Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Error has to admit, he's grown soft. 

Sure, he still viewed the inhabitants of the multiverse to be glitches that he needed to destroy. But a certain little blue skeleton had softened him up.

Now, Error wouldn't let anyone know this... After all, he was supposed to be emotionless and get his job done. However, the little Blueberry caused this weird tingly feeling in his metaphorical stomach and soul. It felt like something had latched on the inverted heart but it wasn't necessarily... unpleasant? Like, he didn't enjoy the feeling (felt like needles and pins, clapping down on the most painful places) but it had a weird... sense of care with it? He's not sure.

Either way, it had led to letting him go. He'd watched him, forced him even, to step through a glitchy portal and return to Underswap, to his brother. He could handle seeing the greatest most confusing thing leave. He knew he wouldn't feel anything... yet, he did. He felt a horrible ache when he thought 'I'm alone again' and a sickly shiver over his spine when he came to the realization, a long while after he was gone, that he had loved him. It had been so long, he was sure it had been. 

He'd begun to come to his mind when he had figured out his feelings for Sans. He'd begun to work through all that had driven him to the point of insanity (it was hard to do so alone) so he doubted, feared he wouldn't be good enough for him.

But he was so lonely. 

That's what led him to the decision he made... and he honestly doesn't regret it. Sure, the little skeleton's brother still didn't trust him. Sure, he had the dust of thousands, maybe millions of monsters and blood from a couple humans on his hands. Sure, he could feel that soul crushing pain of depression but... he's not alone. No, someone's here for him. Maybe it'll be hard to go to him, to spill his secrets and regained memories like a glass of curdled milk, breaking away from the cup that held it... but it was what was needed for a new cup, with fresh milk. He knew this...

He snapped from his thoughts when he heard his boyfriend's laugh, glancing at the screen to give himself a mental catch up. He'd seen the film so many times but... hearing Blue's laugh was infectious and he let out his own little 'heh'. His thumb ran over the other's pretty white knuckles. He wasn't ready for full on cuddling but hand holding is good. He can could handle that.

After a moment of silence, letting his gaze move to the adorable face that he'd fallen in love with.

"Blue," his voice is soft, avoiding the glitching he knew that came about when he was louder, "I love you."

Blue eyes met his own, a big smile spreading across the other's face, hold tighter.

"I love you, too, Error."

They shared a kiss.

Chapter Text

Sci was a scientist.

He was used to the cold, hard facts. That's what everything boiled down to, anyway.

Logic made up his thoughts... it made things simpler because he didn't need to worry about the emotions that came withe everything. There was no need to let sadness seep into his bones, or let angry control the fire in his eyes. It wasn't logical to do; it would muddle up his thoughts.

Of course, that didn't mean he didn't fall in love. Hell, he's been in relationships... and he was picky with the people he dated. If they made him feel like shit and the embodiment of heaven at the same time, he knew they were the one he was going to let into his life. Even then, it was hard to get through to him, to make him open up. And you couldn't be extremely emotional about it... After all, it was illogical and frightened him away.

So it was odd when Sci found himself enthralled with a certain, dark-themed skeleton.

The Sans from Underfell was emotional as emotional gets. The constant fear and tenseness, the occasional tears... it was almost like no one had ever seen him with a real smile. He was a mess of sweat, magic, and bone. Sci knew he wasn't his type.

Yet... here he was, falling in love with the emotional, depressed version of himself. This was all so new to him, so strange. And he loved it! Strawberry was a puzzle in disguise... he never knew what was going to happen, even if he just assumed it was crying. But the other's actions ranged so much... It was so weird and fascinating.

But, sometimes, it got annoying. Like now, for instance. 

It had been, what, three years? Yeah, three years since they had begun dating. He knew that Strawberry wouldn't instantly get better with him being his boyfriend but boy did he think it'd help, even just a little. But it did, in a way. He'd seen Strawberry slowly grow to be happier, more energetic. He'd seen him get passionate, become cheerful and optimistic, in some cases! It was such a huge change and such a short amount of time and he was so goddamn proud of his boyfriend for it. But that doesn't mean things were perfect. He got scared easily, he couldn't order food because the cashier or waiter was too scary, and other things like that.

This was a similar situation... kinda.

It was kind of a blur, with yelling and fighting and Strawberry's running out the door, running away, the restaurant's glass door slamming shut as the customers begin to converse over the crazy monster's out-burst and the words bounced around in his skull, leaving him in a gaze with his jaw dropped and holding the menu as his soul let out a thrum of worry that his mind wasn't quite grasping. He was up and out before he could truly think, fingertips tearing into his palm's bone as his 'breath' puffed out in steam from the cold air. His jacket was left behind, leaving the turtle neck to be the only thing keeping him warm. Not that the warmth of his own bones mattered to him at the moment, as his boyfriend was missing and he couldn't find him, not matter how much he fought past the falling snow and pushed at strolling monsters and humans, no matter how much he looked and searched, he couldn't find him.

...it had been seven hours... since then... and he'd finally found him.

Sci was a scientist.

He was used to cold, hard facts. That's what everything boiled down to, anyway.

And the cold, hard facts here was Strawberry was dead. And there was nothing he could to save him... he was already dusting. Sci could only watch as pretty, white turned into gritty, ugly gray and he knew that this was going to hurt, that this was going to kill him on the inside slowly but he couldn't find himself caring about the pain inflicted on himself as a scream ripped from his throat, followed by a sob and a shiver, stumbling over to the familiar jacket and it was dusty it shouldn't be dusty, yet it was and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. 

Just touching the black and red sweater brought out tears, fingers moving the fabric to catch as much as the dust as he could, tying the sleeves to the end of it... He made a bag for dust that he shouldn't be carrying because Strawberry didn't deserve that... he deserved the happiness that Sci had been working so hard to get him to. The other skeleton was so sweet and caring under those scars and threats; this wasn't fair.

Sci was a scientist.

He was used to cold, hard facts. That's what everything boiled down to.

Emotions were a hassle and muddied his thoughts. They were inconvenient to progress.

And, yet, he found that he couldn't move on. The coat on his bed, the dust in a vase of Strawberry's favorite flowers. He knew he needed to let go...

But the facts are that he loved him... without a doubt and it'd never be the same without his lover in his arms.

And, god, did he hate the facts for once.

Chapter Text

This dork was going to be the death of him.

Space was just coming in to check on Strawberry. The hide out was bathed in an array of blues, casting a gentle glow on pristine white bones as the dark-themed skeleton moved about. He looked so happy, moving in time to the song. The sound of rushing water didn't deter him... in fact, it seemed to push him onward. Space had been watching for a while now... and the other had gone through three slow songs, two hip hop, and four Eletro Swing songs. He was surprised, honestly, to see that he was a good dancer. His steps were coordinated, everything he did was elegant and perfect and, honestly, he was enjoying the view.

But, eventually, he did have to let himself be known, for he had food for the other.

"Yo, Strawberry!" He called, stepping in and shifting the bags of food into his other hand. He watched as the other stumbled for the first time since he started playing the music. It made him laugh, as mean as it sounds. He turned around, spotting Space and a dark red blush dusted white cheeks. A look of horror decorated the rest of his face.

"Spacie! How long have you been standing there?" He squeaked, taking a step back and moving to turn off the radio.

"Since ya began playing that one waltz. Real pretty, y'know?" Space chuckled, walking over and grabbing his hand. The bag fell to the floor, "You should teach me."

The look that dawned on him was priceless and, admittedly, adorable.

So, after five minutes of begging and convincing, Space finally got him to teach him. Which dace, you may ask? Swing. He got him to teach him to swing dance.

It took a while, trail and error, for him to even get himself to get the arm movements right. But watching Strawberry's face, lit up with pride and joy, was worth tripping and stumbling like a new born dear. The other's laughter was prettier than the catchy music that filled the air and he couldn't stop his own smile that crossed his face, watching the other double over.

That's how the day continued, dancing and awful singing, sharing jokes and food... it was perfect, just like the Strawberry's smile.

In the back of his head, he reminded himself that he should get some CDs for him... just so he could see him that happy again.

Chapter Text

Muffet was this close to snapping! 

It had been a long, long day at her new diner/bakery on the surface. The little building, titled On The Web, as the purple, light up words on the top would tell, had become known for sweet treats and gross surprises. Of course, it meant she had a lot of customers... and unwanted "guests". This included rude humans, who liked to talk her down for being a monster... or barely even one, people (monsters and humans alike) whom were angry at her little games she played with people's food (despite putting clear warnings on signs and menus), and just mean people in general.

Of course, with that said, there would be very awful days. Days that started out with waking from a nightmare, days where she could barely even function and her temper was shorter than usual; she'd snap, groan, and complain all day and almost everything got on her nerves... Unfortunately, barely anything helped at all.

Today had been one of those days. She'd dealt with six different racist humans, three angry customers, and that annoying skeleton's puns! She was quite through with everything!

So, of course, after cleaning up and counting the money (usually gone to her little spiders and her pet or the store), she'd gone straight to the back side of the building to go to bed. She was tired, worn, and in no mood for anything.

And she was about to announce just that when she turned on the light... but she froze, spotting tiny little friends on the table. A table cloth, purple with tiny lines making up a spiderweb, had been pulled over the polished redwood, her prettiest tea cups set up with cakes from the store beside them. A kettle had been placed in the center, matching the cups' black surfaces with exotic lines painted to be flowers with strings, much like a spider's string, strung out in an almost web. It had not only been her prettiest set, but her favorite, as her family had been the ones to purchase it for her... They had used the money she set aside for them to do it and it was so... sweet. She adored it.

"What's this...?" She asked, cocking her head to the side a little as her sets of hands clasped behind her, eyes widening a little. She could hear soft clicks and squeaks pass through her spiders and she giggled, letting a few lead her to her chair. Muffet settled down, leaning back a little and crossing her legs.

"You guys are too sweet, y'know that?" Muffet cooed, lifting her cup and sipping from it. 

The night continued with stories and jokes from most of them, shared with joyous laughter and sometimes shushed whispers, like the people in the story were there and listening and none of them wanted to get caught. This was one of the rare moments when Muffet truly relaxed from harsh days and got to smile, big and wide and proud.

Proud of the not-so-little family she got to call her own.

Chapter Text

Error was... tired. 

Ink would say that the glitch was energetic, in a way. He had all the energy in the world, dedicated to destroying the worlds that had so much more than him. Ink said he was jealous, that he was determined to make everyone feel what he was feeling and Ink wasn't entirely wrong because Error was jealous but he was scared, too, with the kind of fear that follows everywhere, taunts and jabs to confidence as he lashed out to everyone around him, silently screaming for help because, god, he was so scared and so goddamn alone. But he was also so, so tired... his bones creaked and his eye lids always felt so heavy. His grip on things, mentally and physically, had grown weak and he was so... close to giving up.

In fact, he was giving up. That's what Sanses did best, right...?

So he sat, alone in the dark in a world never to quite be finished, abandoned by Ink when Error made a surprise visit. The remaining hill was large, with soft grass, a little wooden bench with a tree, resembling a weeping willow, loomed over with strange, glowing flowers blooming from the hanging branches. The sky, it had been a universe based off being on the Surface, wasn't it, was beautiful, with streaks of blue, pink, and purple in with inky black, tiny little stars twinkling and two moons hovering next to each other. 

Error was situated on the grass, staring up at the sky. Around him, bleary images danced about. They were holograms, created from magic and memory, but his memory was foggy, so the images were, too. They were in such pretty clothes, dresses folding and twirling while ties and coat tails swayed to their movements. When he had first summoned the holograms, before errors littered his bones, they had been a beautiful a beautiful blue. Now, they were an ugly, faded green and yellow that had been engraved into his head and haunted him, drove him crazy. They flickered and faded, he couldn't even see their faces and it hurt so much because he knew them but he didn't because he tried to think of a name his head hurt and his soul pounded and he wanted to scream. But he was silent, like always. He couldn't bring himself to scream because scared they'd scream back so he stayed silent and watched the sky. 

His thoughts had drifted, a soft song on repeat in his mind. He'd heard it one time, on the Surface when he had destroyed a universe. He couldn't remember the name, but the words played through his mind, stealing away his breath as his eyes slid shut. He wouldn't dare sing; he hated his voice with a passion. But he could put his magic, to let the notes free, the figures dancing with the beat. 

So he did, the beginning of a saddened melody trickling to a beginning, the holograms starting anew as his fingers gripped the grass, knowing that, just outside of the circle of happy party-goers, there was another figure... he knew it was there but he didn't want to acknowledge that one, with the short height and chubby body that mirrored his own or the heavy jacket over his nice clothes, that he looked just like Error except normal and he just... pretended that he didn't know that the figure was more clear than the others because how could he forget himself?

His checks were wet. When had that happened? He doesn't know. But that's okay because he doesn't know a lot of things; his brain's been numbed down to only know that the universes were making him feel lonely and sick but he doesn't know why so he just holds onto the feeling, but he wants to let go. Error wants to let go but the strings are tightening and the screens are screaming at him that there's a new one, there's a new place that got luckier than his own and they needed to go... but he doesn't want them to, strangely... He wants them there. How odd.

It's been a while, he admits. He's been there the entire time... Sans must be worried, Ink must have found him. They might be looking but he doubts it... Who looks for their kidnapper and enemy?

Not that he cares. He's going to stay here, where he's alone. Where he's at peace.

The strings aren't letting go... and he's glad that they aren't, watching them squeeze the soul that was supposed to be white tinted blue but it's black tinted yellow. He hates it, knows that yellow is Justice but he doesn't serve justice... except this once.

It hurt, but that's okay. He deserved it, didn't he?

It's a win-win, if he died. No more of him tormenting others and he gets to rest.

The inverted soul pops and he feels his body begin to dust. He could hear some voices screaming, vaguely realizes its Blue and Ink, but he doesn't care. Sure, he loved Blue, with all of his metaphorical heart, and Ink could have been his friend, if he had let him but...

Error was... tired.

And now? He finally gets to sleep.

Chapter Text

"Where the hell is my knife?"

Of course that's the first thing said in the morning, when Frisk is still forcing themselves from the bed. They groan, looking over to Chara, who is digging into his own drawers, knowing that Frisk will hit them with a stick if he got into the other's stuff. Despite being a pacifist, they were truly protective of their stuff, most likely from his messing around and breaking some of Frisk's photos.

"You're knife?" They mumbled sleepily, rubbing their eyes.

"Yeah, my knife. Do you know where it is?" Chara snapped back, looking up to the, admittedly, adorable ambassador. Their hair was a mess, their PJs (just a long, warm shirt) were ruffled and they had a blanket wrapped around their thin frame, staring back at him with barely any idea of what was going on. 

"I put it away." Frisk offered, leaning back into their pillow.

"Where?" He replied quickly, jolting up.

"Why do you need to know?" They muttered, straightening their back as they, once again, pushed off the bed. Finally woke up enough to realize they have a meeting today, it seemed.

"I need it, Frisk!"

"Why?"

Chara let out a low growl, putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot. The reason was simple: he'd heard some jerk had been making fun of Frisk and, to him, that was unacceptable! They had to pay!

"It's for the greater good!"

That's when Chara realized he made a mistake as Frisk's mouth formed a large smile, arms crossed over their chest and jutting out their hip in their sassiest pose.

"I'm the greatest good you're ever gonna get!"

Chara groaned.

Chapter Text

He was starting to become familiar with Error's habits.

It was scary how quickly he picked them up. He hadn't expected to understand each habit just yet; thought it'd take a lot longer. He had picked up that Error got up to eat chocolate when uncomfortable, hid under or behind something with every echo, how he would cover his face when he was scared, or how his eyes would travel to the kitchen when a yellow blush dusted his dark cheeks.

And, to be honest, he loved it. Once you got past all the scary stuff, Error was surprisingly sweet, caring, and really freaking adorable. He got shy and nervous now, seeing as he's moved past his anger by now. Blueberry remembered fondly about how hard him and Ink worked to get him there. Now, they were working on helping Error get over his fears. He's come a long way.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Error's fingers intertwined with his own: a testament to how he was getting used to being here, to touching and being happy. He glanced at the glitch, smile wide with pride and love. Stars above, he loved him so much.

Error loved him, too. Proved it with a shaky kiss to his smile before the relaxed into the couch, gaze to the TV as the night pressed on. It was late and he wanted to sleep but the other one beside him had a nightmare.

So he'll stay by his side, whispering comforts and praises.

Never, ever does he see the watchful gaze of Papyrus, as he slowly grows more,

More,

And more

lonely...

Chapter Text

A laugh fell from his mouth, resting his head on his boyfriend's lap, staring up at him. One hand was intertwined with the other's, his free one resting on his stomach. Another beautiful sound filled his senses: Sans' chuckling.

The two of them have been together for five years now... it was magical. Strawberry was so happy with the other, especially after all he's been through. Sans has been his support and lifeline, there for him no matter what and he's doing the best he can to return the favor. They'd seen each other at the worst and the best, seen them in the in-between and the not-even-close. They've held their breaths for each other, spoken the words they'd never say to anyone else... it was perfect, even if they fought sometimes or Strawberry decided to make his life shorter.

But they loved each other; that's what mattered. With another laugh, he rolled off of him. He landed on the floor before pushing himself up a little, getting on one knee. He held the other's hand.

"Sans..."

Sans' laughter stopped, a bony brow lifting as he stared at his long-time boyfriend in subdued curiosity.

Strawberry snickered softly, pulling out a ketchup bottle with a little ring attached to the nozzle, "Will you make me the happiest skele in the entire Multiverse and marry me?"

Sans looked back on this memory fondly, staring at the picture that was snapped secretly by Papyrus. His thumb brushed over the glass, pretending to listen to his brother's rants on his outfit for the wedding. After a crap ton of begging, he got Strawberry to agree to a wedding dress... more as a joke but... he still couldn't wait to see him in the red silk.

He stood up, looking towards Papyrus with a big smile. Papyrus' gaze softened.

"THIS IS THE HAPPIEST I'VE SEEN YOU, BROTHER!" He shouted, offering his arm. It was high time to get to the stage before his bride.

A happy ending... at last.

Chapter Text

When Error disappeared, Blue thought it'd be like any other time.

I mean, deep down, he knew it wasn't. He'd watch him break down into tears, claw at his head, run away every time he got near before disappearing into a glitched portal. But he wanted to believe that it was, that he was going to return and everything would be okay, that Error wasn't hiding away somewhere because he was breaking apart from the inside, in pure pain and that it was just another spat.

But that's not the case. The longer he was gone, the more Blue realized this. 

He was scared. Scared that he'd be left here, alone forever. Scared that Error would hurt some; hurt himself. He cared deeply for Error, even loved him. He couldn't bear the lose.

Before he knew it, he was crying. For how long, he didn't know... and, honestly, didn't care. He could hear the voices begging him to cheer up.

 Ink was starting to worry.

Sure, the painter was known for being a bit of a worrywart. But he hasn't run into Error, like he usually did when he was out and about. And, when he visited the Anti-Void, he only found a Swap Sans, to which he'd learned had been there for a while, awaiting his return.

He decided that he was going to look, with the help of the Blueberry. God, he hoped he was okay. 

He knew Error wasn't exactly mentally stable. He was scared and sad, broken like mirror against a wall, shattering in a morbid beauty of shards of glass, spinning their own webs of depression and paranoia, knew that Error stared into those pieces with a blank expression with an internal war raging on inside, screaming in his head for someone, for anyone to end the suffering brought upon him, whether it be from death or saving. But He didn't know how far he'd go; he didn't know if Error would commit the deed himself and it scared him to know end, knowing that his 'enemy' would do such a thing. He wanted to help and he knew Blue did, too.

Two weeks, four days, ten hours, and thirty minutes.

Blue's been keeping count. Ink can hear him mumbling the seconds; twenty three, twenty four, twenty five-

Ink feels like he's going insane.

Four weeks, three days, thirteen hours, and fifty minutes.

Blue's voice is gone. Ink knows that he'd still be able to scream, if they found out that Error did something drastic. Ink hates the picture he puts in his mind; all strings tied around joints, hanging from a tree with Error's head lolling to the side, eye sockets blank as he dusts. He wished he could throw up and forget the image.

Somehow, the silence drove him crazier than the constant counting.

His fingers shook as he stared down at the list he has created. It's the places they looked and got in contact with. It felt like they had eyes everywhere.

1. Undertale (twelve)
2. Underswap (nineteen)
3. Anti-Void  
4. Load Screen
5. Reapertale
6. Outertale (twenty four)
7. Horrortale (five)
8. Underfell (sixteen)-

He had to stop himself from continuing to read down the list, knowing there was several more alternate universes they've checked and haven't checked. It left him winded and scared, more so than before. He hated how many versions there of each universe. For once, it left him with an unsettled feeling

He ripped it apart.

They've checked seven more Outertales, nine more Underswaps, and sixteen other Undertales. Nothing.

Ink felt like he was losing hope. Stars, he wasn't going to give up.

Blue hasn't slept in nine days. He fell asleep on Ink today; it's worrying.

To be fair, Ink hasn't eaten anything in over six days.

They set up a deal; Ink would eat normally and Blue would sleep. If the other didn't do what they had agreed on, they didn't have to do their part.

Ink realized how flawed this was when he woke up to Blue crying.

Blue actually got them to take a break. They didn't want to but they did; their bodies couldn't take much more of this.

They took turns bathing, eating, sleeping, and relaxing. It was nice.

Nearly a month. Ink didn't know Error could stand that long without returning to his puppets; he knew that they were his only entertainment for the most part.

He knows that the only place they really should check now was abandoned universes. Error could be there for a hundred years and not notice because time doesn't work in those broken pockets of lost ideas and broken dreams.

They found him. 

They found him but, god, they wished it had been sooner because the strings were too tight, the pain on Error's face was evident and Ink felt like screaming, already heard it in the air and it took him a moment too long to really understand that it wasn't a trick of him mind, that he was actually screeching in horror as he surged forward.

He could hear Blue's sobs and pleas, voice cracking and hoarse from all his counting and crying before this. He could hear the tremble, the break-aways and fade outs, all in hyper detail that he didn't even know excited. It felt like slow motion, fingers, brushing the first string, trying to grab at it before-

Nothing.

Ink felt nothing make contact with his fingers except specs of dust. A breath he didn't know was holding was released, eyes blurred as he stared forward, watching in mute terror. The strings were the first thing to start to shatter, then his hands, followed by his arms. It went up his legs and ended at his chest, where the soul had popped. The dust specs floated about in the little-to no wind, dancing along the air like a great ball. He gagged, his mind finally catching up to reality: that was his friend. And his friend was gone. He could feel the tears spilling down his cheeks, his hand falling.

There was nothing.

n o t h i n g

a t  a l l.

