́̈́ ̸̺̳̞̣̝͋͛̂̀͆͒̊͋͋͠͠1̷̛͙̫̰̜̇̊̊̕T̵̻̞̝͙̬͓̝̤̪͌̈̎́̋͜ͅt̸̢̢̺̹̩̥̠̺̮̔̕͘͜ ̸͙̐S̵̙̠̦̥̤̜͍̞̩̍͒̉̄̾͝ť̶̞̗̦̫̩̈́͛̍̚0̴̨͉̮̭͚̗̖͆̾̀̄̅̆̽̕p̸̡̨̛̮̍̈̒̈́̃́

M̷̧̧̡̛̺̻̳̬̗̗̮̰̬̮̜̰̞̠̝̼͔͖͍͉̱̲̅́̿̅̐̅̈́̓͛͋̍͊͆͊̆͗̀̈͊͐̀͘͘͜͝͝͝ͅ4̴̛̦͚̌̔͒̑̏̈̐̆̂̐̂͆K̵̨̲̳̲̳̟̏̽̏̒3̵̥̏͂͋͑̅̾ ̴̧̨̯͙̗̗̖̬͍̩̫̦̘̳̤͕̥͎͓̼̳̼̘͙͆̃̀͑̓̔̈̔͗̂̓͛̏͛͋̄̇̓͆̿̑̂͂́̍́ͅͅͅ1̴̬̠̖̭̜̣͚̗̄̉͛̊͒̌̽́̐́͛̎̓̉̊̐̔̓͒͘̚t̷̡͓̯̥̱̫̮͇͎̪̼͉͕͈̰̗̝̔̈̔̋͐̿̽̿̈́̃̈́̐̽̽̐͆̇̈́́͘͝ͅͅ ̴̢̢̧͚̫̩̞̳͎̞͎͕̠̹͕͈̪͉͍̤͔̖̙͂̍̍̒͒̌̓͑̓̔͋̒̐̕̚͘͝ͅs̸̢̲̥͕̗̤̩͉̤͓̜̺̘̀̔̾̆͛̀̈́͗̆̉̄̾͂̔̕̚͝T̷̛͇̹̭̝͔̼͇̱͙̦̪͍͔̲̊̾͆̈͆̈́͊̓̈̈̃̃̈́͒̿́͑̀̆̓͌͂̌͘͠͝0̵͙͚̦̍̑P̶̨̛̞̱͇̄̉̇͆̈́͒̓̊̈̇̔̿͆́̀̚̚̕͠͠

...

He passes out before long.

A small blessing.

To have the Void constantly trying to erode his body, while his magic actively repairs the damage

...

Well, he’s better off not experiencing it, to say the least.

.
.
.
.
.

Silence permeated through the air, the tension almost palpable, as everyone waited to see if the plan was successful.

Error was known to come back from the impossible after all.

One minute.

And then another.

… Nothing.

Error is… gone?

Is he truly gone?

Really?

Whispers echoed through the crowd, as everyone- Sanses, and a few oddities like some Papyruses and Frisks, hurried to gather around the portal to the Void, wanting to see with their own eyes it’s emptiness.

It’s lack for Error.

A chuckle from one awed spectator was all it took for cheers to erupt from the crowd.

They’ve succeeded!

Error is no more!

A festive atmosphere fell upon the crowd, hugs and playful shoves among friends and loved ones.

This was something to celebrate after all!

Though eventually they did have to get away from the portal, after a few almost fell through it amongst the chaos.

Further back there was another group, far quieter, that limited themselves to watch the others.

They didn’t want to partake in the celebration.

How could they? When the remains of their friends, family, or even just acquaintances, were everywhere around them?

They just couldn’t find it in themselves to smile right now.

At least it was for a good cause...

… Right?

Even further back, hidden amongst the trees, was an even smaller group.

Misfits, you could say, Sanses and Papyruses that were one wrong move away from being treated like shit.

Like Nightmare.

… Like Error.

The thought made them shiver, as they recalled Error’s last miserable moments.

Pity blossomed in their hearts, and traces of sadness too.

Despite not having interacted with him much, they could tell Error didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve…

…

They should report this to Nightmare.

.
.
.
.
.
.

Wine’s heels echoed faintly through the colonnade, the howling air sending chills up his spine, as he eyed the grand castle that was drawing nearer with each step.

As Nightmare’s left-hand man, third-in-command, and a first-hand witness to the previous event, it was up to him to take the initiative to report everything.

Even if, realistically, Nightmare already knew the most important detail.

Error is gone.

It’s hard to come to terms with, no matter how many times he repeats the fact in his head.

Error is- was a god after all.

An existence on par with Ink himself.

To kill a god.

To kill anyone so cruelly…

His eyes hardened, and he couldn’t help but glance back, towards the group he was leading.

His eyes settled on Plum and Cash first, the Swapfell brothers; their position was meager amongst the group, the amount of resources they provided was rather average, as was their loyalty, not surprising given they were the most recent addition to the Subordinates.

Plum walked behind him with a spring to his step, at times he hesitated and looked apprehensive, but quickly recovered each time.

Needless to say, he was the most eager among the group, and Wine wasn’t exactly sure if he was that optimistic or just clueless.

Probably the latter, Wine was positive that Cash had sneaked Plum away from the battlefield at some point, preventing him from seeing most of the execution.