The funeral was hard to do. After all, Error didn't have much at all. He didn't value the Anti-Void, which was good because Ink refused to ever let Error's dust touch the taunting white that served as the glitch's home. In the end, they settled on his creepy puppets, his shirt, and his shorts. Blue had stolen Error's sweater... and he wasn't going to let it go. Ink learned very quickly that Blue had fallen for his would-be captor and, seeing him gone, must have hurt the little skeleton to no end. He offered his comfort the best he could, with his own soul reeling.

After wrapping the puppets in the clothes and spreading the dust among it, Ink took the bundle to Outertale, tucking it neatly and hidden away from prying eyes. Though, he still made sure that the stars were visible... Error liked the stars.

The two said their parting words before making a quick get away, not wanting to cry in front of their fallen friend's grave.

It had been two years since Error's death, not that anyone had been counting.

Blue had reunited with his brother and the two had grown closer. Despite the hatred for the glitch, Papyrus learned to accepted that he wasn't all that bad, that he did need someone to help him, especially after hearing what happened. He had to help his brother through the lingering nightmares of seeing the twirling dust against the starry sky.

Ink went on as usual. His job was ten times easier but ninety times more boring and lonely. He'd be fine, though. He missed Error, but it had been two years. He was going to let his friend rest in peace.

The two Sanses met up every once in a while, a sort of get together to talk about their feelings or just to sit down and watch a movie. They would also bring candy, drinks, and cool knickknacks they found to Error's grave and some big gift every year on his birthday. They'll never truly get over the lose of Error... but, at least now, they didn't cry every time. No, they gave sad or, some times, happy smiles and told stories, showed new tricks they learned and made jokes... If the glitch could talk, they both knew he'd be laughing, and not from maliciousness. 

Blue mauled over this as he bid his farewells to Error's grave, pushing the candies closer to the mound and adjusting the dark jacket, walking off to meet Ink at their star gazing spot.

As he walked, he swore he could hear the sounds of strings being summoned and a candy wrapper being thrown into the trash.

Chapter Text

The lights bore down upon him, causing the room to spin and sweat to bead upon his skull. For Sans, though, this was normal and he managed to force his smile wider as his gaze flickered from the crowd to the host, Mettaton.

The surface had been everything everyone wanted and more. Of course, there was troubles in settling and a long, tiring political battle to earn citizenship and the like. It had been a tough spot to go through but now everyone's evened out for the most part. Sure, there was still racism surrounding monsters and their culture but what could they do? The humans had racism surrounding everything.

Luckily, one of the stations that featured nothing of the sort was MTT-TV Live, a show Mettaton started that featured humans and monsters alike, a chance to learn about life as either one. Mettaton himself picked the guests, usually people on the streets he found interesting. It didn't matter if you were famous or not; you just had appear entertaining. Which was both odd and not so much for Sans: he wasn't famous at all. Everyone in their small group had become popular but him; Undyne being an athlete, Papyrus a physical therapist and chief, Alphys a scientist, the king and queen politicians and teachers, and, of course, Mettaton a singer, dancer, and talk show host, with helps of his lovely cousin Nastablook.

Sans was in the background. He was a lazy worker at a greasy restaurant that wasn't even Grillby's, a comedian who got a spotlight once a month at the same rundown joint. There wasn't much to him... he didn't even look interesting!

But, for some reason, Mettaton picked him to go up on stage. Maybe it was for jokes...?

They were on air, now.

"Hello, beauties and gentle beauties~! Welcome back to MTT TV Like. Today's guest is our neighborhood comedian: Sans the Skeleton!" Mettaton's voice called out to the cameras and audience, which responded in loud cheers as if they knew the little skeleton like a celebrity. One look from Mettaton and Sans knew to wave with his usual lazy grin upon his cheeks.

"Heya. Glad to be here." He muttered softly. Mettaton leaned forward a bit, fingers tapping the desk with a fond smile.

"No need to be so shy, Sans~!" He cooed, laughing at the light blue blush he got in response.

"heh, I guess the attention's rattled my bones." Cue groan from the crowd, which resulted in more confidence for the pun master.

"oh, funny, darlin'. Anyway, are you ready? I've got the questions all together."

Sans' fingers twitched on his lap,"ready as I'll ever be. Lay it on me, Metta."

The questions had started out rather simple; it was all about his life. Who were his living relatives, what had been his job in the Underground and what it was now, hobbies, ect, ect. Simple stuff. Stuff that didn't delve too deep into his life... Mettaton really was treating him a little differently than his past talkers...

 That was okay. He knew Mettaton remembered what happened last time everyone got curious.

After a while, the host decided it was time for a challenge. It happened with all of his guests; he'd pick something that they had to do and they'd do their best to complete the task. Usually, it was funny. Sometimes, it got serious. Either way, it was always interesting to see.

"You'll describe colors without using their names, darling," Mettaton cooed, tracing the grain of the wood in his desk. He looked as if Sans describing these colors would reveal every single secret he's hidden away, like unwrapping precious gifts all for himself. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't mind how ugly it would be... Oh, no. Mettaton knew how to be grateful for even things he wished not to have.

And, perhaps, he really was finding the secrets Sans held away for so long within his responses.

"Shoot, then."

"White."

A heartbeat... a soul... He held his breath before letting it flow.

"White... you all expect me to say snow, right? You're not wrong. It's the color of freshly fallen snow, stretched as far as the eye could see. The color of innocence, the color of the untainted. The color some people use to describe beauty, pure and unadulterated. But it's the color of lies; there is nothing pure... there is nothing that could be that perfect. So, in itself, even as a paradox, it itself is imperfect and impure."

Silence.

Skip a beat.

"Blue."

"The color of cold... icy, freezing to the touch.  A warning... Some say it is gorgeous...  I say it is hideous. The color of judgement, gross patience. Of hopelessness, of fear. The color of rage, the color of humorlessness. There's nothing fun about it; it's the color of everything terrible in this world."

Hesitance...

"Gray."

"The color of in between... of dust, of life. There is no pure and there is no completely corrupt; only in between. It takes both to make one."

"Orange?"

"The color of greatness, strength, love. The color I wished I could be but am not. The color of never giving up, of bravery. The color of family..."

"pink?"

Silence. A deep breath, released. A pause.

"Beauty. The color of the person I see in my dreams. The color of their lips, of their fingers... dripping with all that is beautiful. The color of their eyes, full of confidence and grace. The color they leave in their wake as they walk, a carpet trailing behind. You know where they've been... It's almost as their very being is that one single, brilliant color. The color of their clothes, of their smile. It's the color of their stunning image... the color of having your breath taken away from one little look. It's the color of love... the kind I could only hope to have."

Sans felt arms wrap around him, a big smile gracing his features as he tilted his head back to look at his lover.

"Rewatching this, huh?"

"Of course. I love seeing your face, Metta."

Mettaton chuckled softly, kissing his forehead.

"Darling, you see my face everyday."

"But I never grow tired of it."

It lasted three years. He thought he was in the clear.

No.

Of course he was not.

Everything went white. And everything before became a pink-tinted dream... 

{Reset}

Chapter Text

Ink remembers, once, he and Dream had stopped in a timeline to watch the sunset. The two were very busy skeletons, of course, so it's rare for such things to occur, let alone with both of them. But there they were, sitting on the edge of the cliff, staring at the pastels of red, orange, and pink fade away with the sun and turn to dazzling light of stars in dark blue and inky black.

Ink remembers that, in that moment, he looked to Dreams and fell in love. Not with the pretty reflection of the sky in Dream's eyes but with Dream himself. He remembered how he leaned in, how he pressed a kiss against him.

Ink remembers how he kissed back, how their hands clasped together like puzzle pieces connected right before they fell from the entirty, how their breaths came out in desprate whines and whispers, how they pressed together as if they were scared of letting go, as if the other would dissappear in a cloud of dust in the wind.
Ink remembers.
__
Dream recalls, once, he found Ink after a battle with Error. The creator was rather beaten, cracks littering his bones to the point that Dream was worried he'd fall apart right in front of him. Naturally, he sat beside him and tried his best to help. When asked what had happened, Ink brokenly whispered 'I won'.

Dream recalls how hurt Ink sounded. He asked him why that would be tragic, he had told him that he felt awful for Error, that he got a peek inside his head and found nothing but fear and a need for some sort of interaction. He told him, in startling clarity, that Error wanted to die... and Ink had almost granted that wish.

Dream recalls holding the other tightly, rocking back and forth and humming quietly. He was limp, muttering apologies to anyone who couldn't hear. Ink was trying to get closer yet, in need of the support of physical affection to confirm to him that, yes, they were both real, both alive and that, no, he wasn't awful and he was just defending himself and doing his job.

Dream recalls.
__

Ink remembers, once upon a time, watching Dream completely fall apart in front of him. The other was known for being happy almost always. He usually had a large a smile painted on his face, going about with as much cheer as anyone could. That is, until today.

He held him, even as his arms became numb from the weight and his legs cramped. He whispered what he hoped was comforting words, rocking him back and forth. Dream was much better at this than he was.

Ink remembered learning about Nightmare and how much that brother had hurt Dream.
__

Dream recalled learning about Valentine's Day. He had left a note to Ink to tell him about it and, when the day came, he brought him chocolates and flowers. 

It turns out, Ink never got the note. Error doesn't rest; another universe destroyed. When he came over, Ink was tiredly sipping at a glass of milk, crude bandages wrapped around his injuries. 

Dream recalled, at that moment, Ink tell him how fragile his 'enemy' had gotten. That day, Error died...

Dream recalled braiding the roses into a crown, singing as Ink stared blankly at his lap, how he would help Ink slip a chocolate into his mouth as tears slowly welled into his eyes.

Oh, how hurt he was by this...

--

They both can think of a time, not so long ago, when the two finally truly admitted that they loved each other. It took far too long, to be honest.

Only... Ink didn't last long into the relationship.

Sometimes, fate has a funny way of toying with people. Dream had watched as Ink and Error were reborn.

But his lover did not remember him.

Dream thought of this as he watched the sunset... alone.

Chapter Text

"..."

"Not speaking, hmm?"

"..."

"Come on, say something."

"..."

"Please, speak. Say anything... I don't care what it is; yell, scream, laugh... please, just make a sound!"

". . ."

Death stared brokenly, gripping the sleeves of his cloak. Before him, Geno sat at the base of a tree, gazing out to a sunset. His appearance was covered his own cloak, red fabric falling down his hunched over form and silk ribbon tied neatly to keep the hood shaped. The silence clawed between them. 

"I... I know you didn't want this... But it would have ended worse if I hadn't-"

"Death, shut up!" Geno shouted but kept his gaze away from the other skeleton. Death flinched and sighed, sinking to his knees. He wished he could say that his own eyes wandered to the view but found it much too hard to even do that.

Just when he thought that silence would rule over them once more, Geno sobbed, curling up and covering his face. Death scooted closer, feeling his soul pull and break at the sight. He never wanted to cause this skeleton pain... He truly didn't. He let himself get attached, let himself fall for the monster before him, but then he hurt him. 

He killed him. How will the other ever forgive him, he's not sure.

There they were again, on the cliff with the beautiful sunset. This time, there was no anger between the two... Rather, a dark acceptance to what happened. The air felt heavy to the both of them, the landscape growing darker as the sun's last rays fell behind mountains and earth, allowing inky black to  eventually scrape across the sky, interrupted by the twinkling of countless stars. Whenever he saw them, the glow of the tiny little dots felt foreign... and almost made Geno feel as if he was smaller than he actually was. But there was an odd comfort to that, as if he was staring at the incredible amount of outcomes and this... this one was somehow the best.

It had been weeks since Death reaped Geno's soul, and the two had a rocky relationship since that moment. Of course, their relations to one and another had always been a little rough, what with Death's insensitivity and Geno's bottled up emotions, but it seemed like the two would break off.

However, they didn't. Death had given him the space he needed... and Geno gave him forgiveness, in the end.

"Funny how this all plays out," Geno murmured, leaning against the tree as the last of the light bathed him in gentle yellows. His companion nodded slowly, letting out a soft hum as he moved closer.

"do ya know what they plan on using ya for?"

"I think I'm going to ignore those gods and go help Life."

The two snickered softly and settled into silence. Unlike the first time since the incident, it somehow was comfortable.

As the dusk faded away, Death slowly stood up, offering his hand to the other skeleton, who gladly took it. The red cloak dipped and dived in the wind, mirrored by its black twin that Death adorned. He smiled and Geno echoed it back.

"Let's get ya to Life, then. I'm sure she'd love some more company."

Once again, the two laughed as the walked away, leaving the cliff once more empty... The only thing that showed it had been occupied was a headstone... and a ribbon tied to the carved rock, the ends twirling.

Chapter Text

The bone marrow in his mouth spilled forth, a sea of gross red slipping into a waterfall but there was no lake underneath. Only his feet to cushion the fall that shouldn't be happening. 

As it gushed, he realized that, honest to god, this was a very different ending to his story than he thought.

Sure, he thought something might happen and he'd piss off the wrong person. That was pretty much a given! No one could stand the crude mouth, lined with sharp teeth, or the weight he held, with the dust on his bony little fingers. He was annoying, crass, insensitive, and it was bound to cause something.

But, somehow, he never predicted it'd be his own hand that would snap his life short.

God, he was nothing but trouble. No one deserved the burden of him. No one needed him. His brother had grown up and could take care of himself. He was useless.

Useless.

One time, when they reached the surface, he watched something about the death of a star. The startling beauty as distraction clamped it's ugly jaws on the brilliant light stunned him into gentle silent, sockets parted as the slow motion dive down took part on a screen and he couldn't help but think...

I wish my death could be that amazing.

Suddenly, he was even more fascinated with meeting his end than ever. Before, he was too lazy to even do the deed himself so he never bothered thinking too long on the subject. Now, though? It was like something had been restored and he had an unruly amount of energy for killing himself.

God, what a sweet thought.

Sans found that he didn't regret this... Well, except he did regret that it wasn't beautiful.

His demise was fully of disgusting cracks and bursts of red, gooy light from his soul, and sickening crunches and horrible, horrible, disfigurement and god It hurt so much make it stop m ake I t st op-

The snow was dyed red and he so wanted it to be bright pinks and yellows and full of passionate burning out but his energy was the only burnt out part of it and there so pretty lights. There was nothing but bone marrow and dust. So much dust. Even so, he kept digging the knife into nine, kept throwing himself against trees, kept hitting his head on the old sentry post...

Over and over and over and over and ov-

like a broken record.

over and over and over and over an-

He woke up. Like per normal, his blankets were on the ground, tangled into a mass to create a ball. There was the trash tornado in the corner and the broken tread mill.

he was back in Snowdin.

over and over and over and over again, keeps going, bittersweet, going again-

maybe this time it would be prettier?

O v e r a n d o v e r-

God, he hoped so.

Chapter Text

The wedding was beautiful, really. The gorgeous silk that Mettaton ensured they'd have gleamed under the warm glow of the lanterns strung up down the aisle and the dance floor. The Waterfalls' ever-present gentle light seemed softer, with the crystals embedded on the ceiling twinkling like mock stars, as if congratulations were being uttered to the two as they wed.

Undyne had caught the bouquet. Sans felt thrilled as the warrior, clad in a stunning tux, bent down to kiss the reptilian braid's maid, who looked just as amazing in the white and red dress to match the bride and decoré. One look at his lover confirmed, with a fluttering feeling his soul, that he felt the same. His ruby eye lights twinkled with content and excitement, rough fingers holding Sans' even counterparts. The two, without speaking, shared their thoughts with low grins as they eyed the two women from afar. 

The dress Strawberry wore was rather simple. Anything above a little lace was not his thing. Nonetheless, Sans found that it was the best thing he'd ever seen. The color of fresh snow stained the majority of it, with a red strip running down the back,mwidening at the base. Red lace grew from it, in the pattern of flowers, and white swirls sweeper inward in the red section in the back. A ribbon was tied around his waist, with the tails of the bow swaying with his every move. Grillby, who had the honor of being the best man's best man (because Papyrus always came before his friends but Grillby was a close second so, naturally, he needed them both by his side), danced with Strawberry once Sans' feet swore revenge and made him sit out. Papyrus would have done it but he'd been last seen in the corner with Mettaton, the two whispering and glancing out with happy looks.

Sans didn't mind. The skirts of the dress did not do his partner's elegant dancing justice, even if the fabric's twirling added to the scenery. His eyes remained on Strawberry's face, which was bright. Of course, he was the luckiest skeleton in the Underground to have such a wonderful person to be his husband.

The night wore on and Strawberry was growing tired, energy sapped from all the excitement around him. The groom was proud of him, anyway. He lasted a lot longer than either of them could have hoped for.

So, now, they were in Mettaton's hotel on the surface, where a specific room was reserved just for them. The fairy lights that hung overhead soothed the two, who were now neatly tucked into the silk covers. Strawberry was curled up at his side, head on his chest and clothed in shorts and a tee shirt, just like Sans, and his arms tucked over his chest. Sans' arm followed the length of his back, murmuring visions of their future. He painted a picture in the other's mind that was better than the wedding, if he were to be asked. 

Las the two drifted off into sleep's gentle embrace, they both found that the years ahead held many great things... And they were excited for it. Unlike before, their determination to live these possibilities out grew, knowing they had each other.

Chapter Text

Cherry knew better than to panic. He spent hours, practicing his breathing in situations that would make his soul flair with magic he really, honestly didn't have anymore. He spent hours beside Blueberry, in the kitchen, or the couch, or in the small, blank patches in either Snowdin, thinking about the feeling he got beside the smaller, more energetic skeleton. The happiness that swirled in his mind, the sudden boost in his scarred bones, the added hop in his lop sided walk…

But those hours, days, even, amounted to nothing when he heard the news. God, he knew better than letting the happy go lucky Berry on his own in Fell, of all places!

Cherry knew that Blue wasn't as naive as he seemed. But he also knew that his partner had very little knowledge on what a cruel place the world could be. While he wished Blue had more knowledge, he never wanted this.

Could skeletons get sick?

(‘Yes, they can, Sans. You know that very well. You threw up ever’-)
(He's not ready yet. Not now. Not now.)

Either way, he felt like it. He wanted the throw up. How could someone hurt him? Maybe a shit stain like Cherry, but not Blue… Not ever the sweet soul that seemed to tag along like a lost puppy.

So why? Why did it happen anyway?
___

Blue was alive, but barely. He knew this because his brother carried him to their boarded up home and laid him down on the lumpy couch, on the verge of dusting and more cuts in the once pristine white than Cherry and Boss had combined. From where he was, hiding at the stair well, wringing his hands together, he could see quite a few ribs missing, as well as three phalanges, a long, precise cut from where his hairline would be as a human to his chin, getting thin at the ends and thickest where the cut met his left eye socket. Brilliant blue magic sparked from the right, lidded socket, suggesting the left had been completely destroyed. He also spied, but ignored in favor of denial, a missing right arm.

Boss was flittering about, trying to stop the bleeding and the dust that covered the dark cushions, putting the small skeleton on morbid display. He knew his little brother knew he was there, cowering, and he was thankful that he didn't dare call him out.

This was his fault, wasn't it?
___

It had been eight months. Blue had become stable enough to transfer to Swap again, where he was brought to the hospital. Since then, for fear of the other’s brother’s rage, Cherry stayed put in his universe, even though his body urged him to leave, just to check in on him.

But he didn't deserve to satisfy that concern, did he?

Not after what he'd done.

Why did he have to be petty in fights?
___

Stretch had been calling. Frequently. It started on Cherry’s phone, where the chosen ringtone of a cartoon bear from the surface chattered on about honey stuttered out from the banged up, red cell. When it became clear that he wasn't going to pick up, the Swap began to spam Boss’s phone.

When the annoying ringing finally got to him, three weeks later, after nonstop calling and asking for Cherry, he finally forced his older brother to sit down and answer his alternate.

Cherry wasn't a cryer… But the moment the questions began, tears spilled down his bony cheeks like disgusting waterfalls. If Boss noticed, he didn't mention it. If Cherry caught Boss’s worried looks, he didn't speak of it.

Even though he couldn't see the scene the two created in their kitchen, Stretch knew damn well what was happening… But decided to wait for the next ‘chat’ to call them out. For now, he had some information to process.
___

Stretch never got to talk about their little slip up in defense as, when he called next, Cherry had locked himself in his room, leaving his little brother worrying so much that he found it hard to work. Blue had become quite popular with their Alphys and Undyne, meaning the two actively sought after whoever committed the deed. Hell, even Asgore had a soft spot for the small skeleton, and encouraged them to do so. Of course, that meant Boss was a big part in the investigation, leading teams of Royal Guard to and fro in whatever leads he managed to scrape by.

But, with his brother slipping back to his old habits, he couldn't do it. They had worked so hard…

His brother didn't deserve this. He wasn't at fault.

It was a mistake.

All a mistake.
___

Cherry visited Blue in the hospital once, in the dead of night where the even the moon wouldn't grace his figure with its overlooked, beautiful light. Blue was out like a light, a tray of food still almost full by his bedside and flowers littering the room.

He looked dead, even with the rise and fall of his ribcage.

He couldn't go again.
___

He heard, from the conversation his brother and his alternate were having in the kitchen, that Blue was finally speaking again, giving detailed accounts of what happened at random intervals, where he looked blank, not knowing he was actually speaking. Not a lot of detail of his captors, though, other than scales that gleamed like blades.

He overheard it because his magic was failing, leading to random dusting, due to the lack of food he'd eaten. After too much fell from his already fragile and thin bones, he managed to push himself out.

Before he could leave, Boss was scooping him up into his arms, concern twisting his scarred face.

“You feel a lot fucking lighter, brother!”

Cherry felt sick. He said nothing.

“...I suppose you haven't eaten… For a while, actually… I'll make you something,” Boss tried, giving his best smile as he deposited him into a chair. Cherry didn't look up.

He didn't speak.

He heard the two talking, about Blue… And about him… But it didn't register.

He didn't look up.

He didn't speak.
___

Boss came up to his room, holding a plate of Grillby’s best burger and fries, a smile on his face as he forced the door open.

“Good news, brother! We figured out who was behind the attack,” he didn't even falter when his brother didn't respond,”Undyne is leading the dogs to the vile creature to ensure punishment! All will be well again!”

Cherry twitched, but he didn't smile.

“In celebration, I brought you your favorite and, tonight, we feast with the Swap and Tale brothers! Won't that be delightful? Stretch has been going on and on about how fuckin badly Blue wants to talk to you!”

Cherry sat up.

His question was answered, finally, about the skeletons getting sick, without the feeling of something missing.

He threw up.
___

The night wasn't canceled. Boss wanted nothing more than the three groups of brothers to meet for dinner on such a glorious occasion. But he made soup, too, because Cherry looked ill.

The Tales were the first to arrive. Sans was walking for once, though he looked tired. His brother led him to the table with a gentle hand, helping him into the seat before joining Boss in cooking.

Sans gave a soft greeting to Cherry, but Cherry didn't even glance up.
___

The two stayed silent until the Swaps arrived.

Blue looked even more tired than Sans, but even he couldn't compare to the way Stretch looked. The two were clearly miserable…

Blue had a walking stick, which helped him to the table. His walk was lopsided, far more than Cherry’s, and he paused from time to time for a break. His missing arm was replaced with a metal one, likely with the help of their Undyne, along with whatever fingers had been pulled off. His chest fell and rose unevenly and his breathes came out heavy, but he refused help until he needed into the seat.

Stretch wobbled behind, gripping a stack of papers. His sleeves were rolled up, a new watch on one hand, and a badly made bracelet on the other. Looking to Blue, he had a matching one on his wrist, too. But, other than that and his bandanna, he wore nothing that he usually wore before.

Once Blue was settled, Stretch joined the other Papyruses, leaving the Sanses in a sea of uneasy silence.

…

“...you look more dead on your feet than me, Cherry,” Blue murmured, voice soft and weak from either constant use or hardly any.

Sans glanced between the two, tempted to leave but stopped only when Cherry placed his hand over the other’s. Blue paused before reaching over, laying his own, smaller hand over the two’s.

“Three peas in a pod,” Cherry croaked with a thin, wobbly smile. Blue’s mismatched fingers fell through the spaces through his cracked, bitten, and shaky ones, which rested lightly against Sans’ currently bandaged ones.

The other two Sanses chuckled.

But they weren't happy. Not in this moment.

They smiled, but it seemed like glass.
___

The meal proceeded as planned, almost. The food was warm, and looked absolutely fantastic. Boss, Papyrus, and Blue were all known for not eating or sleeping as much as normal monsters, but even they had an absurd amount on their plates. Well, Boss and Papyrus did…

However, the Sanses all had a barely anything on their plate. Paps said that they had eaten lunch late so Sans wasn't very hungry but… Everyone knew it was a lie. News travels fast through the universe. Sans was getting surgery soon. There was no appetite in someone who was sure they'd die.

Cherry, even with the dust, found it hard to stomach much more than a piece of bread.

Blue didn't even need an excuse. Everyone knew why he wouldn't touch much of anything.

Stretch, oddly enough, had the most food on his plate.

Sans, Cherry, and Stretch didn't even reach to touch their favorite condiments.

Nothing was right.

It felt like a failed puzzle, missing only a piece of the edge to complete the picture; wrong.

It felt wrong.
__

Sans shifted on the chair, picking at his bandages with his ever present grin. However, he twitched, cleared his ‘throat’, and kicked his legs awkwardly.

“how do dogs eat their food?” He offered, sounding frail and scared of the response he would get. Cherry twitched.

Papyrus’ expression turned upward into confusion, staring at his brother as Stretch covered his now rare smile. Blue squinted, chipping at the crack in his face as if it itched and Boss crossed his arms.

“Sa-”

“They wolf it down,” Sans finished, drumming a ‘budam’ on the warped wood of the table, and sounding out the ‘tss’ right afterward,”get it?”

Stretch and Cherry let out quiet, short lived bursts of laughter, an ugly sounding that died quickly in their throats, leaving bitter tastes in their mouths.

Blue didn't care, even as his swapped counterparts groaned with disgust.
___

One month after the meal, Cherry was on the verge of falling down. No one in their universe knew how to help him, as they didn't know kindness.

He had just become the easiest target for free exp.

Boss never left his side.
___

One month after the meal, five days after Cherry had become the weakest being in the entire Fell universe, Sans went into surgery. It took forever to get the machinery and equipment prepared, as that Alphys had said, and they took great care in ensuring the skeleton’s survival.

He didn't make it.

No one heard from Papyrus after that.
___

One month after the meal, eleven days after the announcement of Sans’ death, Blue attended, for the first time, Surface therapy. At least, first time for him.

His therapist was human, but very kind. It was hard to be ready for the armful that was the tiny skeleton.

No one was ever ready.

No one.
___

Three months after the meal, Boss had gifted Cherry a journal, so he could unload everything from his shoulders at least. In less than two months, it was full.

Boss picked up more. He wanted his brother to be okay.

He wanted to help.
___

XX/19/ XXXX
Dear journal,

Boss is still worried about me. If I disappeared, he wouldn't be. I'm a danger to his job and he knows it. Why doesn't he just let me go?
Blue would've.
He doesn't say it, but he's still mad about the fight. He hates me for being so pathetic. He hates me for leaving him alone.
He hates me.
I deserve it.
-Cherry
__
XX/19/XXXX
Dearest diary,
I miss talking with Cherry. I think he blames himself for what happened. But how was he supposed to know it would have happened? It's not his fault. It's not even mine. I know that now.
I miss him.
-_*Blue*_-
___

A monster almost got Cherry, who didn't even try to fight for his life. Luckily, Boss saved him but… he was sent to Tale to live with Papyrus until he recovered.

But, between his crushing problems and Papyrus’ grief, he sometimes got sent to Swap. During that time, he ignored Blue… To make sure he didn't hurt his feelings, he ignored Stretch, too.

It became a routine, like joint custody.

It became a chore.
__

“Paps, do you sometimes wish you could trade me in for your bro?”

“No. I don't want anyone else, in all the universes, to have have to feel like this.”

“...”

“Your brother loves you. He'd be devastated if he lost you. More so than I am.”

“I wish he didn't.”

“Huh…?”

“Never mind. Good night, Papyrus.”

“Good night, Cherry…”
__
XX/2/XXXX
Dear journal,

I wonder, quite a bit, what its like to be dead. I wish Sans and Blue were here. I don't want to think about death.
I dunno how to stop it.

I'm scared
-Cherry
__

Dear Journal,
Sans has not made progress. It's been months.

I'm getting lonely.

The human is here, though. Maybe, when he gets back, I can escort him to the Surface.

He'd love it, wouldn't he?
XX/5/XXXX
_-| BOSS |-_
__

Journ,

cherry is here again. im worried bout him.

hes fragile, like blue.

5 of xx, xxxx
stretch--
__

My dearest, exquisite Journal,
On XX/10/XXXX

I am deeply sorry that I have not written. Since the last time I wrote, Sans dusted whilst in his surgery and I have, much to my now horror, taken to referring to his dust as if it were still him. Luckily, by helping nourish Cherry back to health, I have come to my senses!
Writing soon,
Papyrus
__

Cherry stared at the setting sun from his ledge, the picnic coming to a close behind him. He felt Stretch’s gaze burning in the back of his neck.

Anger bubbled through his bones, clenching his fists as he ground his teeth together, glaring to the sun.

I'm not gonna jump, asshole.

He turned to yell it, only to waver when his gaze met Blue’s. Stretch was busying himself with putting up the spare food, talking with Undyne about science.

Cherry turned back quickly.

He wondered if he was getting sick, not for the first time.
__
XX/12/XXXX
Dearest Diary,
Sometimes, I'm scared Cherry is going to jump. We take him to mountains for picnics, especially at night. The last time he smiled truly, even if it was little, it was when he was close to the stars for the first time.
We tried to get him smile again.
I'm scared he’ll jump.
-_*Blue*_-
__

Papyrus finally emerged from his universe, dressed unusually in a casual t-shirt, sweatpants, and his brother’s jacket. A pin, likely given to him by his Undyne, rested on his chest.

It said ‘to my brother’ in all caps and two drinks clinking together.

Boss pretended he didn't see it.
__

Boss gave him a curt greeting, a thin smile spreading on his face. The human drummed on the table, watching in curiosity. Another Papyrus?

“It's good to see you've finally come out.”

“I, unfortunately, won't be here long. Just seeing you is tiring me, I'm afraid.”

The darker skeleton nodded, expression solumn,” I figured as much. At least you're well, though.”

“I suppose,” Papyrus murmured, stuffing his hands into the sweater pockets,” Cherry is a delight, sure, but not the best company. I've been… Lonely.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need for apologies. I know you have been alone, too.”
___

My dearest, exquisite Journal,
On XX/19/XXXX
I got to meet the Fells’ human! What a delight to chat with, not to mention Boss himself. The two of us have been meaning to catch up, now that I think of it. Nonetheless, I do hope the Swaps are doing better than we are.
___

Blue felt like he was dancing around Cherry’s evasive tactics. Every time he felt as if they made progress, something happened and Cherry broke under the pressure.

During these times, as he rubbed his back as he gagged and puked, he wished they kept a better eye on Cherry’s sleep medications.

In its own, it was like a jump.

Cherry proved that he'd do it.

He'd jump.
___

“Sometimes, I wish Sans was still alive.”

“...”

“I mean, I know he wasn't happy and he was suffering… But… I wish he was here.”

“...”

“He'd know how to help… You and my brother and his brother…”

“...”

“Is it so cruel to ask that he was here?”

“...”

“Am I a bad person for wanting that?”

“...”

“I-”

“I miss him, too, Blue.”

Cherry finally looked at him, truly and meaningfully. Blue wanted to cry.
___

Since the incident, Blue never found his brother sleeping during the daytime. He became a busybody, working and scheduling, keeping track of therapy, doctor, and med appointments.

Today, scattered in unpaid bills and letters of bad and good news, he found him passed out, fingers curled around a pen.

Just across from him, Cherry was sleeping, too, hand outstretched and holding Stretch’s right hand.

His soul felt heavy.
___

The flashing lights of changing scenes spanned the living room, only truly witnessed by Cherry, who was engrossed in the movie’s story, despite its violence. He didn't pick it out, Stretch probably did, but it was better than he imagined.

Still, suicide seemed to be a theme. He pretended not to notice the other two looking at him from time to time.

Eventually, Stretch fell asleep and Cherry zeroed in further on the plot. His finger tapped against his knee, sockets peering unblinkingly into the screen.

He realized, after a while, that he had gotten good at pretending. The reason why he could safely say this is that Blue didn't notice he had some attention still focused on him and, thus, had found himself curled in a ball.

He pretended he didn't notice the way Blue whimpered each time blood spilled.
___

Stretch rubbed his eyes, staring at his brother with a weak smile. It had been a long time since Blue had snuggled with anyone and, even though it hurt that he wasn't the first to cuddle him after the event, he was happy it was with Cherry. Especially with the way the two seemed to be at peace.

Blue’s smaller body was curled into a ball, Cherry’s wrapped around him like a protective dog. Their fingers wove together as Blue’s head rested on his chest and Cherry’s chin perched upon his skull.

With a low, tired, and perhaps even lonely, sigh, he covered the two with a blanket and walked away.

As much as he wanted to stay in the peace, he had appointments to track and calls to make.

God, he was so tired.
___

Journ,

cherry likes to write in his journ, too. i notice him doing it a lot, in the morns… usually it's at night though.

something else i noticed is that, sometimes, he writes on scrap paper. i worry that itll be the last thing he writes.

25th of xx, xxxx
stretch--
___

His fingers tapped against the wood, breathe held as he stared at his paper. It was sort of like a suicide note… Only, he wasn't going to do it.

(‘Of course you will. You've proven it already-’)
(Shhh…)

He found he didn't like it… So he tore it up and threw it away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

His pencil shook in his grasp.

Out of sight, out of mind.

He itched, burned for it to end.

But… Out of sight, out of mind.
__

Something Cherry soon learned is that he hated therapy. Why did he learn that?

Blue got tired of being constantly afraid of him dusting. Stretch got tired of watching him write and write, with an expression of pain and fear. They got tired of the constant reminder that he'd take the leap.

It helped, for a while. But, perhaps, Cherry wasn't trying hard enough. I mean, Sases do that, don't they?
__

“Cherry,” Blue breathed, small, shaky hands cradling his head, fingers running over the bumpy surface with seemingly memorized ease. The dull blue of his eye lights stared down, met with Cherry’s blurry red ones.

“I'm scared…”

Cherry smiled, weakly, mockingly,”scaredy cat.”

He missed the blue orbs the moment they closed, felt regret when magic fell, running down his exposed ribs.

“Don't cry,” he rasped, face twisting up in agony and regret,”c’mon, Blue, please don't cry…”

“You're dying!”

“...”

Blue opened his eyes again, blank sockets taunting. He didn't even flinch when Cherry’s fingers interlocked with his, like the hold is all that was needed to save a life. The clock was ticking, too fast, too loud and he hated it because, with each pronounced second, his love’s life slipped through his fingers.

“Please don't go… I need you… Please…”

“Shhh… It'll be okay… Everything's alright…”

The thumping of Stretch’s frantic running didn't register with them.

“Ple-”

“It's okay… We'll be okay… I love you…”

(‘He's always been foolish, hasn't he?’)
(Quite. Nothing we can do, though, Doctor.)

Chapter Text

Swaps' Movie Nights were always a favorite of the AUs. The party was always planned when even the Swaps were stressed out, causing it to go through several days before ending, with themes each time. Movies or show marathons were coordinated with the themes, pillow forts were constructed, baking contests were held, play fights were won... Overall, a fun time without stresses, concerns, and alcohol. It was a time for everyone to meet others thems, like Strawberry, a Fell Sans that cried, ate sweets, and whispered, and Cherry, a Fell Sans that bit, clawed, cussed, and kicked his way around. Whether you were from Horrortale or chilled in the void, you were welcome here.

This time around was what everyone had deemed The Usuals. Cherry and Boss from the most well known Fell universe, Pommagrante, or Pommy, and Slim from Swapfell, Sans and Papyrus, the originals, Ink, Error, and Fresh, the Out of Codes, Lust and Pinkie from Underlust, and, of course, Blue and Stretch, the hosts.

so far, the party had gone roughly four days, with other Swaps coming in and out for at least an hour of fun and learning. Cherry had somehow claimed the recliner, which was now covered with fuzzy blankets and small pillows, which he tended to protect by swaiting people with a foam bat when they came too close. His brother choose to share the air mattress in front of the tv with Blue, which meant a lot of flirting, and Stretch, who was softly teasing Pommy. Error and Lust had stolen the couch, each stretching out to take up half of it, whilst watching Pinkie and Ink chatter in the beanbags. Sans, Papyrus, Fresh, and Slim were bickering in the kitchen, the smell of slightly burnt, sugary cake, spaghetti, quiche, and something unidentifiable filling the air, along side the yelling and laughter.

In essence, this all meant it was going well. 

The tv was shut off for the time being, since dinner was in progress, leaving everyone to their own devices.

"so, like, if human guys have nipples, does that mean they could technically produce milk?"

Error squinted at the person who had dealt such a weird question, which, as expected, was Lust.

"man, I dunno. And I don't care?" Error piped up in response, shaking his head.

"in theory, yeah, they could," Ink interjected, leaning further back in his beanbag," they have milk ducts and mammary tissue, plus the hormones responsible for milk production."

"Ink, how the fuck do you know that?" The glitch questioned, kicking Lust's leg as he burst into laughter, stammering out his usual 'holy shit'.

"I need to know a lot of stuff to make things, yknow!"

Blue, after halting his conversation with Boss, chucked a slipper at Lust, hitting him square on the face," hush you, you three! That's gross!"

Before any more arguing could be had, dinner was served.

The morning after was an interesting one. Cherry's back popped as he sat up from the recliner, loud enough to startle a good chunk of people. Lust was apperently already up, singled by his empty spot and the rustling in the kitchen. Surprising, since he'd usually be asleep still... He even got up before the Papyruses.

as the morning began, Lust exited the kitchen with a plate of pancakes. He looked pleased with himself, enough so that it caused everyone to pause.

"this is a whole lot of pancakes," Lust grinned, closing his eyes and whispering.

"good thing I'm a whole lotta man."

As Error's glitchy laughter filled the air, the other disoriented skeletons just staring,mBlue gave a soft smile.

"morning, Lust."

Yeah, the movie parties were the best.

Chapter Text

He looked into the mirror and saw nothingness.

He looked hard, leaning into the cold surface, but he was only met with the dark circles under his eyes, the mismatched colors of blue and brown of his irises boring back into him, reddish brown skin that wasn't beautiful, not like his brother's, dark hair that fell to his shoulders when it wasn't pulled into a ponytail, and freckles that weren't cute or endearing.

it was nothingness.

he felt the weight of the world settle on his chest, his ribs groaning in protest, ready to snap, as his heart tried to beat against the pressure. He felt ready to explode. His whirlwind of thoughts beat against his mind's eye and there was nothing that could stop it within his own arsenal of tools.

but all quieted when a large, warm hand touched his bare shoulder. Adjusting his gaze confirmed Asgore had entered the bathroom, wearing only his boxers and his warm smile that he reserved only for Tori and him.

"Sans, isn't it quite late to stare in the mirror?" The larger male cooed out, dropping his head slightly. Sans closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if, when he'd open them, it would be just a dream.

"...nah. Yknow, I just like watching my reflection mirror me," Sans whispered back, leaning into the warmth of his lover. He felt the gentle touch of lips to his scalp, which still managed to dust his cheeks in a red glow.

"it's too late for jokes, too," Asgore responded, scooping up Sans easily," come back to bed. Toriel had awoken without your little body in her arms."

This time, Sans didn't say anything, just imagining the plump woman groggily grumbling without her so called 'cuddle bug'. He supposed that was the best part about being small; fitting between the two was easy and comfortable, just what they all needed and wanted.

as Asgore pushed through the door, he found he wasn't entirely incorrect: Toriel was sprawled out, a soft pout on her lips as she stared sleepily at the ceiling, her night gown bunched up awkwardly. She hardly moved as the bed creaked under the tallest' movements. Only when Sans was deposited by her, did she roll onto her side and pull him closer.

"where were you, sleepy bones?"

"oh, yknow, doin' a skele-ton of work in the bathroom."

they paused as Asgore's large arm came across Sans and rested on Toriel's hip, a weak glower aimed at the two in protest. Skeleton jokes were banned after the Halloween incident. Even so, they merely chuckled at his apperent displeasure.

"Sleep, you two."

Chapter Text

Nyeh heh heh

Chapter Text

As the knife sliced through his ribs, your heart pounded against his. You never wanted this, per say. You just wanted to understand. 

Even though They cooed in malicious delight, you knew They didn't want this, either.

you watched as he pressed a gloved hand to the quickly reddening shirt, but his usual chatter didn't reach you. He stared, as of disappointed, not shocked, as whatever that was contained within his bones spilled down his chin, his seemingly forever grin replaced by an odd frown.

the change made you freeze.

 It was you who broke eye contact first, turning your head as if the shame that came with this pushed it to the side, like They had grabbed your face and made you look away, to make you feel worse because you couldn't even own up to what you'd caused, all the dust you had spilled... Only the rustling of his parka and the slop of his ruined shirt signaled any movement from him, which you figured might have been shifting uneasily. Slowly, footsteps echoed in the room.

you turned your head once more, this time of your own will, to watch him hobble towards a pillar, where he leaned and slide against it. His legs stretched out awkwardly, his head lolling the side as he stared at the ground. You noted, in the back of your mind, faintly, that he'd taken off his gloves.

"You haven't left yet," he rasped out, sockets narrowed and hazily gazing at you.

'you haven't died yet,' you signed back warily. He let out a low, dry chuckle... Odd how similar it sounded to his usual laugh.

you decided not to think about.

"ya don't expect me to dust instantly, do ya?"

'your stats say otherwise. Besides, the other monsters did.'

"...stats ain't everything, kid. Plus, I'm not like other monsters."

with that, you both fell into silence so thick you could slice it with a knife.

you pretended that the metaphor was funny.

his eyes closed, fingers laced together like puzzle pieces, like patchwork, over his wound. His expression once again shifted to one you're not used to seeing from him: deep thought, confusion and hurt. You would mirror it but knew you didn't have to; you'd already done it the moment you let yourself kill. You knew now that you weren't free from the consequences, whether it be from the intense guilt or the raging, fiery vengeance that urged it's way down your spine, clawing over your back as if to mark every wrong you had committed.

"why...," His voice trailed off... But you knew what he was asking," is it even... You?"

you paused, moving like your snail at Blooky's farm to his side, settling down. How could you answer? There was so many things you could say, that you could do but you don't know if he'd understand, if he could have an inkling of why. You knew, in some sense, why you did it. But, in others, you didn't.

you unwillingly focus on the Judgement Hall, the warm, honey glow slowly dying out to be replaced by a consuming dark. It was like a simulated night time... Which made sense, by all rights. But... It looked as if it were in ruins, like the pillars were going to topple over and the glass was going to shatter more and you knew that you fighting Sans didn't help a thing because it had created a mess in an already dirty place, that which was haunted by ghosts of others who had tried and failed to drag themselves away. 

It looked like a grave.

by all rights, it was one.

you pretended that you weren't thinking too hard.

'...there's something I need to understand. There's still people I need to save.'

"...oh..."

after that, he decided not to respond. You could tell that he held back sputtering coughs, fighting down the red that threatened to spill forth more, unbidden waterfalls that he didn't want... And nor did you.

"...uh, I don't think murderin us-"

'can't really talk to them without this path.'

"there's some people not worth saving, kid. Just let sleepin dogs lie."

you pretended that, as you walked towards the king with malicious content, that you hadn't watched him doesn't, sick and pleased, disgusted... And you pretended that you didn't know what his dying words were.

theres some people not worth saving.

you knew, but no longer bore any meaning.

so you pretended.

so you learned.

some people just weren't worst the saving.

Chapter Text

Dear my not quite everything,

funny how things can tumble apart like it was nothing, huh? I don't want ya to blame yourself; you did everything you could. We both knew that my home was his next target. We both knew, one way or another, I'd die before you did. 

I mean, cmon, you're basically a god. And what was I to that? Nothing. Just another danger on the streets of a not quite paradise.

listen, we both knew this would never work out, yknow? You had to worry about everyone else and I was too busy murdering and demanding money-- we both had too many enemies... Too many powerful enemies that would have used us against one another. It wouldn't have gone all that pretty.

but, hey, I do love you. Always will. There won't be dust to spread for my funeral... But I sent you some of my most prized possessions. Ain't much but... I'd like you to have them. It's not like I could give them to someone else, anyway.

keep going for me, Inky. I'm gonna miss ya, wherever I'll be going.

Happy birthday,

Your Mr. Almost 

*There is a fancy hat and trench coat in a package under the letter

*Ink recieved Mr. Almost attire!

*There is a photo attached of two people he recognizes clearly.

*Ink pretends that it doesn't exist.

Chapter Text

The first time Alphys visited here, she played pretend.

The edge of the waterfall was one of her favorite spots. The blue spilled into nothingness, as if it knew it's way down there, knew there would be treasure and beauty and she could almost imagine it, almost stepped off to follow just so she could see for herself but she didn't. She didn't because there was a home to go back to still, repairs that needed to be done... And that's all she could think of.

Alphys stared blankly down, her fingers etched into the white of her winter coat. The emptiness filled her lungs, dragged her shoulders down and closed her eyes, like everything would go away the moment she just tipped forward.

how easy would it be? How simple letting go could be, just a little more weight, and she'd be gone.

gone.

just a little more. 