Wine would have to be careful about not letting him near Nightmare while giving his report, or the rest of the Gang for that matter, they surely wouldn’t appreciate Plum being all smiley and eager to fight back as if it was just a game.

…

Actually, maybe it’d be better if Wine just… Instructed him and Cash to wait outside.

He didn’t trust Plum not to jump up and say something… Inadequate in an inopportune moment.

Nor did Cash, if the intense stare he was giving Wine was anything to go by, besides, the guy already didn’t trust Nightmare and wasn’t afraid of giving the rest of the Gang a glare every now and then, and Wine wasn’t so sure they’d let it go this time.

Wine just gave a tiny nod in response, and Cash’ tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

Yeah, definitely not letting those two be near the Gang for the foreseeable future.

Although that also brought forth another problem, as much as Wine wanted to trust Cash wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and betray them, to try and run away to the Council while Wine is busy dealing with the report, well… He wasn’t about to risk another "Cross incident".

As such, his gaze settled on the Underfell brothers next.

Fell and Edge, the oldest pair in the group as a whole, older than even Nightmare (but they weren’t stupid enough to try and use that fact to their advantage, or mention it at all), though if we refer to antiquity they were still the oldest pair only when it came to the Subordinates.

They were long used to the heavy atmosphere Nightmare’s frequent bad moods brought forth, but the current situation still seemed to take a toll on them.

Fell walked lazily, dragging his feet and purposefully lagging behind, trying to appear unbothered as he always did, yet the situation clearly unnerved him, if his wandering eyes were anything to go by.

He was actually a pretty okay guy, awfully crass and temperamental, but otherwise relatively well-behaved and nice to talk to; he certainly made for a fine conversational partner when it came to topics of segregation and the consequences of violence, even if he struggled to keep his temper in check at times.

Nothing to do with him at the start, long before Wine and Coffee joined them; Fell used to be so aggressive and mouthy, insisting that he and his brother would be eventually accepted by the Council.

The rebellion was short-lived, but costly, as to this day he’s still not allowed to be alone, needing to be in constant supervision of either a member of the Gang, Wine himself or (relatively recently) Edge.

Edge has never quite forgiven him for that, as the surveillance also applied to him for the longest time, but alas, nowadays it’s an old grievance Edge brings up to get the upper hand in arguments rather than something the brothers actively fight over.

Speaking of, Wine’s gaze flickered to Edge next, who was also falling behind as he nagged Fell to hurry to no avail, his normally loud demeanor… Still pretty loud to be honest, but mostly due to the fact he was the only one talking in the oppressive silence, and even then Wine was able to notice that Edge was growing quieter the closer they all got to the castle.

Wine likes him quite a lot, but he may be biased, Edge is his own second-in-command after all.

Loyal, organized, honest… all good qualities that made for a perfect coworker to share responsibilities with, even if a tad bit too energetic and bossy, and perhaps a bit too quick to suggest using violence as a solution to everything.

Wine is sure Edge would’ve been Nightmare’s left-hand instead of him, if it weren’t for Fell’s misbehavior at the start, but Wine is happy to have been able to talk to Nightmare about sharing his responsibilities with Edge and lifting some of the restrictions placed upon him.

He hopes Edge is able to get the proper recognition he deserves soon, he’s certainly proved capable as a second supervisor for the Subordinates.

As such, when Edge returned his stare, Wine was quick to gesture ever so slightly with his head towards Plum and Cash, silently requesting help for dealing with them.

Edge caught the meaning soon enough, and nodded back, which was a relief, Edge surely would’ve relished the opportunity to assist in the report and improve his standing in Nightmare’s eyes but still decided to assist him, Wine would have to make it up to him.

If he was still alive after the report.

His gaze snapped back to the front, to the castle, now only a few steps ahead.

It made him almost falter in his steps, almost, but he didn’t, he walked and stopped when he was right in front of the door.

This was it, whether he lived or died wasn’t up to him, but to Nightmare’s irritableness, as always.

He willed himself to ignore that this time his chances of dying were increased tenfold thanks to the Council's little stunt.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t even glance back at the guys he had been leading for the better part of the millennium, because if he did, he’d falter, he’d doubt himself and lose the confidence he had been building thorough the whole walk through the colonnade.

He just listened as Edge quietly ordered everyone to stand to the side, to not follow Wine into the same castle as a ticking time bomb called Nightmare.

He took a deep breath, and prepared to knock.

A hand on his stopped him, making him pause right before knocking, his eyes straying from the door and settling on Coffee, his brother.

Wine had been avoiding looking at him all this time, not because he disliked him, but because he was afraid, afraid that he wouldn’t be strong enough to go through with this if he looked at him.

His dear younger brother, Wine sometimes wondered if he had done right by him when agreeing to follow Nightmare instead of Ink.

If all the danger was worth it.

His brother’s smiles, and the friends he had managed to make with other Subordinates and some Outsiders told him that yes, this was worth it; the late nights working on reports, coordinating supply chains, planning recruitments, scheming against Dream and making sure he’s none the wiser about the Subordinates’ betrayal…

His brother was worth it, and he was far happier than he had ever been while in the Council, unable to relate to other Papyruses or get them to give him a chance.

Yet it was at times like this, when his life was in the most danger and Coffee looked at him with pleading eyes, clinging to his gloves or hand, worried that this would be the last time they saw each other alive…

His brother was worth it, but only as long as Wine was still there to protect him.