The second time she came through, she met a little skeleton boy.

it was warmer, leaving a humid, heavy feeling in the air of Waterfall. The weight made her tired and sluggish, but paid no heed as she trekked to the place on her mind. Only a little away, she could already tell that he was thinking, thinking about the riches down in the darkness, of seeing it for himself. He, too, leaned forward, eyes closed, breathe barely there, and imagined falling down, slipping away into the sound of thundering, powerful water.

she moved closer, the water splashing against her little legs. He turned to look at her, white eyes swimming in his sockets.

"...hi," he whispered, voice broken and hoarse.

"...h-hello," she murmured back, voice quiet and lackluster.

 The third time, she met a rowdy fish monster with fiery red hair and an eyepatch. The girl was playing in the garbage, taking magic spears and plunging them into things like she was fighting in a war. Even though she was likely Alphys' age, aka almost out of stripes, she was clearly still very childlike.

the fish girl noticed her first.

"hey! You're that punk that Paps told me about!" She declared loudly, jumping off the pile and rushing over like a bullet ready to make its mark.

"you met his brother, yeah?"

"..."

they stared at each other for a little while. The silence was deafening.

 Time's claws always found its way to dig through people, pulling apart skin and muscled to reveal the disgusting insides of another whilst they still lived, and it's why Alphys figured that monsters dusted, and humans did not. Monsters could live for hundreds and hundreds of years, and, even if they didn't, their bodies were fragile when they died. Monsters are strong, right up to that point.

so they must dust because Time pulled them apart a little too hard.

here she was, again on the edge, as she thought about the drop and Time and why she would dust instead of having a body that would prevail, and why such things could be so very cruel, watching the water pour down like treasure had presented itself and it had a treasure map.

She wondered if she would get a treasure map, too, if she fell.

"why do ya always look like yer gonna jump e'ery time I see ya?"

The voice was male, but rather soft, hardly above a murmur. Even so, she jumped, jerking to look at however spoke.

it was the skeleton boy.

"I c-can ask you th-the same thing," she responded, equally as quiet," and it's every, not e'ery."

The boy just rolled his eye lights, wadding over to her. Alphys eyed him, taking in the tattered, oversized sweater, the striped shirt that looked like it hadn't been washed in ages, gross sneakers and what looked like gloves that used to have fingers. He looked like he needed a home...

"I don't care how is said, bud," he paused, jerking a thumb to the fall,"yknow someone's gonna miss ya if ya jump."

"hypocrite."

"...was tha'?"

she scrunched her face, deciding not to even bother since she didn't know the word well enough to define it.

"I mean, someone's going to miss you, too."

there was a pause, and he let out a weak laugh, shaking his head.

"aint no body gonna miss somethin like me."

She lost lost count how many times she had visited this exact spot. At this rate, she should just live here. 

But, this time, she met the next skeleton boy. She had heard a lot about him; the first would really only let himself spill when it was about his little brother, and the fish girl said that he was her best friend. 

Papyrus. That's his name.

the skeleton was thin and lanky, almost the same height as his unnamed brother. He wore better clothes: a long coat that looked a bit old and patches on the elbow, red rain boots, shorts, and a long, red scarf. Despite this, he still looked as if he didn't eat much, and that he had no place to call home. He stood at the edge, but, unlike the other boy, he just seemed... Innocently curious...

she moved towards him, the splash of her short legs alerting the boy, though he didn't seem to care. He only turned when she was near. 

He looked happy. Why was he so happy?

"HELLO!!! UNDYNE SAID YOU WOULD SHOW UP EVENTUALLY!" His voice was loud, confident and boisterous. How he and the fish girl managed to be this way was beyond her.

"Undyne? Y-you mean the fish g-girl?" She responded back, fidgeting with her claws. Papyrus tilted his head, his grin widening at the question.

"YES! THAT'S HER! SHE SAYS SHE IS GOING TO BE THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD. ISN'T THAT COOL?"

"...y-yeah... It is..."

the two paused for a moment before he spoke again.

"SHE SAId that you haven't told her your name yet. Why is that, friend?"

somehow, the quieter voice scared her more than his louder one. Yet, she pushed on," I j-j-just forget, I guess? Um... M-my name's Alphys. I know you're P-Papyrus, right?"

"THE ONE AND ONLY!"

Somehow, despite never actually saying anything, the children made a schedule. On Mondays, Alphys would be alone to watch the water. On Tuesdays, the first skeleton boy, still unnamed to her, would be sitting there before she showed up, like he didn't have school, and they would talk for a while about falling. Sometimes, she would end up teaching him some stuff.

then, for two days, she wouldn't go to the waterfall. The first she spent in the area, wandering aimlessly, and the second, she went straight home.

Friday was for Undyne, and Saturday for Papyrus. Never did she see any of them at the same time.

almost like each one didn't know the others came here... 

Strange, but she never bothered questioning it. It felt wrong to do so.

I mean, they all knew each other, right?

 Another Tuesday rolled around and, as always, s he found herself at the waterfall. The skeleton boy lounged beside the edge, gripping a small piece of what she assumed was bread. Unusual, as she'd never seen him eat.

she had a feeling that the brother had something better than a piece of bread.

Alphys made her way over, slumping beside him and stretching out her legs. The boy took a bite, a quiet hum replacing his greeting for the day.

"h-hey, stranger," she responded, staring down the cliff like always. 

"sup?" He muttered once he finished, lolling his head to look at her. They stared for a moment before the lizard moo step shrugged.

...

"...are you homeless?"

"...Yknow, pal, anythin' issa home when you ain't alone."

...what a strange boy.

"why do you say that?" Alphys asked, softly, almost afraid of the answer.

"I mean, like," he began gesture visibly, as if the movements would prove his point without him speaking it,"  you've got a house, right? Are you happy there? Are you happy in general?"

"...yes?"

"don't lie to me. I know better, bud, and you're not happy. I've seen you on the edge of this very spot, thinkin' 'bout the jump more times than I count. Ain't no happy person gonna do that."

"...you can only count to ten."

The boy gave her a look and she let out a quiet laugh at the expression.

"off topic. Anyways, like, a house isn't going to magically make someone happy. Sure, it's scary on the streets an' I sometimes can't get enough to feed either me or Paps, let alone the two of us. But, an' I know this is a fact, that houses can be just as scary. We like to pretend that there's no harm but, let's face it, there's some bad monsters out there, hurtin' their families, starvin' an' hittin' an' they can't escape. Me an' my bro have shelter, an' each other. We don't need nothin' else."

as he finished, he fell back into the shallow, swirling water. 

"But you're not happy?"

"no, I'm not, but I'm happier than you."

"..."

 She closed her eyes, wandering if he was right.

 The schedule was broken. She knows because she could hear the two skeleton kids laughing. She knows because she can see the older one leaning back, a big smile on his face as the younger jumped around in the water. She noticed that they both bore new clothes of some kind; shiny, red boots for Papyrus and blue sneakers with stars, and matching gloves, for the other brother.

Papyrus glanced up and beamed, waving excitedly," hello, Alphys, friend!"

she smiled back, small but genuine, as she moved closer. Papyrus had this affect on people, always making them happy and relaxed, even with his bellowing voice. 

"Alphys?" The boy echoed, confused," tha's your name?"

his brother turned, scowling.

"OH MY GOD, SANS! YOU'VE BEEN SPENDING SO MUCH TIME WITH HER AND YOU STILL DON'T KNOW HER NAME?"

Alphys snorted,"to be f-fair, I didn't know his until now."

Papyrus threw his hands up in frustration, letting out a 'nyeh'. The older children started laughing.

for the first time since she had began talking with them, she realized she was making friends.

and, boy, were they interesting ones.

 She was surprised when she was the first one here. After all, Undyne always made sure she was first, ranting on and on about how she was going to be the Captain of the Royal Guard so she needed to be early, always! It was nice; hearing so much enthusiasm made her feel like she, too, could acomplish her dreams of working with the Royal Scientist.

odd, but enough to make her question. She settled on a trash heap, pulling out her book. Something or other about science, of course, and a book written by her childhood hero.

half way through the third page and she was suddenly tackled by the red headed fish, her book somehow magically flipping before landing safely where she had previously sat. The boisterous girl let out a war cry, lifting her hands into the air. Another cry followed and she found herself dog piled by two way-too-happy kids, Papyrus and Undyne.

"w-was th-"

"necessary? Incredibly so." Undyne smirked brightly, single eye twinkling. Papyrus just let out a laugh in response.

Alphys' body was bound to be sore from this but... Well, that greeting was fantastic, she had to admit.

the two let her up and, as they did, two adults came out. One she recognized as the current Captain, who scowled at the girl beside her. What was his name?

"as proud of I am for that perfect form, sweetie, don't tackle unsuspecting pedestrians."

"Gerson, she's not just an unsuspecting pedestrian! She's my friend, Alphys! Isn't that right, Paps?" Undyne turned to the skeleton, still grinning, unphased by the fearsome leader. Alphys realized that she must be staying with him.

as the three talked, or bickered, she couldn't tell, she felt her soul almost leave her body. Right before her was the freaking King. he was watching them all with amusement on his face. Slowly, he turned to her.

"Undyne's a handful, isn't she? She's a good girl, though," he remarked, crossing his arms," anyway, you must be Alphys, yes? These two talk so much about you."

Welp, this is official; she must be dead.

"th-they talk about me...?"

"extensively. It makes my own want to meet you. You must be good fun."

Alphys let out a stammered, flustered hum, looking to her friends. Undyne caught her attention and smirked.

nope, she's definitely alive. She knows because those two are going to be the death of her.

Not long after meeting the king, who, for some reason, offered her a trip to meet his scientist after a while, she found herself with a rather hefty group of people. And, man, she was having the time of her life.

Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne were, of course, there, but so were the King's son and child. How this happened was beyond her, but here she was, discussing the stars with Chara and Sans while watching Papyrus, Undyne, and Asriel roughhouse in the water. 

Sometime passed of just that before the topic changed.

"...so, like, who of you two are older?" Chara asked Sans, as the tree lied down just to watch the other three.

"I am," Sans declared proudly," been raisin' him myself since he was, like, one? I think?"

Alohys raised a brow," seriously? Must've been tough."

"at least we know that you'd be a good dad," Chara remarked, much to Sans' apparent horror.

"Whoa, I ain't raisin' anyone else. I draw the line there."

the other two shared a quiet snicker.

"what about you, Chara? Whose older?" Alphys asked curiously, fiddling with her sweater.

"um, good question?" They shrugged," like, Assy's a monster so... He's younger as far as, like, I dunno, the how-long-do-you-live-on-average ratio? But, as far as human years go, I'm younger?"

"call bull on that," Sans replied, waving his hand around.

She nodded in agreement to the skeleton," monsters are more complicated than that. Boss monsters like him and the king and Queen stop aging at some point til they have kids. So that's assuming he settles down and, if he does, he'd probably live the average human lifespan, maybe? Sans, how long do skeletons live?"

"dunno. Most died in the war and they were all pretty young. I'd hafta guess maybe... Two hundred years? An' that's still pretty iffy 'cuz you need to take in account what type of skeleton they are, their magic color, when they were made and or born, and their HP."

"I call bull on that," Chara mocked, staring at him in surprise.

"no, I kid ya not. I heard that science-y guy talk about it on the radio next to the store in Snowdin."

"...wait, is he a skeleton?" Alphys asked.

"...another good question, Alphy." Chara shrugged once more," monsters are weird."

"says the human," Sans replied, lightly jabbing them in the side.

"shit, Sans!"

Sans and Aplys stared at them, the only warning anyone had was another war cry before the other buried the Royal child.

"rip Chara," Sans bowed his head, placing his hand on his chest, above his soul.

"OH, GOD, THEY GOT ME-" cried Chara," SAVE ME, FRIENDS-"

"Sometimes we can still hear their voice," Alphys continued.

"DAMMIT!"

she liked these new friends of hers. She hoped this would last; forever.

three weeks later, Sans and Papyrus were adopted by Gaster, who was, indeed, a skeleton. Undyne began her actual training. Chara and Asriel was starting to learn how to run a kingdom. Alphys got accepted into the Special Advancement Program for science. Life was starting to look brighter.

and, even as they all got busy, they remained friends. She still held onto them as tightly as they held onto her.

and she found out that the treasure wasn't in the depths of the waterfall. No, it was right here, with her friends, laughing, singing, playing and just... Existing. This was where a treasure map would lead.

this where she needed to be. And, God, would she stay without a complaint.

Chapter Text

The first thing he thought, as his arms had encased nothingness in the morning, was Geno must already be up. The second thought that crossed him, as his fingers brushed over something gritty, was something was terribly wrong.

even so, he pulled himself up slowly, tiredness clinging to his shoulders and eyes, begging for him to lie down and pretend that it was nothing, but he forced the sockets open nonetheless.

And Fresh felt nothing.

once, before this, he had felt nothingness. But it wasn't like this; no, this wasn't the lack of an emotion, but rather a feeling like the emptiness of his arms where a lover once sat clawed its way into his soul and sat heavily there. It was the emotion.

devoid.

and he continued to feel this as he got a jar, filling it with the dust that had been Geno, autopiloted by what he realized must've been a muscle memory from his host, the gray clinging to his fingers and arms as he gathered it. The tips of his fingers ran over the white sweater of his beloved, pausing before the red slash where blood had seemed through. Even now, when no body existed within the fabric, he could not bring himself to brush over the red spot.

Geno used to say how it felt as if he were burning alive when something touched it.

he just couldn't break that trust between them, even if he was no longer there.

so he pulled away, gripping the glass like he was a lifeline, gripping an unwilling patient instead of the other way around but he was failing at keeping the life going and fuck, it hurts to say that.

Once the dust had been cleaned up, Fresh and found a letter, neatly tucked under the covers. He recalled, vaguely, seeing the other holding it as they fell asleep but never asked and, God, why didn't he ask?

but he couldn't change that now, so he pulled the letter open, the paper worn and old, as if written long ago and maybe it was, maybe it had been waiting to be held and read.

Dear Fresh,

if you're reading this, then I am dead. 

it was common knowledge that I was dying. I was bleeding, with no way to stop it except to leave you and the kids and return to the load screen. But I couldn't. For once, I was happy. I was content, even with the resets. All because I had you, my dearest love. I know I said that I would die on my own terms and, in a way, I had. 

It wasn't that I didn't have the will to keep living, it was because I had finally been content enough in my life to pass without a regret.

im so sorry to leave you. I never wanted to do that but... It was time. I couldn't stand the pain in my chest anymore. Alphys will help you, I know she will. Take care of the children for me, okay?

With love,

Geno

Fresh gagged, gripping the paper as his tears stained it. Last night, Geno had gone to bed knowing he wouldn't wake up the next morning. 

Sure, he knew that, some days, Geno could only lie in bed, counting the seconds til fits of flaring pain settled once again so he could just walk. He knew, some days, the rattling of his bones were loud enough to echo in the room like pleas for it to end. He knew Geno was hurting, badly, and this had been a mercy on him.

but he already missed him. Was that so bad?

When he had told Duet, Whiteboard, and Alphys the news, he could barely get his voice above a whisper, even more so when he noticed the pain in his family's faces.

to the doctor, Geno had been a friend. Someone to talk science to, someone who understood her mistakes and forgave her, helped her...

to the kids, they lost a papa that, despite the pain, always tried his best to play with them, to love and nurture them...

and he was gone.

even so, they pushed forward with the funeral. There wasn't something extremely valuable to the deceased skeleton, so the kept the dust in the jar. Alphys planted flowers in it, while the children painted the glass. There was a small bubble where he wrote Geno's name in pretty letters. The childish scrawls and doodles made it the most beautiful thing Fresh had ever seen.

Geno would have loved it.

that night, he pretended he was good at faking that there wasn't something off by sleeping totally alone.

[* R E S E T *]

the morning hit him like a ton of bricks, the throbbing headache he'd come to associate with a reset pounding into him. He slowly pulled himself from the cold, empty bed, and just... Sat there. 

The jar was unaffected by the time relapse, and neither was he. But Alphys and the kids were.

the statement was proven as Alphys pushed inside, and looked lost as to why Geno had been replaced by a jar, and why Fresh was sobbing brokenly about 'resets' and a lover long gone.

he couldn't explain to his kids again.

Geno wasn't coming back, and that was the worst.

Chapter Text

"Do you think we could ever settle down?"

The words trickled into the air, sweet as honey, heavy like the body resting partially on his own. Sans didn't mind much about the weight, running rough hands, which now lay bare, over the skull on his chest slowly, gently.

"That's a damn good question, Inkblot," Sans murmured in response, hardly audible, as if raising his voice wouod shatter this moment like a dream he had a long time ago. The smaller skeleton twitched.

"Yknow I can't answer that. We have dangerous lived. Yknow I'll have to say no."

"But suppose it was a yes," Ink asked softly, rolling off of him,"what do you think it'd be like?"

Sans paused, regarding his partner. He didn't know if Ink understood how unfair that question, this conversation, was, but, God, he didn't care now. He just never thought of a future with Ink, all because of the risk it could pose all on its own.

"Well, Inky, I'd like to think we'd have a big, old house by a river, so's you could paint it whenever you'd like."

He watched Ink's eyes close, likely imagining the home. A smile found its way to both of their faces.

"That'd be nice, Sansy. What else?"

"Ah, well... We'd have a big yard. Yknow, wit' all those trees an' bushes an' wildlife? We'd have weepin' willows an' pine trees an' honeysuckles. We'd grow apples an' oranges an' maybe strawberries. The house will have all your art in it." The idea, though impossible, felt so right; this painting of peace and hope, this carefully nurtured dream so perfect that, he realized, he did think about it before.

"Maybe we could adopt a kid... A daughter maybe? Or twins! One girl an' one boy! Imagine that, Inky; twins!" Sans laughed joyously, eyes bright as the tars they lay beneath.

and then Ink was lookin at him again, and he was smiling, too, full of life and color and so Sans realized that the moon and stars couldn't even begin to hope to compare to Ink, and the light he found there. He felt a hand, also gloveless, intertwine with his.

"Twins sound amazing, Sansy," he breathed," just perfect. Please, go on?"

Sans hummed," what 'bout some dogs? We could have a mutt... Or wrottie. An' the kids could play outside wit' he pup. Home cooked meals almost every night, Paps comin' over, too. Wouldn't that be amazin'?"

"absolutely." Ink whispered, chuckling lowly.

A silence, so weightless in its being, sweet like the honey of Ink's voice, so perfect in its dance settled upon them. The image of this impossible future played before them.

Sans never thought that Disney movies were the best example for children. They were naive in their nature, foregoing all the cruelty and pain and awful in the world in favor of light hearted tricks. Yet, in this moment, it felt like one of those tricks; the male lead sprawled beneath the stars with the princess, or a hardworking beauty, talking about dreams and love as the twinkling stars stretched their arms in hopes of granting the wishes of the almost lovers below. God, he loved the thought, more than he ever thought he would.

"Sans, I love you," Ink expressed quietly, rolling back to him, molding his body to the urge of Sans's side. Sans snaked his arm around him, cradling, loving.

he laughed," I love you, too, Inkblot. Forever and ever. I promise."

They they say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. This theory meant nothing to Sans, as nothing could explain the why to him. 

He thought he'd test the theory when he was older. And, yet, here he was, at the ripe old age of thirty six, on the ground, and a bullet embedded in his chest. His brother was frantically trying to save his life, muttering to him in the empty warehouse he'd been dragged to.

he didn't even notice. All he could see was a grassy hill and stars, all he could feel was a smaller body pressed into his side, heavy and perfect, and all he could hear was a voice of sweet honey speaking of Disney movie dreams with twins, and dogs, and a big house by a river.

the idea of the flashing life was a lie. The only memory he saw was that night, with Ink.

And, honestly, that's what he preferred.

Chapter Text

Sans knew the best parts of the park. The hidden places, where you could bring food and have a date, or to watch the stars, or retreat to somewhere peaceful. Asgore always thought it strange, how the skeleton always knew how to find such pockets of quiet, as if he were drawn to them by a magnetic force. As if the withdrawn nature of both Sans and the hidden places allowed them to communicate their positions in the world. He wandered if Sans had found the hidden places in the Underground, too.

but, for now, he doesn't really care. There was a beaten up path, behind a row of overgrown brush, that led to a small clearing, nestled up against a hill trying to be a mountain. A river flowed to a small pond, which seemed to glow every time someone found it, and a bench hovered by its banks. A weeping willow stretched out its branches, spilling its leaves and its tears. Wild flowers sprouted in awkward bunches, much to the king's delight. This was his own little spot.

he lumbered on to the bench, slowly sinking into the old wood, which groaned softly. But he had no worries about it breaking. After all, it had survived this long. 

Since the willow was the only thing obstructing the sky, it was the perfect place to watch clouds. Or the stars. You see, many monsters had found a fascination with the balls of light upon their escape, but the few who had been to the surface before were contented with just watching them. From time to time, they'd freely seek out a good spot to remember, to recall, to think of stories of before. And this is just what he was here to do.

well, that's not completely true. As childish as it was, he wanted to make a wish. Or a few.

with confidence, he knew that there weren't enough stars for him to grant all his wishes. He held love for everyone in his kingdom. He held love for the humans, too, despite everything that has happened. And there were just too many things he wanted for them.

so he wished for his family. He wished for Sans' happiness, for him to finally relax enough to allow his worries and troubles to tumble from his mouth like an unbidden waterfall. He wished for Toriel to ease the grief harbored by a mother who met Death's gaze one too many times. He wished for his departed children to rest peacefully, now that all has been righted the best they could have been. He wished for Papyrus to achieve his dreams, for Undyne to realize what she has, for Alphys to understand that they all loved her, for Mettaton to let go of the guilt of leaving behind his cousin enough to realize the ghost has forgiven him, for Frisk to allow themselves peace for every person or monster they couldn't save... His heart went out to the patchwork family that he belonged to, in hopes each one finds a happiness of their own.

His thoughts were interrupted, yet he didn't jump nor flinch. It took a long time to really get used to Sans popping out of no where, but he was now. He shifted in his spot on the lonely bench, where the lonely judge settled beside the lonely king in the lonely pocket of time attached to the park to watch the not so lonely stars.

"Rough night, ain't it?" Sans murmured. The king didn't think it so but he knew better to say that, as his now lover needed to say it, needed to let him know he was breaking, but in such a way that only silence could reign so, perhaps, it was a rough night. Finally, he gave a nod.

"the stars are beautiful tonight. Wouldn't you agree, Sans?" Asgore replied, tilting his muzzle upward," they always help me think."

the skeleton shrugged, turning to look, too," you were wishing again, weren't you?"

"of course. Hope, by any other name, is a wish. So, when I wish upon the stars, I am actually hoping."

"but wishes are only ever to be whispered to the stars," Sans croaked and, for a moment, Asgore realized just how painful this must be for him. He could, for a moment, see the cracks in his happiness, could see the smile dissipating, and felt a sorrow that only seemed to come when Sans was opening up just a little.

"the stars don't think that, Sans."

the pain that radiated off of the skeleton seemed to melt away, and the image was back to the Sans they all knew best. But a soft, bitter laugh gave him away.

for a moment, they remained quiet. It was tense, uncomfortable but it had to exist, if only for this moment. 

"Sans..."

Asgore turned, watching the skeleton's eye light up with a soft glow in his surprise. Even once he realized that it was Asgore who spoke, the dim light remained.

"what, Fluffybuns?"

"is there, by any chance, that you'd dance with me?" 

He could see the hesitation on the skeleton's face. Goodness, Sans was so small compared to him.

"Asgore, you only dance with Tori..." 

"Nonsense," the King cried, standing up swiftly. Before Sans could react, he was bundled up into Asgore's arms, and carefully deposited so that his feet were on top of Asgore's. His small hands were carefully held in the large paws of the other, his body pressed close to the mass of fur and muscle.

"see?" Asgore whispered, slowly swaying, as if they were slow dancing. Despite how startled he was, Sans couldn't help but smile, closing his eyes as his lover began to hum a waltz-esc song.

as Sans's own rumbling hum joined in, the stars braced themselves, for, though the two don't know it, their wishes had already begun to come true.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Error felt like he was falling. 

Wind would rush past his limp body, curling around bones and dipping insanity into lemon-drop dreams, digging knives into bittersweet memories and, maybe, this was all his fault. Maybe, this is what happens when you let yourself go, when you finally realize what was wrong and try to make it right. Maybe, he was just crazy.

When these falls happen, he counts the times he's imagined himself to not exist. He'd think of the possibilities, how many people would have lived if he hadn't been there. How many dreams would've come to fruition, how many families would have been started, how many friends would have been made, all because he just... wasn't there.

And then he'd wake up and he'd be on an old mattress inside the shack the Swap Brothers owned, and he'd trudge out into the snow, into the house, and he'd smile. He'd smile and the brothers would smile back, though Papyrus' was strained and Blue's was worried, but it's okay because no one really cares, do they? Not about him. Not about the abomination.

Not about the murderer.

This time, when he woke up, he found himself staring at glitched bones embedded in the walls and Papyrus at the door, staring blankly at the darkened skeleton. For a moment, his gaze remained on the taller skeleton, fingers kneading into the sweat-stained (or were those tears?) pillows, chest heaving with the very weight of the air, which seemed to feed him all that was disgusting, all that was sick, so he could throw it up.

Then, his breathing picked up, and his mouth opened, and he realized that the stains on the pillows were tears because he was crying. He thrashed, suddenly smothered in his blankets as a scream ripped from his mouth. His soul thrummed in alarm.

Another bone shot up between his side and his arm.

That's when Papyrus was by his side, untangling the small, shivering body from the blankets and ripping out the magic attack from the bedding. 

When his hand was reaching out, Error flinched.

He looked like he'd been struck.

Or like he thought he was going to be.

Papyrus forced that thought out of his mind as he tossed the bone attack to the side, his hands hovering just above the other's chest, which fell and rose wildly still. The air seemed to hold still for a moment, before Error's eyes met his and a soft, broken sob escaped past his discolored teeth. He never thought he'd feel this way, seeing his brother's kidnapper like this, but it broke his heart. 

And he wanted to hold Error, wanted to let him curl up in his arms as Papyrus rocked him back and forth, a thrum of a song Papyrus had forgotten swelling to life within his throat, wanted to let the other disappear from the cold ruthlessness of the world and just let him forget.

but he couldn't.

he couldn't because Error broke with every little touch, because Error, despite the effort his twisted mind put forth, couldn't forget what he had done, couldn't forget the face what gazed upon him with anger and pain and misery, couldn't forget the cries and screams, or feeling of someone slowly giving up the fight beneath him. It would always be burned in his head, forcing his eyes open to the torture of before.

It was what he had to face.

before, Papyrus believed that Error had deserved every bit of pain't he faced now. But he didn't know. It was so hard to be angry when you could watch as someone peeled back the curtains and showed off his real colors. 

Error was hurting. 

Error was hurting and no one knew how to help him.

so now all he could do was sit there, whisper in and humming as tired sobs frothed into life, as magic spilled down the smaller skeleton's cheeks, as wild eyes snapped eddy which way in utter fear. Distantly, the wind roared mournfully, as if death's gentle hand now led another old friend of life's. Distantly, Papyrus wondered how often Error heard that low howl.

it could have taken hours for Error to calm down, but he couldn't be sure. His phone was in the house, and no clock had been placed inside the shed, by Error's request. Once he did, everything felt too quiet; a beast awaiting its prey behind pretty lies of false security and faulty hopes.

"...Pah... Papyrus..." Error croaked, his sockets lidded with exhaustion. Papyrus responded with a questioning hum.

"can ya... Can ya do me a fa'or?"

"what do you need?"

a heartbeat. Another miserable sigh from the wind. The shed croaked under the weight of the wind's sadness

"please don't forget me," Error breathed out, his head turning, cheek pressed into the pillow," I dun' wanna die, Papyrus. Y'hear me, bro? Like those flowers I told ya about; the ones tha're pretty an' smell nice? I think 'bout 'em a lot. Always wan' some. Don't forget me."

Papyrus fell silent, SOUL pulsing painfully.

"don't... Don't let me disappear."

and then Error was asleep, ans Papyrus realized that he hadn't seen him, but his dead brother, and Papyrus realized how lonely Error was, how scared he was, how much Error just wanted a family.

when Error woke up again, a plate of warm pancakes was by his head. A vase of forget-me-nots stood neatly beside them.

...

he picked them up, finding a not nestled into the vibrant petals and stems. He brushed a thumb against the smooth cardstock before committing himself to reading it.

and he didn't know why but he felt warmth flood him, a wet smile on his face.

forget-me-nots: don't forget me; I'll love you forever.

Chapter Text

Blue could see his reflection in the mirror they bought for the living room. Just off to the side, far away to be forgotten about unless you sat just right. Sideways, his feet tucked under him, hands in his lap, taking up as little room as possible for the couple beside him. 

Sans and Cherry were a sight to behold, always so loving and caring to one another. A good fit. He was happy for them. 

I mean, they were his boyfriends but... Well, they were wrapped up with one another.

but what he saw in the mirror was a lie. His too stiff smile, eyes alight with false joy. 

The truth was he was breaking. 

But that didn't matter much now, did it?

Blue turned away when they kissed, his eyes focused on the TV. His smile was gone. The images that flashed across the screen were lost to him. It didn't matter. It was okay. 

it was okay.

three minutes later, he excused himself. The chatter filled the air behind him, filling the place he'd been previously. Neither skeleton acknowledged him leaving. Neither even noticed.

it was okay.

he stole away to the room. He couldn't hear them here. The only way they could get his attention was through his phone or going up the stairs. But he knew they wouldn't. They were busy. They had lives. They were living out a love well deserved. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even hurt.

well, that's not true. He wondered why he couldn't be content with what he could get.

he climbed into his bed, ignoring the covers and just... Lying there. Look at the ceiling. The images there were lost to him. White. Memories played out like a movie. His, but not quite. He didn't want to watch anymore. He was too tired to look away.

he counted the seconds. Then he stopped. Time didn't matter. It's just another little lie everyone told themselves to stop them from going insane.

his sockets closed and he reveled in the black. Nothingness. No lies. No hurts. Just... Darkness. What a beautiful thing.

He wanted that. Pure nothingness. Dreams of darkness. Gone.

It was okay.

He was already far away from them. It didn't matter. He could just slip away and they wouldn't notice. They had lives. They were busy.

and he opened his eyes, and he realized that tears ran down his cheeks without meaning, and a hollow smile danced on his face, playing tag with the heavy weight of realty in his chest, on his soul. His scarf felt thicker. He felt like he was choking.

maybe because Blue was? His hands, tugging, pulling, tightening the cloth, tattered just like him. 

it was okay, he thought. This was what needed to be.

the last thoughts in his head as he felt himself crumble. Not really painful, just... Odd. It started with his legs, dust gathering and spilling. He tried to laugh, but his scarf was too tight around his neck. As his legs disappeared, so did thinking. His mind was blank. He was still smiling. 

The he clock was ticking on the wall. With each tick of a second, another inch disappeared. He marveled at how simple his very being could just... Ceased to be, in some ways. His pelvis melted into dirty gray.

the dusting sped up as he gasped for air that he didn't want. Up his spine, through his ribs, shoulder blades, arms... Face, fingers...

and his soul. With the remaining eye, he watched his now laid bare soul unravel, sprinkling light blue gray on his pile of dust. Then there was nothingness.

he ceased to be.

.

.

.

.

and they didnt notice until hours later.

Chapter Text

it was okay, he thought. This was what needed to be.

the last thoughts in his head as he felt himself crumble. Not really painful, just... Odd. It started with his legs, dust gathering and spilling. He tried to laugh, but his scarf was too tight around his neck. As his legs disappeared, so did thinking. His mind was blank. He was still smiling.

The clock was ticking on the wall. With each tick of a second, another inch disappeared. He marveled at how simple his very being could just... Ceased to be, in some ways.

Then the pressure was gone, replaced by hands, and the dusting stopped just before his pelvis, and he could hear weeping, and he finally felt something-

Sobs bubbled to life in his throat. Cherry was scooping up what was left of him as Sans cleaned up the dust. Blue could see both of them shaking, could feel each earthquake strike Cherry's larger body like they wanted to tear him apart. Neither spoke to him until shoes were thrown on and they were making their way out the door.

"Blue," Sans breathed, weak,"Blue-"

"We're so sorry," Cherry chimed in,"god-"

"We're so sorry-"

"We should've-"

"If only-"

The spoke at the same time, tears bubbling down their cheeks and it wasn't right, nothing was okay, because this shouldn't have happened.

"The signs were all there." They said, in unison, in harmony of the broken.

And he didn't reply. He just stared, stared anywhere but where his legs had been, because seeing remainders of dust fall to the ground like snow or those ugly tears were better than seeing an absence.

They were in a hospital. The doctors buzzed about, assuring the two boyfriends of Blue's health. He'll be in pain, they said. He probably can't get prosthetic legs, they said. He'll be so frail from now on, they said.

Each word went above the smaller skeleton. He could only lie in a too-white bed, surrounded by too-white walls. Days and nights passed in flashes of brief light and even more fleeting moments of consciousness. He could barely remember any of the visitors he received, only that he received them. When he was stabilized, he went into a mental hospital for a few days before winding up back home.

Home, he realized, didn't feel as empty as he had previously thought.

Sans was pushing his wheelchair, slowly, to let the male take in the new flowers taking root in their yard. It looked more well-maintained than when he last saw it last, though only roughly a week ago. The house was even cleaner, everything in its place without looking like a homeowner's catalog. Cherry met them in the kitchen, gripping a pan of what looked like pot pie, but he couldn't from his place. Cherry smiled tiredly.

"I didn't think ya could get any shorter, sweetheart." He remarked lowly. Sans shot him a glare, but Blue smiled back, just the tiniest bit genuine.

"just goes to show that I'm always exceeding expectations, huh?"

He felt Sans falter.

 Day four

Day four, and he didn't smile once since returning. Day four, and he had too many nightmares to speak of. Day four, and Sans wouldn't touch him. Day four, and Cherry was scared of breaking him.

He felt like glass. He felt like a broken doll.

None of them spoke of the reason of these issues.

 Night four

Blue still slept in the same bed as his partners, but he now had a separate blanket. Cherry had reverted to his old habits, making himself as small as possible. Though, the implication of this behavior would hurt, Blue felt nothing. Sans left shortly after an hour to sleep on the couch.

He vaguely could hear sobbing.

But Blue didn't feel a thing. He did not sleep that night.

 Day nine

Blue awoke from his nap when he heard the softest footsteps, heading towards the closet. His sockets fluttered open and he was met with Sans, who had frozen upon noticing his movements.

"Hey, Bluebird," Sans whispered, his hands pressing together nervously,"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Where are you going?" Blue asked, slowly pushing himself up from the bed. His pelvis shifted against the mattress with the movement and he was once more reminded of the absence of his legs. Sans looked surprised by the question, so Blue quickly explained himself,"you never go to the closet unless you're heading out."

His partner opened his mouth for a moment before shrugging. For a moment, Blue thought he looked just as tired as he felt.

"A walk. I'm taking a walk."

"Okay."

"Go back to your nap."

"Okay."

"..."

He lied back down before he could watch Sans' retreating figure.

 Day eleven

Sans and Cherry began frequently checking up on him, trading off whenever one of them was busy. Despite it only started two days ago, Blue had grown used to it.

He felt a familiar burn that he quickly realized was the barest flame of affection swell in his chest.

 Night thirteen

 Blue didn't wake up until seven. He pretended that he had been awake for far longer, just opting to take naps every once in a while. He did not allow himself to be reminded that he didn't go to bed until eight that morning.

He slowly sat up, letting his gaze sweep the surrounding area. He realized that Cherry was curled up, fast asleep with his newest reading investment, a human book by the name of The Spire , in his lap, on the rocking chair Blue had insisted on buying when they all began investing in a small reading nook in the room. It had been for the very skeleton before him, meant to help Cherry learn to let Sans and him spoil him more. The rocking chair was large, with old cushions that had been repaired with mismatched patches, but the reddish tint of mahogany wood twinkling in the low glow of a reading lamp made it feel as though it was the most gorgeous thing in existence, especially with the carefully carved flowers along the arm and back rests. It matched an old bookcase, filled to the brim with how to books, fantasy, and murder mystery, all things Cherry had a habit of reading. A glass end table was positioned carefully next to the rocking chair, allowing the skeleton to drape his legs over the armrest without knocking the lamp or a cup over. A lightly scented candle also sat near the lamp.

He tilted his head, remembering how hard it was to find everything for Cherry. His sockets fluttered closed as he thought of it.

It had been Sans' idea, shortly after the three had decided to move in with one another. Their room had been a little too big for the three of them as, though they possessed a slightly larger number of people sharing a room. None of them owned much, and preferred to keep it that way. Their room had only seemed to grow in size when they had settled in and Blue had found a good organization method for all three of them.

Before the suggestion, Cherry had been spoiling the crap out of him and Sans, Blue thought fondly. New clothes, nice decorations for the house, jewelry, chocolates... But, every time the two of them attempted to give something to the other, he had turned it down politely. At first, Blue didn't think much of it until Sans pointed out his extremely low self-esteem, which became a breeding ground for anxiety and doubt. He realized Cherry wouldn't let them gift him things because he just didn't think he was worthy of that.

So, when Cherry's brother called him for a visit to the taller skeleton's new house for a few days, they began putting forth a plan.

It wasn't hard to pick what they wanted to do for him, considering that, when Cherry wasn't helping with cooking, napping, or making god awful jokes, he was reading. The hard part was finding the perfect chair and end table to match their stored-away bookcase. So Blue took off to hit some thrift stores while Sans scoured the Internet. Blue had found the chair, and repaired its cushion as a temporary solution until they could get a new seat, and Sans had found the end table, which he had decided to paint when he saw the poor shape of the frame, and the lamp was a gift from Blue's Alphys.

When Cherry came back, he nearly broke down crying. He loved it. He loved every part of it.

Afterward, they took him out for nice cream and book shopping.

That had been a wonderful day, Blue thought. It was like a date, in a way.

But he was too tired to keep thinking, so he lied back down and fell asleep once more.

 Day twenty one

It was twelve thirty four when he finally willed himself to sit up again. The room smelled rather disgusting, as he never could bring himself to get up and call for help in bathing. Everything had a thin layer of dust. He knew well that his partners didn't want to clean the room, in fear of having to uproot Blue, or bother him.

He realized he could hear Cherry watching TV. He knew it was him because he was the only one that enjoyed Criminal Minds.

Blue moved to glance out the window behind the bed, staring at the gently swaying trees in their neighbor's yard before turning back around. Sans was standing in the doorway, shoulders slumped and sockets hazy.

He wondered how much sleep Sans had been getting.

"oh," Sans breathed, sockets closing for a moment,"you're awake."

"yeah." Blue replied.

They stared at each other. Distantly, he heard a woman's voice say something about chocolate, which prompted another character to respond with 'baby girl'. Neither paid much attention to it.

Then Sans moved onto the bed, and his hand stretched out, hesitating, shaking. Blue didn't react, just held the other's gaze as slowly, so very slowly, Sans cupped his cheek, touch just a gentle wind that he could barely feel. Blue's sockets fluttered close, leaning into the hand with a slight tilt of his head and hummed.

"I'm so sorry," Sans whispered, leaning forward and pressing his teeth to the top of his skull.

Blue didn't know if the apology was out of love or guilt.

"It's okay. I forgive you." Blue said.

He didn't know if 'I forgive you' meant that he loved him, or if he just didn't want to see Sans hurt.

 Night twenty one

As the other two skeletons settled around him, Blue felt arms wrap around his little body. Sans pressed against him, held them, as they fell asleep.

Blue didn't have nightmares that night.

 Day thirty five

Blue had been given a bath and brought downstairs. Honestly, it was about time, considering how little he moved about nowadays. He found his phone sitting on the end table, the silvery blue gleam glaring up at him, while charms sat dusty, mocking him.

He picked it up as Sans turned on the TV. He punched in his password and his screensaver popped up (he still admired the picture despite its age; him, his boyfriends, and their brothers gathered in front of a waterfall, the water creating rippling rainbows in the photo. Everyone had the biggest smile possible on their face, while still harboring things that made them them , condiment bottles and scarves and flowers and rocks-), then the device buzzed with missed notifications.

His face twisted into mute horror upon seeing Alphys and Undyne's messages, each more desperate than the last.

"Did you guys tell them?" Blue asked, glancing up to his partners. Cherry eyed the phone in his hand.

"No. We... We thought it'd be best to focus on just you, yknow?" Sans whispered hoarsely, glancing away. Blue found he wasn't upset.

"They've been worried,"He mentioned,"neither knew what was going on. I'm surprised Alphys hasn't kicked down our door yet."

The other two skeletons shrugged, prompting the end of the conversation. They went back to browsing and Blue opened Alphys' chat.

B: Hey.

It didn't take too long for a response to come; three seconds later and the phone buzzed.

A: YOU'RE FLIPPING ALIVE

B: Haha, yeah. We just

B: We had some problems

A: NO KIDDING! WHAT HAPPENED???? DID THOSE KNUCKLEHEADS DO SOMETHING?????

B: No, it was my fault. You'll see later, kay? I'll come visit.

A: YOU BETTER!!! AND SOON!!!!!!

Blue smiled, chuckling as he tucked the device back into place on the end table. He turned his attention to Sans and Cherry, who were still quietly bickering on what to watch.

"Guys?" Blue began,"can we watch MythBusters?"

The two jolted to look at him again, both shocked before mirroring expressions of excitement appeared on their faces.

Cherry clapped his hands,"that's perfect!"

"Why didn't I think of that?" Sans mumbled, grabbing the remote and changing the channel. Blue relaxed into the cushion behind him, his own tiny, but bigger than before, smile on his face. Cherry spread a blanket across the three's laps and the all settled, leaning against one another and preparing for explosions, mayhem, and myth busting of epic proportions.

 Day thirty six

It was a bad day. Blue stayed in bed. Sans had left the house and Cherry was napping on the couch.

He closed his eyes and wondered about where all the good times went.

 Day thirty seven

Cherry pulled the shirt over Blue's head, helping the smaller skeleton adjust so the long, dress-like cloth tucked neatly under his pelvis. The spiraling blue designs looked faded, along with the cream background, but it was comfortable and pretty. He then tied Blue's scarf, kissing his forehead once finished.

"There we go. You still comfortable with this?"

"Yeah," Blue smiled," Alphys and Undyne miss me! What better way to see them again than a double date?"

Cherry chuckled, moving behind the other's wheelchair. He checked over his button-up and jeans again, adjusting the tie before pushing the wheelchair out the room. Sans stood at the door, wearing a more decorative dress shirt with ruffles and slacks, fidgeting with his fingers.

"damn, you look fine." Cherry commented with a grin. Sans flushed, puffing out his cheeks.

Blue scowled,"two gold in the swear jar."

Cherry's expression dropped to false annoyance as he did as he was told, Sans' laughter following suit.

___

The restaurant wasn't exactly "fancy", but it wasn't fast food. Alphys and Undyne were already there, having been seated for about ten minutes when the three skeletons entered the building and made their way to the table.

The entire time, Alphys watched the wheelchair, forcing her expression to be neutral even as her partner gasped quietly at the lack of legs on their friend. She pressed her clawed hands against the polished wood, inhaling forcefully before letting a tense smile cross her cheeks. Their friends sat down with some maneuvering to be done to accommodate Blue's chair.

"what happened...?"

Sans opened his mouth to explain but Blue cut him off with a quick wave of his hand,"a mistake is what happened. But I'm okay. It's not painful."

Alphys shifted in her seat, glancing to meet her girlfriend's gaze, somewhat obscured by the fish monster's glasses before looking to her friend.

"Well, you're a tough kid, so recover soon, okay? We've got work to do, yknow."

Blue responded with a goofy grin and a salute.

 Day thirty eight

He was too tired to get up, even with his phone signaling that his friends wanted to talk and his boyfriends insisting on watching movies.

He stayed in bed.

It was a bad day.

 Night forty nine

At seven, like clockwork, they all settled in for dinner. Spaghetti, for old times sake for Sans and Cherry. They had purchased a lower table so Blue didn't have to leave his wheelchair, which, considering their heights, was for the best, anyway.

Blue was slowly working his way through the pasta when Cherry tapped the oak wood, drawing his attention. He had a nervous smile.

"I, uh, I wanted to talk about maybe renovating the house?" Cherry began,"to make it easier for all of us to get around, yknow? Um, and... and maybe make it bigger?"

Blue tilted his head,"I mean, other than getting around... why would you want to? That's expensive."

"Um, no reason. I just like the idea of having a big house." the red-clad skeleton murmured, getting quieter with anxiety. Blue rolled his eyes.

"Sure, but nothing too expensive."

Day fifty three

The plans were solidified, and construction would begin in a week. They were staying with Sans' brother.

 Day sixty

They met Papyrus at his house. Inside, Blue could hear Mettaton's airy laugh, accompanied by the sound of their foster children's laughter. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined that for himself.

___

Papyrus took Cherry's place in pushing Blue's wheelchair in, despite the edgier skeleton's quiet protests. Sans followed him with slow strides, taking his time to look at all the photos hung up in the hallway going from the front door to the living room. Photos of Sans and Papyrus, at Papyrus' wedding, several foster children, pets, Mettaton and his family... Just there, showing off everything and anything that meant something.

...

Sans did really have a cool brother.