Backing out hadn’t been an option for millennia.

So, he’d have to make sure to make it back alive

For him.

For Coffee.

For his younger brother.

Wine allowed his resolve to waver slightly, just enough to pull his brother into a tight hug and quietly reassure him that everything would be ok.

And if it lasted a little longer than it was strictly necessary, well, nobody said anything.

Gosh, when had his brother gotten this tall?

Wine swears it was only yesterday that he had to deal with a tiny sack of bones that refused to eat half the things he offered or sleep if Wine wasn’t holding him all the time.

He pulled away when he felt tears slowly forming in his eyes, he couldn’t cry now, maybe later, if after he comes back.

He watched Coffee reluctantly go aside to settle alongside the rest of the Subordinates, and with a deep breath he steeled himself.

And knocked.

.
.
.
.
.

Blue squirmed on his seat as he felt the occasional pair of eyes glaring daggers into his back.

He was more than used to it, he wasn’t an exactly welcome addition, neither in the Council nor in the Gang.

The other Sanses found him weird, the traits commonly associated with Papyruses viewed as an oddity in him, the excitability they were fond of in their own brothers seen as annoying or uncanny in him.

Papyrus- his Papyrus, Stretch, didn’t help much either.

Blue adored him, he truly did, how couldn’t he?

Stretch is the brother he had raised, the one he had read to sleep and cooked every meal for.

But sometimes he wondered if Stretch reciprocated the feeling even slightly, after all this time among the Council.

It wasn’t that bad at first, when in the Council there were only a couple AUs, when his seniority was respected, when people looked at him and said “Oh yeah, that’s Blue, he’s just another Sans, he acts a bit like Papyrus but it’s not a big deal”.

Blue sometimes wonders when it all changed, perhaps when the Council started getting too big, or when Ink stopped producing AUs that mixed up the status quo between the brothers and their core personality traits- at least for a good while.

Maybe it was when Stretch started hanging out with the Sanses, Blue had encouraged it in fact, he had seen how he struggled to connect on a deeper level with the rest of the Papyruses, so he had thought that maybe the Sanses would be a better fit.

…

It’s quite possible it was when Blue agreed to be a little more childish, a little more excitable, a little worse at cooking, so that Stretch could have similar anecdotes to every other Sans.

Blue remembers having to listen to Stretch talking about Blue’s memories and funny stories with him as if they were his own.

Alas, it all spiraled down from there, and now Blue was stuck as Blueberry, the cheerful mascot of the Council that let himself be trampled on by everyone else with a smile on his face.

It was exhausting, so when Error accidentally kidnapped him all that time ago…

Well, Blue didn’t waste the opportunity to make a real friend in who knows how long.

He’s never regretted it, meeting Error has been one of the most important and happiest events in his life (second only to his brother’s birth).

Stretch on the other hand is… Not fond of Error at all to say the least, and as optimistic as Blue is, he’s not foolish or naïve enough to believe he’s ever gonna be able to reconcile with Error over Blue's kidnapping.

So, much to Blue’s chagrin, his friendship with Error had to be kept secret.

But other than that, things were going well! Error had even introduced him to the Gang at one point.

They didn’t like him anymore than the Council did, mainly because Blue was quite against their violent practices, and he absolutely refused to definitely leave the Council, to leave Stretch.

Perhaps it was selfish of him, to want to have his cake and eat it too, to want to keep both Stretch and Error in his life.

Maybe he had grown too complacent, befriending some Subordinates and fellow outsiders, aka Farm, Fresh, Lust and even Cross.

The latter definitely didn’t earn him any brownie points with the Gang either.

Maybe he…

Maybe he believed in his brother too much.

Maybe he was just as naïve as everyone thought he was.

Maybe he underestimated just how much Stretch hated Error.

Regardless of reason, the result was still the same.

Stretch coordinated an ambush while Blue was none the wiser, and somehow, he managed to rid the multiverse of Error in one of the cruelest ways Blue could imagine.

Just listening to Wine giving his report as a first-hand witness was enough to make Blue retch as his stomach churned and twisted in uncomfortable ways.

Error didn’t deserve that.

No one did.

This wasn’t a- a fair fight.

It wasn't a fight at all.

It was a massacre, an execution, torture.

The fact that his own brother was the one to plan it all made everything so much worse.

So no, he didn’t blame the Gang for glaring at him.

He’d be grateful to make it out this meeting alive to be honest.

…

“So, you mean to tell me Ink managed to plan a multiversal ambush, and none of you thought to say anything?”

Nightmare’s voice cut sharply through the silence that had settled after Wine finished his report, and, although it wasn’t directed at him, Blue couldn’t help but flinch.

However, he also had to pause, to settle the… disgust he felt towards Stretch and the Council as a whole aside, at least for the moment.

Something about Nightmare’s words seemed… Wrong, somehow.

“None of us knew about the ambush until the very last minute, sir. I… I suspect Ink either planned everything alone or with his closest allies among the Council”

Wine replied, and Blue couldn’t help but frown.

No, that was wrong, Ink wouldn’t… Blue wasn’t very close to him, but Error was, at least to some degree, close enough to re-introduce Blue to him, close enough to invite Blue along whenever Ink planned an activity with Error and vice versa.