The group crowded into the living room, each taking in the sight of the family. A dark-skinned human child with even darker hair, think and curly and pulled into a ponytail, and warm eyes held up an old airplane toy above a second child, this one a fluffy monster that vaguely looked like a cross between a rabbit and bird, who was trying to get the toy despite their short height. Mettaton watched from the couch, a dog curled up in his lap.

It didn't take long for Mettaton to take notice their guests and cleared his throats, catching the kids' attention.

"Natalie, Kuma, these are Sans, Cherry, and Blue." The robot introduced, nodding their way. The kids stared awkwardly before whispering among themselves. Then, the human child marched up to them, a wide grin settling on her cheeks.

"So you're the group Papa Paps keeps talkin' 'bout! I'm Nat," she said proudly, puffing out her chest much like Papyrus.

Sans chuckled,"You're a nat-ural charmer."

...

Nat and Papyrus gave him a full look of disdain, though the second kid, now known as Kuma, gave a soft giggle. That's when they walked over, their steps slight hops.

"That was a good joke. I'm gonna guess that-" They pointed to Sans,"-you're Sans, right? Then the red guy is Cherry, and the blue one is... Blue. Did I get it right?"

Cherry leaned against the wheelchair,"you're good, kiddo. What are ya, a mind reader?"

"I wish!" Kuma exclaimed, crossing their arms with a slight pout, their cheeks puffing out. Their ears bobbed with the movement, the long bunny-like appendages sticking out at odd angles, one slopped near their shoulders and one stretching to the side. Honestly, a rather disheveled appearance came out about Kuma.

Papyrus decided, likely due to Blue fidgeting with Nat's intense gaze on him, that it was time for the three to be shown to their room and for the children to prepare for dinner.

 Night sixty four

Cherry and Sans couldn't get Blue to eat in the dining room so, with little prompting, Papyrus allowed them to eat in the room.

Blue didn't get too far into the meal before lying down and pretending the bed was his own.

 Day sixty seven

Blue counted up to ten every five seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... breathe.

He could hear Kuma playing with Cherry and Sans. Sometimes, Kuma's voice was replaced what he imagined his child to sound like, if he were to have one. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... Breathe.

Magic, particularly souls, were strange things. If they had wanted to, Papyrus and Mettaton could have had a biological child, but decided they wanted to adopt. Blue thought about adopting, too, and, while he liked the idea, he desprately wanted a child of his own, ahem, "flesh and blood."

He stared at where his legs used to be.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninetenbreathebreathebreathe-

He closed his eyes and sobbed. Counting did him no good, as he was now mourning a loss of something he would never have.

would he even be able to care for a child as he was now?

one, two, thr-

 Day sixty nine

The morning had long since passed by the time Blue finally felt well enough to get up. Though, even if he wanted to do just that, he found the warmth of the comforter too enticing. Combined with Sans and Cherry's arms around him, he was much too hard not to give into.

Cherry's hand caressed the side of Blue's skull, kissing his forehead. Sans shifted slightly on the other side, his head resting lightly on top of Blue's chest, one of his hands tangling with Blue's. They all whispered loving words, and exchanged fantasies of a future only they could have together.

And he loved the picture they painted.

 Day seventy one

This morning, Blue was wheeled into the dining room to eat with the family. Everyone was still in PJs, as what happens on a lazy sunday. Papyrus donned in a pinstripe set, Mettaton in a nightgown and robe, Blue in a sweater and oversized t-shirt, Cherry and Sans in boxer shorts and t-shirts. Kuma was in shorts and a tank-top, though wrapped in a blanket, and Nat chose boxer shorts, a tank top, and slippers.

Mettaton was poised over the coffee machine, pulling out mugs for the adults and cups and juice for the kids. Papyrus and Sans worked together to make chocolate chip pancakes, while Cherry and Blue read the newspaper together.

Sleep tugged at each family member, so silence became their words, instead. Silence as Blue and Cherry quietly pointed out things in the newspaper, silence as Kuma and Nat made funny faces at each other, silence as Mettaton stared at the old machine trying to produce coffee, and silence as Sans and Papyrus worked.

Until... well...

"...Papyrus, that's... that's batter y.¨

"SANS! THIS IS WHY I THREW IT AT YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE!!"

"Guys, my own brother is gonna-"

"turn you into a pancake?" Blue supplied, which met with silence and then loud, up beat laughter from Cherry, Sans, and Kuma. Papyrus stared at him in utter betrayal, Nat glared, and Mettaton managed to only look surprised with the joke.

"BLUE, I TRUSTED YOU!"

Blue's grin widened, leaning forward and holding back laughter,"What, you can't deal with this crepe ? Oh my stars, you're gonna flip , aren't you?"

As more guffaws filled the area, followed by Blue's own cackle, Papyrus just watched, his spatula by his side.

"NYEH-!!"

___

Everyone pitched in to clean up the mess that had ensued after a small pun war between the three lovers. Then, once everything was done and the food served, they settled at the table once more.

"So what's the plan for today?" Sans inquired, taking a small sip of his coffee. After a moment, he scrunched up his face, grabbed the ketchup and poured some more into the black liquid. Cherry blinked, double checked his, and added a little more milk and sugar. At this, Blue found himself, not for the first time, relieved that Cherry at least had one sensibe favorite.

He recalled the massive collection of mustard bottles at home and couldn't help but shudder.

"SANS, YOU ARE SO-"

"Well, Sansy, dear, we were thinking about heading down to the park. For a picnic." Mettaton interrupted his husband, eyeing said flustered skeleton. Papyrus huffed softly, turning his head to stare at his meal.

"That sounds lovely," Blue said, leaning forward in his wheelchair,"we could invite my brother... And Cherry's, too. We haven't seen them in a long time."

Sans tilted his head,"yeah, that sounds great until Edgy-Mc-Edgyson stares swearin' in front of the kids."

"Hey!" Cherry glared at Sans,"my brother ain't all that bad. I'm the one with the bad mouth."

Blue eyed Sans, who's grin slowly grew. Before he could say an inappropriate joke, Blue cleared his throat,"I'm sure everything's fine. I'll call them up, if that's okay?"

The family in front of them glanced to one another before nodding.

___

After breakfast, Blue sat alone in the living room while everyone dressed for the day. He stared at his phone screen, his brother's smiling contact photo gazing back up at him almost hauntingly. He's not sure when they stopped talking, or when they just... dropped out of each other's lives, but he knew it was painful. It's not like they had left off on a bad note; the transition was smooth, quickly going from infrequent phone calls, to hurried, one-worded texts, to nothing, as though silence had become their new communication.

His thumb pressed 'call' and his soul lurched.

...

After the fourth ring, a tired voice came from the speaker.

"Sans, is that you?"

...

"Good morning, Papy." Blue whispered, glancing to the side.

There was some commotion on the other side,"Mornin', bro. Uh, what did you want?"

He flinched, closing his eyes and trying to collect himself.

"I just... wanted to know if you wanted to come to a picnic, Brother. Mettaton, Papyrus, their kids, and us will be there an-"

"Hold on,"his voice was clipped,"you think you can invite me to a picnic after seven years of no contact, whatsoever? Fuck, Sans! I've been emailin' and textin' you this entire time and no goddamn response!"

"I... I'm sorry," Blue murmured, fighting down tears,"I tried, okay? I really, really tried, Papy!"

The was no response, and Blue felt himself crumble, slumping into his wheelchair as he sobbed. He tried, for God's sake, he tried! Because, even before the incident, he had problems, problems that he just didn't talk about or address, that he worked on his own and he got so caught up in all of it. He was trying to survive, he was trying to claw his way out of this God forsaken pit that he'd thrown himself into by being so fucking stupid-

"f-fuck, Papyrus, I'm so fucking sorry." He whispered into the phone, his own voice breaking and trembling with the very weight of speaking.

Silence. Silence meant Blue should just give up. Silence meant that his brother didn't care. Silence meant-

"-it's okay, Blue. It's okay. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking... I... I'll be there, okay? And we can talk about this, alright?"

"yeah, okay."

Sans found him shortly after, bawling and shaking something bad.

 Day seventy one, noon

The park had never been given an official name. It was just known as 'the park', though other nicknames could be found within certain communities. For the 'Tale universe monsters, they sometimes called it Memorial, as they often reminisce of the soldiers that fell in the war so long ago and how they would have loved seeing this.

Despite the humans' discomfort, and the rocky relationship that they held not only with the monsters in general, but also the alternate universe dwellers which now shared the same space as them, the dedicated park was massive. Big, sloping hills, a fast running river, a small forest, and two separate play areas made up the land. Flowers sprung freely, in unorganized masses that were honestly much prettier than the neat bushels most humans had. The wildlife liked to poke out every once in a while, as well.

The group headed towards a gazebo, which had been built next to the river, up against one of the massive mounds of earth. The structure itself had seen better days, what with the darkened wood and the ivy growing up its sides. In this spot, the grass had overgrown. Inside, Damian was reclined on the seat, his sockets closed as a young skeleton monster placed a relatively crappy crown of dandelions on top of his head. In response, Blue's brother tickled the child's sides and kissed their forehead, his eyes bright with affection.

Damian's joy was interrupted as Blue's wheelchair was pushed up the ramp, causing the wood to groan and creak. He made eye contact with Blue, who slumped further in the chair, cheeks flushed in shame.

"Hi, brother," Blue whispered, his fingers twitching on his arm rests.

"Blue, what ha-" Damian froze,"I... I mean, sup? Uh..."

The two fell silent, refusing to look at one another. Blue felt Sans' hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, you two are ridiculous! Mettaton, let's take everyone and let them talk this out, shall we?" Papyrus cut in, his voice much softer.

Mettaton nodded firmly,"sounds like a plan, darling. Come on, little ones."

Mettaton herded his own children, Sans and Cherry, and Damian's child, who introduced herself in a soft voice as they walked away. Blue caught the name as it faded, and admired it. Caecilia. Such a pretty name. Such a lovely child.

Blue cut down his jealousy at the root. 

...

"...please tell me what happened." Damian whispered, scooting the wheelchair closer to him. Blue could see orange magic faintly flickering, sputtering from his brother's socket, twinged with a dark, deep red of concern. His own sockets attempted to glow, too, only to come short, as he no longer had much magic to spare. Not for a long time, anyway.

Blue sighed lowly,"Damian, I..."

He trailed off, unsure of how to speak about this , how to explain that he wasn't happy, and he hadn't been for the longest of times. How could he tell his brother, who relied on his cheerfulness to get through a day, that he had the same soul crushing, sickening weight on his shoulders, often times a plague called Depression. How could he tell his brother that he didn't call him, didn't email him, or do anything, all because he, too, had this thing and couldn't find it in himself to do something about it?

"Did they do it?" his brother asked, venom in his voice. Though no names were mentioned, Blue knew Damian was referring to his boyfriends.

Blue rubbed his skull,"no, it wasn't their fault. I was... hurting, Papy. I did it. I... I choked myself. I was trying to die. I was giving up."

He watched his brother's face drop, horror painting his expression and Blue felt his soul break at the sight.

"Sans..." Damian breathed, his hands trembling,"You... I'm... I'm so sorry... I should've-"

"-Papy," Blue interrupted sternly,"you couldn't have known that I was depressed. I made sure you didn't know because I was handling it just fine. You needed help."

"...how long did you feel like that?"

...

"...since dad disappeared."

__

After the reveal, they moved on to talk about other things in life. Damian's child, Caecilia, was born in an unfulfilling relationship that lasted one month before the birth to two months after, with a skeleton whose name was forgotten in the joy of having Caecilia around. They lived in a two-room apartment with very little, yet found themselves contented with their lives. Damian worked as a science teacher at the college, which, Blue learned, was one of the first to accept monster students and faculty and allow them to mix with humans. Damian had a dog, a corgi/border collie mix that rarely moved or rarely stopped eating, and a cat, a tiny kitten from the shelter that suffered burns to her paws.

Blue admitted that his life hadn't changed much. Blue worked under Alphys, still, which now had more to do with politics and conflicting laws between the universes and the humans, particularly laws that the Fells held. Though, despite this, the Swaps and Tales' previous royal guardsmen found themselves working closely with the human's police and firemen. They didn't go under their old title, but it didn't matter much. Blue had no pets, no kids, and stayed home most days, especially since his incident. Before, he had simply started handling Alphys' paperwork, often times either doing it for her or editing it before delivering them to the king and queen. Rarely, he'd also bring work to the other royalties. Nonetheless, he stayed home. But Sans, now a semi-renowned scientist, and Cherry, an aggressive but sweet member of several neighborhood groups and clubs, had become more energetic and outgoing.

They spoke, once, of the idea of children, but the memory was forgotten amonst Blue's current situation. 

Slowly, they moved to just... remembering. They talked about the way things used to be. They talked of Papyrus and Mettaton's wedding, their old hikes with the other universes... 

Just remembering.

__

The group gathered once more in the gazebo. Cherry's brother had arrived, bearing reading glasses and a semi-formal appearance. Just as Blue remembered him, with perfect posture and a stern expression, which only changed with a cunning smirk. Overall, intimidating and devilishly handsome; which contrasted with Cherry's desire to please and shy cuteness. The two brothers somehow managed to be more different than Sans and Papyrus with this overall theme. 

They called him Lee, nowadays, didn't they?

He settled onto the bunch with grace, right next to Damian, who rolled his eyes at the gesture. Nonetheless, everyone seemed relatively glad to just be in one another's presence once more.

"So, what's for lunch?" Damian asked, watching Caecilia converse with Natalie and Kuma. Blue spotted the smile on his face easily; his brother had spoken of Caecilia's difficulty in making friends. With Nat, however, it was no surprise that the young skeleton adopted to being friends with the two quickly. After all, the confidence certainly sucked you in without annoying you. Plus, Kuma's more gentle nature made Nat much more easy to handle.

At the question, Papyrus (gently) threw the picnic onto a bench, opening it with a florish and a 'nyeh',"CRAPPY SANDWICHES!"

 Day seventy two

The day before sapped every bit of energy he had. Blue's head spun and his soul seemed to sink. He did not get up. He did not eat.

He didn't even know if Cherry and Sans noticed.

Day seventy four

Blue didn't realize how comfortable the couch was. Papyrus and Mettaton chose well, what with it not being overly guady and being soft, allowing his little body to sink in some. The pillows, though decorative, also managed to serve a purpose outside of asthetics. 

It wasn't exactly early, but the children were likely asleep. Cherry and Sans went out to do some errends and Mettaton and Papyus decided an all-day date was in order. He couldn't blame them, since they were busy raising two rambunctious kids.

...

He's taking care of the rambunctious kids now. Without legs.

...

hiS WHEELCHAIR WASN'T EVEN NEAR HIM-

Blue pushed himself up from the cushions, glaring at his wheelchair, which was close enough to be frustratingly out of reach. He then glared at the carpet, knowing he'd have to crawl to reach his only transportation. He leaned forward some, praying to whatever deity there was that physics and anatomy would break enough for him to retrieve the wheelchair.

But, alas, the world didn't work that way.

He began working himself off the couch and onto the floor, grunting and huffing with the exertion and his annoyance. Chest to the floor and arms poised, he cringed as the carpet's texture scratching at anything that was bare. Slowly, he began to make his way over to his goal.

He was half-way there when he heard footsteps. He turned his head and met Kuma's gaze, staring at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"Mr. Blue," Kuma began,"why are you on the floor?"

"...Kuma, I don't know if you've noticed but I don't have legs."

There was an awkward silence between the two of them before Kuma walked cover, careful not to step on Blue with their bird-like talons, then helped the small skeleton into his wheelchair.

Blue smiled tiredly, "sorry... I didn't mean to snap. Your parents are out, by the way."

"date day?" They asked, tilting their head. Their ears followed suit in an almost exaggerated way.

He chuckled, "date day."

The skeleton began wheeling to the kitchen, slowly, as the child followed by his side. Neither spoke as the pushed onward, Kuma's clicking talons and Blue's squeaky wheels the only sounds. But Blue felt at peace in this moment, the gentle quiet dancing between them, brushing past their bodies and twirling in the pristine kitchen. 

Despite everything, this was, as he decided, living. He'd be okay. 

Chapter Text

"MOM, HELP-"

These words were spoken with a breathless happiness, interrupted by laughter. Chara grinned at their brother, in which whom the words belonged to, with an evil intent.

The hardwood floor of the house dug into their knees and they were sure that Asriel's back ached, especially with his sibling's weight on top of his own, but the two were having fun. Their limbs had been tangled up with each little movement, but neither minded. They could hear Toriel on the phone, cooking as she did, trusting her kids to behave. Asgore was likely still asleep and, while it was rude to awaken their father, they both found they didn't care.

"I can't believe mom is straight up abandoning you, Azzy," Chara chuckled, jabbing their fingers into his sides.

"nooooo," replied Asriel, fighting down laughter,"help, mom! help!"

Chara moved again, relentlessly tickling their brother and narrating,"you called out for help but nobody came!"

They were older now and, really, not that much wiser. Chara thought they understood what they were doing with this plan. Get Azzy to absorb their soul, slip out, and get the souls so the monsters could finally, finally be happy, as they so very much deserved. Then, finally, lay Chara's body to rest in their favorite flowers- always had been more beautiful on the surface.

No one would miss seven people, right? There's millions of humans out there. It's fine. No one is worried about it.

Except they were. The people's angry screams rang in the air as they fought Asriel's new form. This... whatever it was, was unstable. Chara's soul flickered, only holding onto their determination for the sake of monsterkind. Asriel wept behind the powerful being's mask. Bullets punctured the fusion from every side.

They made their way back at a snail's pace. The fusion collapsed, dust gathering among petals of imitations.

"help... please," cried Azzy. Chara's soul pulsed weakly.

 "you called out for help... but no one came..."

They were older, but, really, not any wiser. That much was proven as the dust settled with a mournful king and queen.

Frisk stood their ground, eyes staring up at the entity known as Asriel. The faint smell of buttercups wafted to and fro their battlefield. This was it- the last battle needed to free these creatures they had met. The monsters, Frisk found, deserved to see a sunrise again. They would do this for Mom, for Sans and Papyrus, for Alphys, Undyne, Mettaton, and every single friend they had made along the way.

But... as unfair as it is, Frisk was scared. They stood there, trembling, gazing at a thing that could take eat them whole. The worst part was that they weren't alone. The strange spirit floated beside them, buttercups decorating Their hair and most of Their body, weaving among fabric and hair, flooding Their eye and mouth. The petals were large enough to hide a good chunk of Their face. Despite this, They easily found Their way.

"Where did our friends go?" Frisk asked shakily. They did not reply.

Frisk began to cry softly, whimpering out pleas for help. They were just a child, just a child.

The spirit turned to them,"you cried for help but nobody came..."

"Hey, Azzy?"

"What's up, Chara?"

"do you wanna nap on the couch like we used to?"

"...no tickling this time. Promise?"

"Promise. Let's... let's sleep now, okay?"

"Yeah. We deserve it, right?"

"...yeah. We did good."

...

"Good night, Azzy."

"Nighty, Chara."

Chapter Text

His universe was often called the most beautiful, what with the brilliant starlight that bathed every nook and cranny, stunning shades of pinks and purples and blues twisting among pure black and dipping the stars to a song unheard to the monsters who lived there. Many alternatives always admired this place, each time stopping to gaze and gap at what he lived with every day. They say things about how they'd never grow tired of it. How could anyone?

Star did, sometimes. Despite its gorgeousness, Star did not share his counterparts' sentiments. He wanted to enjoy Earth, too. 

But that didn't stop him from stargazing from time to time. He was a local, so he knew all the best spots to relax. In fact, he was currently on his way to his favorite, hauling a small bag of snacks and drinks for him to enjoy. It didn't take long to reach this area, but it was tricky to find. It was in a "cliff", where one step meant tumbling off into the distant darkness, but it was perfect, in Star's opinion. 

He climbed down the cliff a few feet before he found the cave, which was small and compact. It was hard to see anything within. But that's what made the view even better. 

Slowly, he pushed inside, dropping his bag to his side as he lowered to the cave floor. There was breathing to his side, but he did not feel shock. If he had found it, then someone definitely had, as well.

"Didn't realize you were in here, too," Star commented, reaching into his bag,"want some Popato Chisps?"

There was a long pause before a voice, which was rough and oddly echo-y, rang out,"yeah, if you don't mind."

"You're not a local, are you? That's fine." He dug out the chisps, passing out the snack with some difficulty.

"no, not really. I'm... actually from a different universe." The other replied, taking them with a soft 'thank you', followed by the snack bag opening and crunching.

The star-dweller tilted his head,"that makes more sense. I think someone with your voice would stand out enough for gossip."

There was another beat of silence, long enough that Star thought for sure his guest had left. then,"that's not bad, is it?"

"well," Star chuckled softly,"I don't suppose it is."

The conversation died away, replaced with the noise of eating. Star didn't bother trying to imagine the person beside him, though he could not see them. Rather, he took comfort from the company of a stranger. He marveled at this; strangers could bring to him pain and suffering, and yet he felt completely at ease with the one beside him. And, in this moment in his life, he liked to think the stranger also felt some peace with him here, as well.

"Do you come here often?"

"yeah, actually. Sorry, I guess this is your spot, isn't it?" The stranger chuckled meekly.

Star hummed,"no, it's not. It's not anyone's spot, really. So, you're welcome here."

"...thanks," they murmured, shifting,"I hope I'm not interrupting any thinking."

"You sure do worry a lot," he replied,"you have a right to be here, just as I do."

"...sure, okay. Sorry."

"You have no need, but apology accepted."

Star slid into the cave again, two days later. Oddly, he hoped that the stranger was there again. They had been a nice surprise, and though they hadn't talked much through the stargazing, it was fun. 

He didn't have to hope too hard, as he heard a startled gasp as he landed inside.

"Hey, stranger," Star said, already grabbing the snack bag,"I hope I didn't scare you too bad. Chisps?"
The figure beside him laughed lightly,"no, I'm okay. Just lost in thought when you came in. Also, sure."

Star tossed them a bag, they said thank you, and they both took a bite.

"You really do come here a lot, huh? What do you think about?"

"Well, a lot of things, I guess. My thoughts are... dark, though."

Star gave a confused sound,"what kinda dark?"

"I don't know... dark like... yknow, death or some edgy thing like that."

"...your death...?"

"...sometimes. Actually, a lot of the time. What would it be like? Would people be happier without me? Would life carry on? Would anyone miss me?"

There was a pause, then the stranger spoke again,"probably not, now that I think of it."

Star tapped the cave floor,"surely you have people who would miss you. Family, friends..."

"None to speak of. I... I think I had a family, at one point but... I can't remember. And friends... Well, people don't like befriending beasts, do they?"

"...what do you mean by that?"

"Well," Their form, barely seen in the darkness, appeared to hunch over,"I've done some... bad, bad things. And there's a lot of people who... who know it and... well, don't like me. Want me dead."

"oh."

...

"Sorry, you don't need to hear that," they said, miserably. 