Blue may not be the smartest skeleton around, but, as much as it pained him to admit it, he was quite certain that Stretch was the one to plan the ambush, not Ink.

Because it just… didn’t make sense for Ink to do that, not with the agreement he and Error had in place, as Error explained to him once, the whole arrangement benefitted Ink much more than it did Error.

Even if he took into account Ink’s lack of a soul, and therefore lack of genuine care for Error, it still didn’t make sense… Because why would Ink ever get rid of the one person that keeps his whole hero charade going?

“Then why am I keeping you and your little band of misfits alive, if you can’t even do something as simple as find out about the biggest ambush in millennia?”

Nightmare was getting angry, he was losing control over his negativity… Or maybe he was purposefully using it to gradually overwhelm Wine with fear.

It didn’t really matter, the end result would be the same, Nightmare would lash out, and Blue would be out one more friend.

He had to do something, he wasn’t about to let someone else die, not when he could’ve prevented it.

“Stop!”

His body was now in front of Wine, having moved in auto-pilot to shield him from the oncoming tentacle, whether it aimed to maim or to strangle Blue didn’t know, but he didn’t exactly care either.

The silence was deafening, and Blue waited for a few tense seconds before opening his eyes, being met with Nightmare’s glare and the tentacle now angled at his forehead, one wrong word from impaling his head and sending him straight to Reaper’s embrace.

Wine stared at him, bewildered, grateful, and fearful for both their lives.

Blue could only give him a shaky smile in return, one that was hopefully at least somewhat reassuring.

“I’m- I’m quite positive Ink wasn’t the one to plan the ambush”

“Oh?”

It was frightening, to have Nightmare several feet away one second, and then having him right in front of his face the next, the tentacle having grabbed him by the neck and dragging him near.

It was even more frightening to look at Nightmare’s eye, staring right at him with barely repressed rage and open disdain.

“Ink and Error had an-”

The tentacle tensed, maybe in warning, or maybe Nightmare just wanted to kill Blue that badly, regardless, he kept talking.

“They had an agreement, they were friends, and I… I know I’m not the most useful when it comes to spying on the Council, but I’m also Ink’s friend, he would have told me if he was planning an ambush”

A lie, they were acquaintances, tentative friends at best, Ink only cared about Error, and what little attention he did give Blue was because he wanted to use him to get closer to Error, to understand the Destroyer better.

But Blue wasn’t about to tell Nightmare that, it wouldn’t help his case.

Besides, that last part was the truth, at least Blue was fairly certain that if Ink ever wanted to do something like that, he’d try to rope Blue in, or kill him due to being a key witness to his and Error’s friendship.

“Let’s say I believe you, then who planned the ambush?”

This was the part Blue was looking the least forward to, because he knew.

He knew Nightmare would get angry- no, furious at him.

It was one thing if the Subordinates, misfits among the Council and already shunned to oblivion, weren’t able to catch wind of such an event, especially when they had no reason to suspect anything was being planned in the first place.

But Blue? Blue was brothers with the perpetrator, he was sure of it.

Stretch was the one responsible, he was the only one capable of doing it in so many senses… Stretch was the only who held such a deep resentment towards Error, the only one with a big enough standing to orchestrate it all while keeping Blue and Ink and maybe even Dream none the wiser.

The worst part was that Blue wasn’t that surprised.

Don’t get him wrong, he was horrified and utterly disgusted at Stretch, but… He hated to admit he could easily imagine Stretch doing it all.

He despised himself for not digging up further when he noticed Stretch acting cagey about the Council, more so than usual, for not questioning his brother too much when he kept sending Blue away on unimportant side-missions, just because it provided him with countless constant opportunities to spend time with Error without anyone bothering him.

This was his fault as much as it was Stretch's.

“… Stretch, he’s the only one who could’ve planned it”

There, Nightmare looked at him, face devoid of any emotion, as if gauging whether his words were worth believing.

And then the tentacle’s grip increased again, but instead of having his head detached from his neck, Blue found himself being flung across the room, coincidentally (or maybe not) landing on Wine, who caught him in his arms.

Blue felt sorry for him, as they both still impacted against the wall, but was nonetheless grateful for the cushioning.

“Your brother, of course it had to be your brother! Why I’m a fucking fool to not have thought about it!”

Blue helped Wine up, looking at Nightmare warily, aware that he could lash out again at any moment.

Wine refused to leave his side despite Blue’s silent pleading eyes, and again, Blue found himself grateful to have a friend in this moment.

The rest of the Gang acted much like him, wary of Nightmare, slowly retreating, afraid of being caught in the crossfire

Except Fresh, who Blue was fairly certain wasn’t present at the start of the meeting, and who seemed to be having a jolly time watching everything unfold.

“I bet you helped him plan it”

Despite the fear, despite the pain, Blue couldn’t but bristle, insulted that Nightmare would ever imply that.

Neither was exactly fond of the other, but Blue had hoped that Nightmare would’ve had a basic understanding of him after all these millennia.

Clearly Blue was wrong.

So, as foolish as it was, Blue argued back.

“How dare you… I would never do something like that to Error!”

“I don’t believe you, why should I trust anything that comes out of your filthy mouth?”

“I’d have hoped that you’d trust me enough to not betray any of you after all this time, not even when you were actively trying to take over the multiverse, and especially not Error, who might I remind you was my friend first”

A low blow, maybe, but one Blue was ultimately happy to have dealt, even if he felt kind of guilty rubbing in Nightmare’s face that Blue came before him for Error.