"...it's okay. Let's... talk about something else. Tell me about yourself."

"like what?"

"what are your hobbies? Your favorite snack? Animal? That kinda thing, I guess."

"Oh... I, uh, make dolls and... read. I really like chocolate. Uh... I'd have to say my favorite animal is... a domesticated rabbit. Yknow, the ones with the floppy ears," they ate another chisp," I... I just realized how boring I am. I am so, so sorry."

"Nah, you're... well, you, and that's cool. Besides, I'm not much better. I stargaze, read, and prank people sometimes. I like Nice Cream, but don't tell anyone. They think I like ketchup, haha. And my favorite animal is... I'd say... A Saint Bernard dog. I saw one when I visited another universe once and I fell in love."

"...They are lovely dogs. I think you sound pretty cool."

"Thanks. I think you sound pretty cool, too."

They talked for a while, just like this. Telling tidbits about themselves, sometimes ones that no one else knew. Though, once more, they did not reveal their names, but it didn't matter much to either of them. At the end of the hours they wasted away, they promised to talk again soon.

"Y'know, I was thinking... this 'anonymity' thing is nice," the stranger said,"let's not share names but... what about nicknames? Just for each other."

Star could see their figure reclined towards the back, knew they stared at the stars that watched them in return, twinkling with knowledge either monster knew of. He found this situation ideal, as he leaned back and looked up, too, imaging what the stars whispered among each other.

"I think that's a cool idea. But what kind of nicknames?" He asked after his contemplation wielded nothing from the balls of light.

"How about we pick our own? Something that represents us, yknow?"

"...Well, alright. I'll be... Aquila." 

"Isn't that a constellation?"

"Hush up. Gotta stay true to my roots."

They both laughed quietly. 

The stranger hummed in thought,"...I'll be Hyacinth."

"like, Apollo's Hyacinth?"

They laughed,"no, like the flower. I... I really like them. Actually, hyacinths are my favorite..."

"oh!" Star guffawed loudly.

"hey, stop laughing at me!" They replied indignity.

He shook his head, remembering too late that they couldn't see him,"I'm not laughing at you! I just... I'm laughing at myself. Yknow, you sound adorable, right? Your favorite animal is a bunny, your favorite snack is chocolate, and you like hyacinths."

Star found himself surprised as he saw a brief moment of yellow light, which he figured was blushing, that was snuffed out shortly after, likely due to the other hiding their face. So... they weren't a fleshy monster. Interesting.

"don't say things like that; it's embarrassing!"

"Gotta point out when something's cute. Sorry, I don't make the rules."

"Your rules can shove it."

Star snorted," your face can shove it."

"You're such a child!" they cackled in response.

...

"yknow," they whispered,"you know... very little about me. You wouldn't say 'adorable' about anything about me if you knew who I am."

"yknow," he said,"you know very little about me. You can't know what I would say."

"I know how it goes down usually."

"'usually' can go suck a dick."

"you really are a child."

 Star was the first one here, this time. He settled alone in the cave, wondering if Hyacinth was going to show up. While he hoped they would, he would be fine with loneliness this once. Though he often thought darkly, just as his companion had, he rarely allowed it to put him down. He knew the answers to the questions his mind conjured up to hurt him, and those answers shot the thoughts down quickly. Sometimes, he needed to indulge in witnessing this.

But, whether for better or worse, Hyacinth came. He heard the sound of a portal, then they slid into the cave.

"Sorry I'm late. I... I made you something."

Star felt something being pushed into his lap, which he grabbed quickly. It was... soft and fluffy.

"Oh, thank you. I'm going to go up real fast so I can see it, alright? I'll be a moment."

"...okay, I'll be right here."

With that, Star climbed out, grunting with the effort. He settled in the light, allowing himself to adjust before looking down at what he held.

A Saint Bernard plush gazed up at him with silver coat buttons for eyes and its tongue hanging from its mouth. It wore a shoddy bandanna, colored light blue with the Aquila constellation sewn in. Star let his thumb run over the soft pelt, admiring the handiwork before him, though it was obviously not professional. Nonetheless, his soul fluttered as he admired the plush. 

He came back in, feeling lighter," I love it. Thank you so much, Hyacinth."

He saw the blush again, but once again it was smothered.

"You're welcome. I... I thought you might like it. I hope its clear I tried really hard..."

"it is. It means a lot," Star chuckled softly, the plush held against his chest," really. Thank you so much."

"I'm glad."

They shuffled about, sitting closer to Star, though still far enough away that he got the impression they didn't want to touch him.

"Aquila... Thank you for talking with me. I... don't get this a lot."

"I've noticed," Star said, bemused,"but I'm so happy that I can talk with you. Let's keep it up, okay?"

"Exactly my thoughts."

"Hey, Aquila," they began,"do you like me?"

Star glanced to his companion in confusion,"of course I do?"

"this isn't just for pity?"

"...why would it be?"

"..."

Star looked back to the sky, closing his eyes,"why are you always so... worried about these things, Hyacinth?"

"Because I have to be."

These words made Star feel cold. Because I have to be. What could that possibly mean? 

Because I have to be.

These words haunted Star for the rest of the day.

"how do put a baby astronaut to sleep?" 

"how?"

"rocket."

Hyacinth laughed loudly in response. Star couldn't help his smile, seeing them so relaxed, enjoying their life.

"God, you've got so many jokes," They said, breathlessly,"Keep telling them, please?"

Well, he couldn't say no to that request, could he?

 Star's bag nearly caught many times as he maneuvered, the rock grabbing at its plastic awkwardly, as though trying to steal it from him. Of course, rocks weren't going to do that. He could hear Hyacinth, soft chuckles escaping them.

"Sounds like a heavy load," they said lowly.

"I'll give you a 'heavy load'," Star retorted.

They made a choked sound,"gross!"

"sorry," he laughed,"I spend too much time with the lusts."

The other didn't respond for a while, caught up in sweet amusement that, sometimes, Star thought they didn't feel often.

"Seriously, though... what do you have?" Hyacinth asked and Star could see them tilt their head to the side.

Star grabbed the the bag, pulling out a folded blanket and flowers.

"I really liked what you made me. It was so... sweet. I can't make things for the life of me, but I found this blanket... and some hyacinths."

He could hear the other's smile," Aquila, you know your way to a monster's heart."

 Hyacinth's silence made the air tremble with a sadness so deep, it cut into Star's own soul. They didn't even move when he had settled beside them. Star could only eye their vague, but prone, figure, draped in the darkness that had once felt like nothing but now bore the weight of whatever issue that plagued them, as the air did, as the stars knew and pondered upon, as the earth murmured soundlessly about. It felt like everything knew what was going on, but wouldn't give Star a clue.

"Hyacinth," Star began, hesitating," do you want to talk?"

Their head dipped and a set of arms held it. Another clue to as what monster they were that Star could only discard.

"Aquila, have you ever... fallen in love?"

Love? Was Hyacinth really upset about love?

"...I... Once, I think." Star responded.

Hyacinth let out a wet laugh," god, sorry. I just... I want to... understand what I'm feeling."

"if it is... love, then I don't think you can understand it."

"I want to understand why me. Why do I have to feel this? Isn't some kind of fucked up cosmic punishment?"

"...how-?"

"...because the person I fell in love with doesn't love me back. I don't blame them, either."

Star watched as, for a moment, blue bathed the area, but he could not see Hyacinth as they disappeared. The cave was empty. Star pulled his legs to his chest and he gazed out to the sky, asking the stars if they would share what they knew so he may help a friend whose face he did not have to match to a voice.

He prayed that, if they didn't share, they would give him the courage to help, anyway.

Hyacinth did not come the next two times.

Star was lost as to why it felt like his soul was being ripped apart each time he was met with nothingness.

"You're here." Star stated, with no real intent.

"I'm here." Hyacinth chorused, with no real emotion.

"you..."

"I left you. I'm... sorry. I had to think on something."

"...mind sharing with the class?"

"The class isn't ready."

"Cryptic. The class can respect that."

Hyacinth chuckled at that. Star didn't realize how much he missed their laugh.

"well, respect or not, let's watch some stars." Hyacinth scooted closer to the edge of the cave, their legs swinging over the ledge. Star followed suit. Here, there was more light, but still not enough to make out much features. Nonetheless, by the way the light filtered through arms and legs alike, Star knew that he was sitting next to a skeleton. 

"Hyacinth?" Star asked, gazing out on the dazzling constellations, lost in the clutter of a picture much bigger than itself.

"Hm?"

"I really, really missed you."

"...I missed you, too, Aquila. More than you could possibly know."

...

Star pondered on love again, and wondered if, right then, when Hyacinth said they had missed him, love had been the culprit to butterflies in his stomach.

"Your second visit, you said you did bad things? What did you do?"

"...Aquila, I'm going to be honest, I really don't want to talk about this."

"...alright, that's fair."

a breathe, a dip into silence, twirling into emotions and kicking up dust of confusion. Was that him feeling this or Hyacinth?

"...You'll hate me," they breathed out," a lot."

"..."

"...it's fair to you, though. You should know who you're talking with, at least a little." 

They shifted, knocking a rock from its place. They prepared themself for this, but no time in the world would truly be enough to allow them to share this neatly.

"...Aquila, I'm a murderer. I have killed so, so many. I've dusted entire universes and played games with survivors. I don't know why I did it."

Star seized up," oh."

"Fuck, I should've told you this before. I should've been honest. So you wouldn't have to be here right now with my dumbass. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Each apology, each curse word, was emphasized with the sound of bone hitting bone. Each hit was harsher and louder, until sobs built up each one.

"Hyacinth, stop, stop! Let's talk about this! Oh my god, did you hurt yourself badly-"

"...no, no, it's fine. I just... oh, I'm... haha, bleeding. Fuck, um. Aquila, forget about this. Forget about what I said. Please. Just..."

"...Aquila, I'm sorry. I need to leave."

"...you go and get help for... whatever you injured. And you better come back. I want to talk about this."

"..."

"come on, promise me."

"I... I promise."

The next day, Hyacinth met with Star. They were twitching anxiously, but the darkness obscured too much to figure out anything.

"...you... you really killed people, huh?" Star asked, not even sure where he was going with this.

"...I did."

"and you didn't even know why?"

"...well," they choked," the first time, I didn't know why... After everything, I realized it was because... I don't know... it was my only option? That I didn't know what else to do? I was alone and scared and they had everything and I lost everything-"

They paused, shuddering violently,"...wait, had I lost everything? Did I just have nothing from the very beginning? Have I... always been like this?"

Star felt himself move back. He didn't know why. It felt like he was possessed.

"Fuck, sorry. Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't understand any of this. I don't understand... I guess the better explanation is I was scared."

"...what the hell?"

They flinched, gripping their sleeves (at least, so Star assumed). 

"you killed... because you were scared? Or because you were jealous? That's fucked up, stranger."

They began to crawl back.

"please don't. Please, I already know that I'm fucked up. I already know that I deserve nothi-"

"damn right you don't. God, I'm glad that your ass isn't getting love anytime soon." Star snapped. Was this really him, saying these words?

"Stop... please..."

"Fuck no! Those reasons are literal shit. You took lives! You piece of-" Star cut himself off, grabbing a hold of a sweater. The fabric felt work, but heavy and dirty. Fingers slowly made their way to a neck.

"STOP!" Hyacinth screamed, and Star was pushed back. Pieces of their figure looked broken off into blocks, but he didn't have time to really look, as Hyacinth was gone again.

Star felt empty.

"You don't seem yourself." Comet, his Papyrus, called from the kitchen.

Star closed his eyes," I don't feel myself."

His brother whisked into the room, presenting tea and plopping down beside him. He put his hand on his shoulder.

"Does it have to do with the mystery person?"

"yeah. I think... I messed up?"

"...then fix it."

"I... I don't know how."

Comet rubbed his back, smiling sadly," no one ever does."

"how do you fix a relationship?" Star asked to the door. There was silence at first.

"that is not a pun, I presume?" the woman responded easily.

"No, no, it isn't Truth is, I've been hanging out with another stranger recently and... and I really like them but... They're really fucked up and I might of overreacted?"

"Well, child," she paused, considering," I do not know much about how to repair a relationship, but I do know it starts with an apology."

"...right, an apology."

"you sound disappointed."

"I just don't know how to find them."

"Perhaps they will find you."

Star would walk past the cliff with the cave often, but he'd never get too close. Even though cries sometimes echoed from it. Even though he knew who was there, shedding tears to a mercilessly thought.

He found another Saint Bernard plush, with a tag made out to him. His soul felt heavier than ever.

Three weeks, and he hadn't been able to approach Hyacinth again. Instead, he spent time outside of his home, trying to get his mind off everything. His fall back for thinking had been previously star-gazing but...

He shook his head, walking slowly through the snow of Swaps' Snowdin. He kicked the powder about, jumping up and down and playing as much as he could. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to feel. Just play in the glittery frozen water that he couldn't have in his own home. He made his own path through the forest and into town.

Don't think, don't feel.

The residents blurred in his vision.

Don't think, don't feel.

They created bright colors. Bright colors, all except for one.

Don't think.

"We talked about this."

Don't feel.

"...I know."

Dontthinkdontfeeldontthinkdontfeel-

Star turned slowly, gripping his jacket. He knew that voice. He walked as though he were weighed down by lead.

"Hyacinth?"

He watched as the figure tense up. They had their back to Star, but he could see Blue's reaction; pure confusion.

Hyacinth turned around, trembling. Star was met with a face of black bone, blue tear tracks, and mismatched eyes. Error.

"Aquila." The glitched muttered.

"I'm sorry," Star breathed. He had heard of Error, but didn't realize he had come face to face with him... But, to him, Hyacinth would always be his name.

His face contorted into surprise," don't be? You reacted as you should."

"No, I forget how much you were hurting, too. I should've know better. You... you just need some help."

Blue stepped in," more ways than one. He was dusting this morning."

"...oh my god. I'm so sorry. I made things worse for you, Hyacinth."

Hyacinth shook his head," it was already hard for me, Aquila."

"...I'm sorry. I'll make this better."

"...you already have."

"Aquila? Remember when I asked about love?"

"That was a year ago, but yeah."

"...I love you, Aquila."

"yknow what, Hyacinth? I love you, too."

Star held out his hand and, though Error still shuddered and shook, he grabbed it, firmly confidently. This was the best they could do, right now. Error looked like he was about to cry, but it was fine because his smile was so, so wide.

Star pondered on if this is what the stars predicted would happen. Either way, it didn't matter.

He was happy.

Chapter Text

When they had first met, love dipped honey-filled dreams into ponds of dew drops and hopeful flowers. Funny, how that is, falling in love within the dirt and musk of a club, how it all seemed to fade away into something a little more sweet and a little less sweat. Funny how the dances that brought about desires lost to day to day life looked like grand performances, meant to bring about a sort of joy that the grime here could not even touch upon.

These visions of a life worth living had been brought upon by Sans grabbing Strawberry's hand in the heat of war on the dance floor. He has spun, the world blurring and he had imagined more life and more joy than he had before a hand met his and he was wrapped in someone's arms, his head against his chest. Though he did not know this skeleton's name, nor his intent, he gave a toothy grin and so it began.

They danced all night, and it felt like their footprints had been stamped into the ground in testament to a newfound love.

Oh, how he longed for that again. 

When they had first met, there was something bitter in his mouth as Sans took him to and fro on the floor, the music thrumming and dizzying, alive with words that no one cared about and only there to slip people into the mood for forgetting. So he forgot. He forgot that he now had a stranger holding him as though he were holy. He forgot that this was a club, full of drunks and misery disguised in the throes of stupid, stupid false joy. He forgot that he went home with a man whose name had not yet graced him, that he beckoned him into bed and kissed him and loved him despite knowing not a single thing about him. He forgot that he woke up to the unknown holding him in a vice grip, adoring and longing and this was lust, not love, never love.

Even though he no longer had the music to lull him into a state of ignorance, he forgot that the feeling of fingertips running over his spine and cooing voice rang into an empty skull and brought tears to his eyes.

The men on the street who walked to and from school bore the traits of saints, and, though they did not know, though they did not see, Strawberry felt they poured over his sorry image with judgement for the fool he had become.

When they had first met, the bitter taste of knowing flooded his mouth before Sans' tongue had. The music swished and twirled with his shame, sweeping over other sad party-goers' feet, imprinting on those who had, too, come alone to be bathed in the spotlight, rarely to ever be seen. He marveled that the taste had not bothered Sans any, yet it had worsened for him, each and every time fever dreams met real life.

It had flooded his skull when, in the morning, he had finally learned his temporary bedmate's name. Sans had chuckled and joke, but Strawberry stood a husk, not even a twitch of a smile to upturn his mouth. He had not caught the club's lights in his eyes, and blankness was all that remained inside tired, hollowed sockets.

And yet, he did it over and over again. Each time some place new that he hadn't the slightest clue of who he'd find, each time a sweeping dance before the finale of miserable love making that had no fucking love it in. Each time, it had been Sans. 

Each time, it had been a man whose name he did not want to know.

Then midnight romps in dirty sheets turned to dates in coffee shops and movies with dinner that wasn't always nice, but had something charming to it. Chatter about the next time they'd meet on a mattress died into awkward mumbling about the future.

Sans had grabbed his hands and said I love you with so much conviction, Strawberry had only been able to respond in kind. In this moment, he had felt it true, despite everything.

This boiled within him. Months and months and he was sitting on Sans' couch, with a movie he didn't like playing and his boyfriend poised to watch. Months and months of this and Strawberry no longer knew who he really was, and he wept. He wept silently at first, holding back howls and barks of songs whose lyrics no one cared about, but there was only so much the stereo could do before it burst forth with the truth.

Sans touched his cheek, and acid dripped from his fingers. Strawberry gasped and sputtered, gripping the other's shirt with a grip too weak for the intense emotions flowing through him and out into open air.

"What's wrong?" breathed the acid bearing lover.

"Can you make me love myself so I can love you?" cried the fool that the saintly men judged oh so harshly in the spotlights of a club whose music would remind him to forget.

"What?"

"please, god, I can't... I can't do this! Do you really care about me? Don't you dare fucking lie! Just tell me! Tell me if I'm just imagining this!"

Sans gazed at him, acid moving further down til his hand met Strawberry's, so he may guide Strawberry over a mine field rather than a dance floor.

"Strawberry, I love you. I love you with all my soul. Please, I don't understand where this is coming from..."

Strawberry felt himself melt back into the couch, "I don't know how to tell you."

"..."

He closed his sockets, "Sometimes, when you touch me, I remember someone else who burned me with acid fingers. When you dance with me, I remember being trapped... Sans, I feel like no one would miss me... Not even you..."

He felt Sans touch his leg, but the feeling disappeared, just like he wanted to do.

"No, that's wrong. I would miss you. I... I wish you had told me."

"How was I supposed to tell you? You were so sweet and you deserved so much! I didn't want to-"

"Hurt me? It hurts me more than you've been destroying yourself like this. I would have backed off. I would have..."

Strawberry shook his head, opening his sockets again, just slits. He had nothing to say. He'd messed up. This was his fault.

"We'll fix this," Sans said, "okay?"

"We'll fix this."

And Strawberry wondered why he believed him.

Chapter Text

She was five years old, and rarely spoke. Her silence took up rooms of bustling noise, drowning it until there was a dull drone of nothingness. The emptiness she caused was lost upon her, as she sat perfectly still, staring off into the distance.

He forgot, sometimes, she existed. Though the heaviness of her soundlessness dragged grown men to their knees, he had grown accustomed to something far too close to it in the Anti-Void. Or maybe it was the weight of something that made things crumble with a touch, a feeling that was the lack of one. He doesn’t understand.

She was six, and Error still couldn’t hold her. She wasn’t a needy child, per say, but maybe she was a scared one. Of what, he was still understanding.

It wasn’t hard to guess some of it; her fear stemmed from him . He wished he understood fatherhood, and how to love a child like he should.

She was eight, and she was no longer afraid of his and Fresh’s one-sided arguments that broke down into violence and cruel words and property damage. She was eight and she walked between Error and Fresh when the glitch had the parasite by the neck. She still did not speak and the pressure of her stillness shook the room as she walked. She didn’t even look up from her path.

She was eleven, and Error realized he rarely said her name, for fear that, if he did, this would melt away and reveal something even worse. But, god, he loved his little girl. Gothic, a font family. A tradition he wanted to carry out, despite his untraditional circumstances. It hadn’t been hard to convince Fresh, as he didn’t have enough of any form of emotion to give two shits about their daughter.

He wished Fresh did. Error needed help reminding her that she was greater than her parents.

She was twelve, and she sat at the window sill, her knees pulled up to her chest, her skirt bunched up and jacket slipping off her shoulders and down her arms. Her skull pressed to glass, her breathing fogging it up. Error had taken a step forward, and she had closed her eyes. He said he was sorry, she just placed a hand over the wound he had inflicted and nodded her head.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the most violent. Error wondered if he could stop himself from hurting his sweet baby girl.

Either way, he would never forget the way her tears ran down her cheeks, and how she tried so fucking hard to hide them.

She was thirteen and Fresh sat with her at the dinner table. He was not smiling. He looked tired. He held her hand in his own, but she did not meet his gaze. He said that he was sorry. She laughed miserably, saying she knows, she knows that they both were. She rubbed her skull, turning away with a low huff.

I don’t want to forgive you. But I will. Because it won’t change this cycle, she had finished with, pulling her hand from Fresh’s and walking to her room. Fresh sat alone now, moving to look at Error. The two, in this moment, understood one another, and understood that they had messed up.

She is fourteen, and she is a tidal wave of all the fucking mistakes her fathers had made. She walks with earthquakes bursting from behind her, she speaks with thunder and lightning wit. She breaks commands with shards of other rules and crushes them beneath her boot, stealing from her fathers and cussing and running away.

Yet, she comes back each time. Rarely did she speak, as usual but…

The times she did, she only asked one thing.

Why don’t you love me?

And Error couldn’t respond.

And Fresh failed to produce a reply.

And they wondered why they had to be so goddamn wrong.

She will be sixteen, and she will see the death of Error. He would make sure of it, to make up for what he had done to her. She will be sixteen, and finally unburdened from his existence. Her silence will no longer have to bear the mass of the earth.

For now, she is fourteen, and she weeps when Error hugs her for the first time.

Chapter Text

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

No, no, that's not right. Satisfaction, in this case, was heartbreak behind a mask, wielding a fucking knife and coming right at him.

But, for some reason, he found himself... in awe, anyway. Error stepped forward, the castle's walls destroyed and the floor so filthy that its checkered pattern was lost. He could hear Ink and Blue whispering as he pressed a hand to one of the remaining pillars, his smile shaky and miserable.

"This is it," Error breathed, fingertips running over old, old marble," this is my universe."