It was a sore subject, one that didn’t endear Blue to Nightmare any more than refusing to betray and leave Stretch for good did.

Still, it worked, because Nightmare paused, and although he gave Blue the nastiest glare ever, he retreated.

Blue and Wine’s lives were safe.

For now.

“Then why didn’t you do or say anything?”

Now it was Blue’s turn to flinch, guilt consuming his very being, because he…

He simply had no excuse.

He trusted Stretch too much, he goofed around with Error while ignoring that most of the multiverse wanted him dead, he didn’t question his brother when he noticed something was amiss.

And now Error is dead.

There’s no coming back from that.

“… I don’t know”

Blue’s head was hung low now, not daring to look up and confront the judgmental stares everyone must be giving him now, not even when Wine put his hand on his shoulder in silent support.

A small comfort Blue didn’t deserve.

“Are we sure the dude’s even dead? He’s like, super duper strong, isn’t he?”

Blue’s head snapped up towards the source of the voice, finding himself with… Fresh.

Right, he arrived… At some point, Blue had even noticed him before, but to be honest he had forgotten about him after almost potentially dying to Nightmare.

Blue was quite… Well, no, he wasn’t fond of Fresh, but he liked him well enough, Fresh was fun and easygoing, but too callous for Blue’s taste at times.

Like right now, talking about the most devastating event ever,for both Blue and the multiverse’s balance at large, like it was nothing.

“He got thrown into the Void”

Nightmare reminded Fresh sharply, no doubt disliking him as much as he disliked Blue, maybe a bit more.

As a matter of fact, Blue is pretty sure Fresh isn’t officially allowed inside the premises of Nightmare’s castle, but Fresh wasn’t one to care about such things, he went and came wherever and whenever he pleased.

“So? His magic’s still active y’know”

Fresh fished a doll out of his pocket right after he finished talking, not giving Blue or anyone else the time to ask, or demand him to clarify.

But they didn’t have to, because they all could see it.

A doll, one of those Error loved to make, all of them had one of those modelled after them, even Lust, sewing was one of the hobbies Error had, and one he didn’t hesitate to share with everyone who’d give him a chance, both out of love of the craft itself and as an attempt to make friends.

It was in… A rough shape, let’s leave it at that, God knows what Fresh put the poor thing through for it to be missing half its body.

Nothing like Blue’s own, pampered to oblivion and perpetually watching Undernovela with Error’s doll, as Blue was afraid of the possibility of Stretch finding it if Blue kept it in his home AU.

“See? Was gonna ask him to fix up the little dude a bit but uh- yeah, that happened”

Blue winced a bit as Fresh swung the doll around while talking, not out of malice, at least Blue hopes not, but out of being too used to making gestures while talking and at the same time being too careless to put the doll down beforehand.

It pained his soul whenever even the tiniest bit of stuffing escaped the doll’s body thanks to the rough movements.

“What? I’m not a magic expert but I’m pretty sure this thing’s supposed to disintegrate if Error dies”

That is… True, why hadn’t Blue thought about that?

Error loved- loves sewing entirely with his magic, to use his own threads as the material for the dolls, always says it feels more genuine that way, more personal.

And as a god his magic is far more powerful than Blue’s or even Nightmare’s, not to mention that the dolls Error makes are generally well-kept by everyone, except Fresh apparently, so the magic in them is more… solid, so to say.

If he died, Blue’s doll would take years before disintegrating, if it ever did.

But Fresh’s? All pitiful and practically hanging on by a thread?

If Error was truly dead, it should’ve begun disintegrating already, or it should’ve been long gone.

But it’s not, it’s falling apart but just physically, not magically.

So, maybe Blue is truly foolish.

But he doesn’t care.

He’s going to nurture this hope until the very last moment.

The hope that Error is still alive.

.
.
.
.
.

It all happened too fast for Horror.

One moment he was slowly retreating from the epicenter of the conflict between Nightmare and Blue, with his brother shielded behind him, worried that things would escalate.

And the next he was flying across the room.

Not because Nightmare or Blue had attacked him or each other.

But because something had attacked the castle itself, destroying one of the walls and damaging much of the structure, sending flying debris that impacted him, and many others, straight on.

The pain was brutal, but Horror pushed through it.

He had to, he needed to make sure his brother was ok.

So, he ignored the buzzing in his ears, the shaky vision, the mouthful of blood that threatened to surface, the pain in his fingers as he turned around and started frantically pushing the debris away, momentarily forgetting about his magic.

Pieces of wall and broken furniture, half the body of Killer’s first wood sculpture, as ugly as Horror remembered it being.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his brother, dizzy from the impact but otherwise largely unharmed, as stated by a quick status check.

Horror had taken most of the damage, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

But he also had to be quick, they were under attack, and Horror had to choose between helping Nightmare or escaping with his brother.

It was an easy choice.

He’d…

He’d come back, after making sure his brother was ok.

Nightmare would understand.

Maybe.

He wouldn’t.

And Horror couldn't care less.

Horror took Paprika’s hand in his, and started running towards one of the many exits he knew the room had.

They’d been living in the castle so long that Horror could easily find his way around, even when having his… Episodes.

All this dust and fighting noises and his still blurry vision weren’t enough to deter him.

What did deter him though, was a shadow blocking the way up ahead.

One of the attackers no doubt, Horror couldn’t make out who, but he turned around and headed towards another exit.

He didn’t trust himself to competently protect Paprika in his state if he got into a fight.

He got frustrated when there was another shadow in the next exit, guarding it.

And in the next.

And the next.

Every exit he tried was closed off, either by some idiot guarding it or due to the structure around it collapsing.

Horror knew he could deal with it, he could fight his way through one of the guards, or use his attacks to open up the way in one of the blocked exits.

But again, he didn’t trust himself to.

What if he lost control and stopped differentiating between friend and foe?

What if he caused the room (or the whole castle) to collapse on them by forcibly opening up a path?

Not to mention he didn’t know just how many were attacking them, nor who, even if he had an inkling.

It was too risky.

But there were no more exits to try.

He’d have to fight his way through, and if it came down to it, Horror would stay behind to fend off any attackers while his brother hid.

The AU was vast enough for it, it’d be alright.

Paprika would be alright.

Horror would make sure of it.

So, he walked back towards one of the exits he’d backed out of earlier, the most isolated one.

Hopefully, there’d only be only one guy guarding it, one poor bastard that wouldn’t have time to scream for help before Horror hacked him into pieces.

He used the dust to his advantage, Paprika following him a little further behind, crouching between pieces of furniture and rubble, told to bolt out of the room as soon as Horror provided an opening.

Horror waited, gripped his axe tightly… And attacked.

Steel met bone, the attack easily parried off, expected.

Not surprising, as his opponent turned out to be Sky, BirdTale’s Sans, his orange googles actually being put to use for once instead of sitting atop of his head like usual.

Unlucky, Horror would’ve been more than happy to kill him with one sneaky blow.

At least it wouldn’t be hard to deal with him for now, Horror obviously wasn’t the only one engaging in a fight, causing parts of the roof and such to collapse every now and then.

Sky wouldn’t be able to use his main advantage- to fly until things stabilized.

And Horror wasn’t intending to let the fight go on long enough for that.

Not if he could help it.

He swung his axe again, conjuring some jagged bloody bones to cut off Sky’s retreat path.

A miss, Sky barely managed to jump out of the way.

This time it was Horror’s time to dodge, as Sky’s wings swiped at him onto a couple bone attacks.

The battle went on like that, neither party managing to get a hit on the other.

And Horror was growing antsy, his moves growing increasingly agitated.

It should’ve been a simple, easy fight.

Horror should’ve ended it long ago.

But there was simply too much going on.

There were too many things that required his attention at once.

The fight with the feisty little bird.

His brother, whom Horror kept a discreet eye on, worried that he’d be discovered and put in danger.

Flying debris that he had to dodge, either thrown over from some other fight or from the castle that was slowly breaking apart.

His magic, he could feel it fester inside him, the headache and blurry vision that should’ve gone away by now intensifying, ransacking his head like a violent wave that threatened to put him out of commission soon.

“Woah, hey pal, take it easy-”

Horror was shaking now, his attacks slow and sluggish.

He couldn’t comprehend why Sky hesitated to continue the fight now.

Until he caught sight of a couple pinkish red droplets on the ground, still glowing and brimming with magic.
Oh.

His eye was leaking.

“Look, I’m not… We’re not gonna kill you, alright? That’s your bro over there…? He’s gonna be ok, you’re both gonna be ok”

Horror tensed, he mustn’t have been as discreet as he thought when checking on his bro.

Or, well… Despite everything, they’re both sanses, some things you’re just bound to fail to hide from yourself.

“Dream believes you all deserve a chance, so, please… Nightmare won’t be able to do anything to you anymore”

Horror didn’t answer for a good while, just staring dumbfounded at the hand extended towards him.

An offering for help.

It ironically reminded Horror of Nightmare’s own offering way back.

Except Nightmare’s was less of an offering and more of a threat, way less persuasive and far more violent.

Horror might’ve accepted Sky’s- or well, technically Dream’s offer, before.

But not now.

As shitty of a boss Nightmare is, he’s still family.

He’s still the one that saved Horror and Paprika from starvation, when the Council refused to help them on account of finding them disturbing, ignoring the fact that Ink made them that way.

So, no.

Horror isn’t a saint, he’s well aware of the fact he’s been trying to retreat, to not help Nightmare fight, despite claiming he’s family.

But he’s not a traitor unlike Cross, he was planning on coming back once he made sure Paprika was somewhere safe.

…

Sky’s answer was a swing of Horror’s axe.

One that would’ve impacted right in his skull, if it weren’t for a flying bone diverting it just in time.

Reinforcements.

This was bad.

Horror didn’t have much time to think about it, to see who came to assist.

Because he heard his brother crying out in alarm.

He teleported to Paprika’s side with much effort.

His eye felt like it was on fire, leaking more and more with every painful throb.

He must’ve looked like a rabid animal, he sure felt like one, pointing his axe at anyone who dared get close.

He knew his brother was capable of defending himself.

But more and more idiot Council members kept coming.

Some looked worried, others seemed disgusted and angry at them, or even seemed to feel pity.

Horror caught on quickly to the fact that they weren’t attacking.

They were making him and Paprika back up, cornering them, leading them to a trap.

It frustrated him to no end that even if Horror was aware of the fact, he couldn’t do much about it.

And it worried him to not understand why.

What are they planning?

Another public execution?

Surely not, as little as he was able to perceive and process now, he could tell they were being led back to the center of the room.

Most importantly, he could see at the very least that Killer was there, and probably the others too.

They aren’t dead, that’s a relief.

But again, it just doesn’t make sense.

If they were to be killed, it’d have been better to do so separately, the Council fools surely knew that reuniting them would just it harder to do so.

Maybe an intervention…?

No, convincing them to surrender or even desert would’ve also been easier if they were kept apart.

So why?

Why?

Why?

God, his fucking head-

“Horror! Horror look at me, oh my god, it’s- it’s going to be ok”

It took Horror longer than he would’ve liked to recognize Blue, fussing over him alongside Paprika.

He didn’t even register the moment he was pulled to the center of the circle the Gang had created, shielding him from prying eyes.

Nor did he catch most of the words Blue said.

“Paprika, you ----- please ----- I’ll talk with ----- … ----- know”

A warm feeling spread thorough his body, calming him as he recognized his brother’s magic, his intent to stabilize him.

The brief clarity through the haze allowed Horror to see Blue leaving the safety of the protective circle.

To the Council.

No, no, that’s dangerous.

Blue will get hurt.

And that’s bad because-

Because…

…

Right, Blue.

Horror likes Blue.

He’s a good guy.

Nightmare doesn’t think so.

But Horror does.

As does Paprika.

Blue has done a lot of things for them.

Like…

Like the food.

Farm takes care of it now, thanks to Nightmare.

But before Nightmare, and before Farm, Blue was the one that fed them.

And he’s a good cook.

Paprika likes to bake with him.

Horror enjoys learning new recipes with him.

Blue is family.

Like Paprika, in a way Nightmare isn’t.

In a way Horror knows Paprika would be safe with him, if anything happened to Horror.

He can’t say the same about Nightmare.

…

And now his…

His Blue? His other brother?

His Blue.

And now his Blue is heading into danger.

He’s being screamed at by some orange tall idiot.

He’s being grabbed by the arm and tossed aside.

He moves out of pure instinct.

Instinct to protect, to bring his Blue back to safety, to retaliate against who’s caused him harm.

He doesn’t achieve anything.

He’s barely taken hold of Blue’s hand.

Barely pulled him to his side, when the ground below him suddenly collapses.

…

No.

It doesn't collapse.

It just straight up disappears.

He can’t do much about it.

There’s nothing to hold onto, the portal to wherever he’s fallen into just expanding, not giving him a chance to hold onto the edge and pull himself up.

He tries summoning a bone attack, to stop his fall, to help him come back up.

But he can’t, because his eye just pops.

And suddenly Horror can’t process anything anymore, the pain too overwhelming, the magic too free.

The last thing he sees before passing out is Blue, holding tightly onto him, Paprika’s hand in his.

Vague silhouettes in the distance, that he thinks is the Gang.

And an infinite darkness that isn’t just a byproduct of his condition.

The Void.

.
.
.
.
.

Every day was the same, every action a burden.

Wake up and sometimes wish he hadn’t.

Deal with the Council.

Tell Stretch that no- Dream wasn’t about to give up and kill his brother.

Or Error for that matter, Dream wasn’t about to meddle in Ink’s matters and Blue wasn’t in danger, as much as Stretch wanted to convince him he was.

Do some other menial tasks until nightfall.

Go back to his room, and hope no one would come to disturb him for the night.

Stare at the ceiling.

Regret every single thing he did back in Dreamtale.

Berate himself for not reaching out to Nightmare then and now.

Promise to find and talk to Nightmare tomorrow.

Force himself to sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

But today was different.

Today was a calm day, good even.

Dream was finally getting to relax for once.

No Council meetings that he’d have to direct, supervise and mediate.

No Error destroying another AU and Ink going to deal with him, leaving Dream alone to calm the Council down.

No fans wanting to ask for his autograph or ask dumb questions, gosh, Dream knows they’re just being nice and all that, but it got old fast.

No Gang attacks that he’d have to respond to… Even if those hadn’t been a concern since forever.

He hadn’t seen his brother in forever.

But today that was going to change.

Dream felt revitalized for the first time in a long time.

Whatever had kept the Council occupied, Dream couldn’t be happier about it.

Because he finally had the time and the motivation to try and fix things with Nightmare.

...

And then he felt it.

A nauseating combination of energy and dread.

A sudden surge in positivity that had him brimming with power.

And a distinct lack of negativity, of his brother, of Nightmare, that had him stumbling in his step and falling to the ground, dry heaving and clutching his chest.

To feel so devastated, yet at the same time to not able to feel it to its full extent.

What happened?

Why?

How?

His brother…

Oh my god.

His brother.

Nightmare-

The wave of positivity from the portal opening nearby had Dream shivering in indignation, rage and despair.

He didn’t need to be told why they were happy.

He could feel it.

They didn’t look like it, their faces grim.

But Dream still knew they were happy inside.

It would take a while for Nightmare’s presence to go away, for everyone to stop feeling negativity entirely.

Dream couldn’t help but feel disgusted at them, at this fake display of mourning.

All performances, except for one.

Dream didn’t even have to look to be sure, he could guess who was at fault.

The one person that had enough self-imposed authority within the Council to do such a thing without his or Ink’s knowledge, because Ink would’ve never meddled with Dream’s affairs.

The one person whose grief could compel everyone else to act as if they felt the same, despite the fact they obviously wanted to celebrate, not nearly as afflicted by the loss as him.

Stretch.

Blue must’ve perished in the process then.

Blue was a good guy, really.

Dream liked him well enough.

So, maybe Dream was a monster for this.

But he wished that it hurt, that his death was anything but peaceful, just so Stretch would be as devastated as him, so he could feel the pain of losing a brother in the worst way possible.

.
.
.
.
.

Ink was having a fantastic day of indulging in his hobbies.

There was this new AU he had been working on, one of the waterfalls was starting to slow down, and it was always a 50/50 chance on whether those would dry or not.

Even if it didn’t, Ink was more than happy to still work on something.

He’d be even happier to bring it to existence right now, but Error wouldn’t like that.

He didn’t seem to like a lot of things, but that’s alright, Ink likes things plenty enough for the both of them.

And it wasn’t like Error was a total killjoy.

He did interesting things like… Hmm

Like destroying!

Ink wasn’t exactly fond of it at the beginning, but it was plenty convenient now, and Ink relished on trying to figure out just how his powers worked every now and then.

He also liked… Watching Undernovela!

Ink’s happy to know Error likes one of his creations so much, but truth to be told, he didn’t quite get it, being so invested on one single AU.

Why stay stuck with one, when there were so many others so much different and with something new to offer?

Hmm, guess Error is simple-minded, happy with the bare minimum.

Ink was most fascinated with Error’s knitting hobby.

It was kind of funny, that a destroyer was capable of creation.

Not only capable of the act itself, but of enjoying it.

Genuinely enjoying it.

…

That’s the thing that most fascinated Ink.

That Error and him were so much alike, yet so different.

They were both gods.

They were both tasked with maintaining Balance, if Error was to be believed about the whole thing.

And they were both capable of Creation and Destruction.

But Error is capable of dying.

Unlike Ink.

Error has a soul.

Ink doesn’t.

That’s the thing that draws Ink in the most.

Error can feel.

Ink can’t.

Error can stop doing his job, and the multiverse may collapse, but he’d still keep his emotions.

Ink doesn’t dare stop creating, because that would mean losing himself.

Losing his real self, his emotions, his identity.

Error doesn’t want to be alive, he confessed that to Ink a long time ago.

Ink does, he wants a soul more than anything, he wants to be alive.

Truly alive.

…

His internal rambling was cut short by a sudden feeling.

A summon.

What a bother.

Even more so because he could sense it came from the Council’s headquarters.

Really, he’d have thought that they would’ve gotten the hint by now that Ink couldn’t care less about them.

The Council was supposed to be Dream’s problem, as was Nightmare.

He’s the one who wanted to establish it after all.

Sometimes he really regretted humoring Dream’s delusions of diplomacy.

If it was up to Ink the Council would’ve never existed.

He didn’t need it to be remembered as a hero.

He swears he’s gonna dismantle it one of these days.

…

…

…

He’s gonna dismantle it today.

It’s gotten out of hand.

They’ve gotten out of hand.

Grown too independent.

Especially Stretch.

It isn’t that Ink was too uninvolved.

… Well, he was, but he still kept himself up to date with the big stuff.

Such as an ambush.

That neither Dream nor Ink ever heard of.

That Stretch intentionally concealed from them.

Even if, in retrospect, he should've been more suspicious of him asking Ink to create a couple AUs with one location each.

In his defense, the idea of multiple AUs being pieced together to create one big mega AU sounded amazing, he just had to try it.

Ink normally wouldn’t care so much, he’d just let them be, whatever amused them.

He didn’t even care that Nightmare and his little group had been cast into the Void.

No, what Ink cared about was that Error was also cast into the Void.

Error.

His one friend, Error.

Murder was starting to look like a sensible answer.

He had avoided drinking any more paint than the bare minimum required to maintain his sense of self for now.

He couldn’t be getting emotional, not if he wanted to figure out a way to get Error back.

Dream’s little breakdown was more than enough proof that he needed to keep cool.

Even if the red was looking pretty tempting.

… Going back a bit.

Do you know who did care that Nightmare was gone?

Dream! And boy was he losing it!

Ink had to pry him off Stretch by force, bullshitting out an explanation that Nightmare’s disappearance had destabilized him but he’d be fine.

A tiny little lie.

And I mean, technically he was unstable from Nightmare’s… Yeah.

Even if it was more… Emotional, rather than magical like Ink had implied.

The result was the same in the end.

A shaken up but partying Council in some random AU, sent away lest Dream tries to kill them next.

A Stretch on timeout while Ink figured out what to do with him.

A despairing Dream wailing and taking out his frustrations on the nearby furniture.

And Ink, kept calm only on account of his lack of soul, of his ability to control what he feels.

But he wasn’t too worried.

He could take this opportunity to get rid of the Council once and for all.

And he’d figure out what to do with Dream and Stretch later.

As for Error…

Well, as sure as everyone seemed to be that Error was gone because… It was the Void, Ink thought otherwise.

No.

He knew otherwise.

The doll in his hands, one Error had made for him long ago when demonstrating his sewing abilities and had a couple missing limbs, was proof enough.

Error is still alive.

And Ink is going to get him back.