Ink glanced around," are you-"

"I read code, Ink. I know that mine belongs here, even though... most of it has been corrupted." Error muttered darkly, turning around. He ignored the dust that swam through the stagnant air, knowing well that, at one point, he could have been friends with whoever the remains belonged to before. Slowly, he looked to his company.

"I want... I want to be left alone for a while." He declared, conviction flickering in and out of his voice, as though he didn't know. Before Ink could argue, Blue pulled him back through the portal so the glitch was alone within the hollow husk of what once was a home. Error shook as he moved into place, standing guard for the king whose crown could not save him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed out to the grimy floor, imagining a human before him. Images blurred, so the appearance resembled quite of few of them, but he still let out a rumbling speech that died in the middle. LV or Love. Cruelty or Charity.

His own speech was lost upon him now, and had been for years. 

He moved on slowly, walking along the empty streets of New Home and greeting strangers no longer there. The buildings were hardly recognizable, but he pushed on into Hotland, now gray and lifeless, the magma the only thing left to provide noise. He turned to the labs, no longer a home but the remains of four walls, the entrance to the true labs arched open, accessible now but to who? He moved about kicking up dust, which he cringed at. He paused in the center, crossing his arms. 

we can't do it, Sans! his memory crowed out in Alphys' stuttery call.

Error... Sans (he could use his real name, just this once, right?) shook his head," we can get out of here, Al. Without anymore bloodshed. I mean, we're the best scientists around, aren't we? No bones about it, we'll get out."

...How?

"We will." He insisted to a phantom memory.

I... I trust you, Sans. 

Sans shuddered. Oh, how she shouldn't have.

...

He moved on, entering Waterfall, where the water had calmed and flooded some places. He moved carefully until he found a patch of Echo Flowers, where he sat down. They were withered and dead, just like everything here, but he pretended anyway. He leaned over to one, shifting its peeling stem until it stood somewhat upright. 

"What does a flower call his friend?"

...

"His bud!"

He laughed, even as the joke wasn't repeated. He closed his eyes and imagined a Waterfall local stumbling across the joke and groaning. Maybe they'd laugh? Maybe they'd roll their eyes? Who knows.

He moved on when the silence of the whispering flowers made him uncomfortable. 

Snowdin came, and he felt disgusting relief that the dust merged with the snow.  He first went into the librarby and picked up a book, but its pages turned to sand the moment he opened it. So, instead, he went into Grillby's.

Half of the counter was crumbled into nothing, and the bar tools were broken and cast aside. The tables were gone, gone with the wind that didn't seem to exist here, either. So he moved to the last stool, finding humor, though it hurt, that his favorite was still there. He slid into place, drumming his fingers against the disgusting counter.

"The usual, Grillbz." He cooed out, grinning wider. He pretended that the flame, as per usual, just shook his head and passed him his ketchup and disappearing to make the worst burger on the menu. Which, really, wasn't all that bad, if he remembered correctly. The townsfolk joked about it, but tourists always adored its cheap price and tastefulness. 

"is it a little hot in here or is it just me?" He joked out loud, imagining the flickering swashes of fire to grow larger and brighter in embarrassment. One of the dogs wolf-whistled and Red landed a pretty good guess as to what Grillby was thinking as he turned to the small skeleton, the glasses awash with orange and tints of blue. A memory he found he couldn't help but adore, filing away for later to enjoy.

He slid from his stool," put it on my tab, Grillbz!"

His call was met with nothing. He moved on, heading instead into the forest, where he 'played a prank' on Doggo, and avoided re-calibrating his puzzles until he made it to the Ruins door. He plopped down in to snow, leaning against the rotting door and deceived himself into believing that the snow was supposed to feel gritty and rough to his bones. He knocked on its old surface.

who is there? her voice tittered out.

"dishes"

dishes who?

"dishes a bad joke." Sans cackled out joyfully, her ghostly laugh falling after, snorts and all. Beautiful, harmonious, even as it was just a remainder of what was.

...

He went back into town. His last stop. His soul ached, knowing that, here, he'd find no closure in his loneliness, like he had hoped to do in searching for his old universe. He pushed opened the door, which collapsed upon being moved. Like many places, the walls were gone (except for the back), but he just... wanted a sense of normalcy. 

He stepped inside, taking a deep breath. He stepped over his brother's scarf and battle body and settled up against the remaining structure. Taking in the barrenness of his home made his spin- there wasn't even a hint that there had been furniture. He turned back to the doorway with the pile of clothes of the only family he had but couldn't protect. He pulled his knees to his chest, still forcing that smile onto his face, even as tears spilled down his cheeks, unbidden, unwanted, but truthful to a testimony of guilt and hurt. He gripped his shorts as his sockets closed.

"I'm home, bro," he choked out.

That's where they found him, weeping against a wall, surrounded by nothingness. Ink pulled him up and Blue hovered, but it made no different to Error. Error, not Sans. Error. 

Error... he hated it.

But they cooed it out and he knew it was his name now, that he couldn't go back and it didn't matter. They began walking, herding him away from the mess. Home, they said, they were taking him home. 

But this was his home. This had been his home.

He let it happen, but he grabbed his brother's scarf before allowing them to drag him to the portal. He pulled it around his neck and turned around.

They were there, his friends. Asgore and the lady behind the door that he knew was Toriel but still didn't dare say her name because of their shared anonymity, Papyrus hoisting the merciful human upon his shoulders and Alphys holding Undyne's hand, Mettaton with his hands on his hips and smirk on his lips, Grillby staring silently with flames swaying. He stared, and they all smiled. 

Good luck .

Make us proud, Sans!

Don't lose your sparkle, darling~!

Bye, turd.

Don't forget to take breaks!

...

 I love you, brother.

Despite everything, Error began crying again, waving to figments of his imagination as he was led away.

Chapter Text

He watched them, growing, budding, blossoming into new beings, strong in its delicacy.

He watched as Geno, trembling, conquer the disease that had always ailed him, watched as energy festered into his body and, really, Error never thought he could brighter until now. Geno had always been destroying expectations, anyway.

He watched as Fresh finally grew those little emotions in chaotic crops in his soul, marveled as his baby brother learned to cry, to laugh, to smile with true meaning, no matter how messy these actions had become by muddled up lessons in his even faster crash course of this portion of life. Honestly, Error found that he quite liked how these feelings played off of Fresh, like each expression was new and he’d never, ever had them before, despite the year or so he’s had to become used to them.

And, yet…

Yet Error remained unchanged. Static. Tooth and nail Error, with his spitfire tongue and rapid-shot mouth and words of explosive bullets. Little scatter-brained Error and his inability to move on or back or to move in general. He was stuck, his chains being nights spent on and off crying at two in the fucking morning and days left unfed in both its activity and his body because he couldn’t figure out how to get his ass out of bed when he needed and when to lie back down when it was required. It disgusted him, knowing his brothers figured out how stand on their own two feet so easily and he still stumbled and fell and crawled about in life.

He didn’t go straight into college, like Fresh did. Geno was still recovering, so he decided to wait. But Error just moved out, into the next town, with a stupid apartment and a stupid job and stupid him.

It was in this loneliness, this obscurity-laced snapshot, that Error first felt the sting of a blade across his arm. It wasn’t anything serious, just a morbidly sick curiosity. He used his scissors, the fairly crappy ones he kept out to avoid running his sewing scissors.

It stung. Error, despite the pain, found that he didn’t think that would stop him, if he were to do it again. And that almost scared him, but there was a numbness that had been building for such a long time that fear like this couldn’t even lightly caress him.

These habits moved into his panic attacks. The constant pick, pick, pick at his bones was reassuring. But it’s fine. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t like his were akin to what Uncle Asy’s had once been, right? Of course not. He wouldn’t do that, would he? It wasn’t bad.

He was okay.

That’s what he said during the skype calls.

“How are you doing, Error?” Geno would ask, and there would be something in his eyes that dimmed his flame into a candlelight, threatening to go out.

“I’m doing fine,” Error would reply, all stiff smiles and stiff gestures and stiff words.

“Are ya sure?” Fresh would chime, not yet learning more subtlety to which his face should be painted.

And Error would snap, “Of course I’m sure. I understand my emotions.”

But he did not. God, he wished he did.

The next step moved into those attempts. Coward, he thought, as he grabbed the sleeping pills that couldn’t seem to lull him into a dreamland worth falling into. Coward, he thought, as he shakily put them away. He tried his strings, perfect for a noose, and he tried jumping off the big bridge in the park near a probably abandoned area with old play equipment and a fast running river.

Today, however, Error was particularly empty. He had cried out all his tears, it seemed, two hours before lunch. On and off, tears dedicated to something he didn’t know flooded down his cheeks like storms, his sobs the thunder and the quaking of his bones the lightning. Now, he sat in his bed, dry. Barren.

Lifeless. Shouldn’t his body match?

His poor, dingy phone pinged, lighting up at his nightstand. Error didn’t peer through the few cracks upon its screen. Instead, he just gripped the semi-full bottle and his cup of water.

He took most of them at once, their bitter taste assaulting his mouth. What was left fell to the ground, spilling over the carpet, their beige color popping out from whatever dark color the fabric had once been. A dull panic rose through his body, his fingers twitched. Over and over along the pitch black radius.

An hour later, he heard his apartment door opening. Error didn’t have it in him to move nor speak, so he sat limp, his head dipped low and his very being meek.

“Error?” Geno’s voice carried over the near desolate apartment.
Fresh’s voice came next, “Errorbrah?”

No. No, no, no, nononononononono-
They weren’t supposed to see this.

He tried to push himself up, but lacked the willpower, and only ended up getting a stuttering grunt as his body forced itself to settle again.

The sound drew his brothers closer, his door opening. Through the mirror in his room, just in the corner of his eyes, his hazy reflection told him he must’ve been quite the sight, covered in dusting bone chips and pills.

Geno was frozen, his fingers curled around the door frame. His mouth opened and closed rapidly, words escaping him and Error felt guilt spike along his spine and gather in his sockets. Fresh took one hesitant step forward but his gait seemed weak.

“Brah, what’d you do?” Fresh breathed as he discarded his glasses (likely to see better in this dark room). Another step. Error pulled his limbs closer, his right hand gripping onto his left arm, the burn of cuts and scrapes choking him briefly.

“I’m okay,” Error whispered, his voice cracking.

“Like hell!” Geno cried finally. “Error, look at you! Oh my god, we need to get you to the hospital. You… you idiot! Why didn’t you just say something!”

The glitch just let out a broken sob in response. Fresh had already pulled out his phone, whispering directions into it like it were a taboo. Geno finally moved closer, slowly, then faster until he launched himself into a painful hug.

“I’m okay,” Error insisted. He didn’t even convince himself.

But he was okay. He had to be.

Error had grown tired of hospitals, but it was rarely him in the bed. The hustle and bustle was drowned out, somehow, by the sterile air circulating like blood throughout the building. Geno’s voice could be be heard, just barely, outside the room to his doctor.

Fresh sat next to him, quivering.

“Bro,” he muttered, leaning forward, “why? Why did ya-?”

“I don’t know,” Error spoke, no bite like usual.

Fresh’s fingers curled tightly into his palms, his gaze shifting to the markings along his arms.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Error,” Fresh said at last.
“...”

“I should’ve known you were strugglin’ an’ all dat. Heck, look at ya! You… God, ya look horrible.”

“Sure.”

“Sorry.”

“No need. I’m the big dumb ass here.”

Fresh shook his head violently, finally grasping out and latching onto Error’s hand, “Doesn’t matter now. Let’s just… let’s just ya to be happy, alright? None of dat ‘fine’ shiz ya’ve been sproutin’ lately.

You’ll be okay.”

And Error hoped he was right.

Just this once, he'll believe his little brother, for the simple fact that it was his only life boat and he'd drown without it.

He'd be okay. He'd be okay because Fresh said so and Fresh was intelligent and Fresh didn't want Error to choke on whatever the hell was flooding him.

Error'd be okay.

Chapter Text

After his release from both the hospital and the mental hospital, Error was surprised to find his brothers in his apartment. While they had visited, he figured Fresh was still busy with college and that Geno had returned to their hometown and came up every once in a while. Hell, he just thought they'd just go back to the things were before he had overdosed. Yet, there they were, Geno in the kitchen and Fresh flopped over on his couch, reading a book that Error couldn't see the title of.

"uh, hey," Error muttered, closing the door and shoving his hands into his hoodie (which he missed, mind you. It had been deemed a damn hazard to him! God, how annoying!). Fresh glanced from the pages, his eyes trained on Error on him so intensely, he wondered if Fresh had been an exceptionally good actor this entire time. Then, slowly, the youngest brother grinned, sitting up and discarding his book onto the old coffee table Error had bought for fifteen, twenty books at a thrift store.

"Heeey, broski! Sorry we didn't pick ya up," Fresh said as he stood up, stretching, "Geno wanted ta make ya some food and, well..."

...And Geno wasn't completely better yet. That's what he was saying; Geno wasn't better yet and he could easily collapse. But Geno was right there, and hated the mention of his current weakness.

Speaking of, Geno came into the room, a fairly annoyed expression on his face that only faltered for a moment when he spotted Error but, otherwise, remained steadfast.

"There's only cups of instant noodles in there," Geno stated firmly.

"And?" Error asked, cocking a brow.

"there's nothing else!" 

"...and?"

"Bro, he's saying tha's real unhealthy shiz right there an' ya need ta all n' rid yourself of all those nasty, unfresh habits."

Error shrugged, leaning against one of the walls, "At least I ate. Didn't really have the energy to make stuff, I guess."

Not an entire lie on his part. He figured things that he could make quickly or were pre-made would be the best bet for him, since the very idea of attempting to make something brought down upon him a new tiredness he couldn't escape. But, even with this forethought on his part, he usually didn't have enough energy to even get up and eat, no matter the effort he had to exert to obtain it. His brothers didn't need to know that right now, though. He'd already showed him how messed up he was and he didn't need them to think he couldn't take care of himself.

Their expressions morphed into a soft concern. He looked away.

"...Let me go get some groceries and I'll make something, kay?" Geno offered lightly.

"Nah, let's just have some noodles. I just got back and I..."

Error bit back the rest of his sentence, his fists twisting anxiously in his pockets. But it appears the other two got the message.

Somehow, among his brothers, the noodles tasted better and the shitty movie seemed funnier.

 They were hovering over him, he knew it. In all sense of the phrase, they were there, despite his one bedroom apartment and old, lumpy couch. Despite the cramped space and the clear need to go home. Despite his metal tipped mood swings and red-bathed, nonsensical words, they were there.

And he didn't understand it. Why? They could go home now. He was fine enough. At least, he wasn't planning do pull another move like that anytime in the near future. And, yet, they insisted.

These thoughts weighed on him as Geno coaxed him into the sunlight while Fresh waited for them at the car, leaned against its shiny exterior. It was clearly Fresh's, with its pale green color and stupid stickers, even more supported by the fact Error himself didn't have a car and Geno's was currently getting repaired from a minor accident. 

He was helped into the passenger seat while Fresh and Geno quietly bickered about who was driving. He watched, baffled, confused.

He wondered if they were real.

Well, of course they were. They had to be. Error couldn't conjure up his brothers to be nice to him. In all his dreams, he drowned in the bitter reincarnations.

Still, they were strange, he thought, as they drove away from his apartment complex. 

What had he done to deserve them?

The noise sounded like static in his skull, a cacophony of voices trying to play pretend and mold themselves into instruments, fighting for what song they should sing so notes became shrill and broken, sour, too sharp and too flat, growing in volume to encase him, all too small against these misused musical devices. The bedlam choked him, leaving feeling dizzy and tasting something distantly bitter in his mouth. The users of said discord were so completely unaware of their impact on him, continuing their imperfect crescendos in swarms of loudness and blurring together into nonsense swathes of color and texture.

Deft fingers played over his left arm, picking, prodding, as his breathing hitched. Error felt someone shove past him and he crumpled, for a second, before jolting back into his standing position. His body bit into its usual glitches, a disgusting warmth brought from him. He did not pay this mind, just focused on the repetitive movement of fingertips pulling off tiny chunks of bone that dusted the moment they fell free, coating the inside of his sleeve. His eyelights darted to and fro from the mass on all sides of him, finding no path to freedom. 

And then there were strangers coming up to him, asking him if he was alright and he managed to keep from snapping at them as he struggled through hoards, tears burning in his sockets. Stumbling, he finally made it to the edge of the designated area for some summer festival, where he fell into the grass, still furiously picking away. He rocked back and forth, staring unseeingly at a random place in the park where little dandelions grew, some trampled, but still forcing themselves through the dirt and towards the sun, their itty bitty petals blossomed in yellows. He couldn't tell how hard he was breathing right now.

"Error?"

*He jolted, snapping to look at the owner of the voice, which he determined was Geno.

"Hey," Error rasped out, wincing at the sound of his own tone. By Geno's expression, he easily concluded his older brother didn't like it, either. 

"What are you doing? I thought you were enjoying the booths..."

"...I got bored."

The lie tasted sour in his mouth. He knew Geno didn't believe him.

It didn't take long for Geno to figure it out. When he did, he canceled his plans for the rest of the day (such a shame; Geno had been looking forward to the festival activities so much that he couldn't stop talking about it for weeks before hand) and hauled Error back to his apartment. Fresh, who had spent the entire time on the couch, cuddled into blankets and pillows with another book in his hands, had sent them a somewhat dazed and definitely confused expression, which was not met with any explanations before he had to get up and follow them to the bathroom to watch Geno clean and bandage the little injuries Error had dealt to himself.

Shame burned through him. He could not look at either of them.

Error knew that both Fresh and Geno had tried to wake him up this morning, both talking about the importance of a schedule and getting food into him.

But how could he expect himself to move when his body was a mountain and his blankets were heavy boulders and gravity trying to crush him?

So he stayed in bed that day.

 The clock said it was one AM. His body said it was eleven thirty am, all energy and eager to go through the day. His mind said it was nine am, and that he needed to clean his room after breakfast.

So he got a cheese stick, careful not to wake his brothers, and cleaned his room with the last dredges of a song on repeat inside his skull.

Then, when everything was cleaned, the clock chimed that it was two forty three. His body and his mind decided that it was five and lectured him for staying up with a blurry gaze and blurry thoughts. He toppled into the bed easily, and was out before he even hit the bed.

"Yknow, Fresh found this nice three bedroom place near his college."

Error looked up from his cereal bowl, raising a brow, "Really? You two gonna move in together? That third bedroom would make a nice work space for either of you."

Geno gave him an amused grin, "no, silly, I'm saying we should all move in together. We could make it work!"

"Not gonna lie," Fresh chimed in, "I like what we got right here, broski, but it's tiny, yknow?"

Error didn't even have to think when he responded, "That sounds like the best idea I've ever heard."

Months later, Error set down his last box of things, listening to his brothers talk animatedly about how to dress up the living room to be just perfect, and he was left looking at the bare walls. Yet, he smiled, giddy despite knowing that his depression would make itself known soon, despite knowing he won't feel this way again for a while. 

Well, not yet, anyway.

Geno was right; this place was nice.

And he'd be alright.

Chapter Text

The pure whiteness liked to chew away and everything and anything that dared venture into its clutches. It was blinding, it was silencing, and deafening, yet it forced you to see clearly, to speak, and to admire the quiet. Every part of this world from worlds set Ink on edge.

And, yet, he was here, anyway.

He had heard, in an extremely rare occasion, of a rumor about a monster living in the Anti-Void. That was, of course, impossible, right? Nothing could survive for very long in this place, not when the very air felt like it was being shoved down your throat. But it was his job to make sure and, as much as he hated it, he had a hunch that that rumor wasn’t far off.

He hated that his hunches were usually right.

Oddly, it hadn’t taken him that long to find the monster in question. While the passage of time was obscured in this emptiness, he wagered that he had possibly walked anywhere from fifteen to thirty five minutes, max.

As cruel as it was, he almost wished he didn’t find them.

The monster was a skeleton with black-caked bones and red sockets. They had blue lines down their cheeks, mirroring tear tracks, and red and yellow fingers. One eyelight was a pinprick of white, while the other was sploshed with yellow, blue, and black. Their teeth were yellow and their legs red. Everything about them seemed wrong, especially with the flickering glitches surrounding them.

But that’s not what stopped Ink cold in his tracks.

It was the blue strings, throbbing with a soft but brilliant glow, seemingly coming from a ceiling somewhere in the Anti-Void. Multitudes of the threads were tied to the black skeleton’s body, bunching up their dark clothes and straining whenever their chest, which is where the strings, in several bundles, seemed the tightest, rose with their breathes. It looked painful, those strings digging into his bones, and the scrunched up expression on their face provided more evidence.

Ink swallowed, gripping his hands together, if only to stop him from fidgeting too much in front of them. His legs felt weak and his skull heavy. They were watching him, their breaths shallow and nearly wheezy. Ink couldn’t get the image of dust and blood dripping from where the threads were connected.

“Uh, hello! I’m Ink and, um, I just…”

“Ink,” they echoed, their voice raw, “Ink… That’s a strange name.”

Ink bristled slightly, “So? It could be worse!”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” they replied, jerking to shrug, only to let out a pained whine. Ink winced with the grating sound.

“...Sorry,” Ink muttered, “I just heard a rumor of someone here, is all. I wanted to check.”

“You’ve checked, then. Confirmed it. Good for you.”

The newly crowned creator nodded lightly. The monster eyed him.

“So you can get out on our own? That’s good. I’ve been getting tired.”

“What?”

“...I don’t want people to get hurt like this, too, so I’ve been helping people get out of this place.”

“Oh.”

The silence suddenly felt heavier. Ink quickly shook his head.

“Um, how did you get here? And how-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” They sounded scared. Ink forced himself to disregard that.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

They closed their sockets, like they were thinking about it. They shrugged meekly, ignoring the threads moving about.

“I don’t have a name. At least, I don’t remember having a name.”

“What do people call you then?”

“They call me Error.”

Ink, again, hated that was right; his name could be worse.

After all, error wasn’t a name.

Chapter Text

"Describe the Anti-Void to me."

The first thing uttered into their peaceful silence had to have been one that would cut it down, playing wartime chaotic tricks on the both of them. But Star was tired of Error skirting around his previously vague questions, so he was determined to get his boyfriend to open up, even if it meant watching those already shaky hands drop to his lap, the knitting needles clanking together as they escaped discolored fingers and listening to the TV's endless chatter turn to fuzzy, static symphonies that meant nothing to no one.

"I have," Error stated lowly, "white, endless, quiet... What else do you need to know?"

"No, no, describe the Anti-Void. Be descriptive. Tell me you experience or something," Star replied, pushing up from lying on his stomach. His gaze met Error's. The other shuddered. He hated doing that to his darling Hyacinth, but he had to know. The other wouldn't get better until those stories he refused to utter finally flowed into the open air.

"I don't know, Aquila..."

"Please?"

There was a pause before Error's shoulders drooped, a defeated expression of his face. After placing his knitting stuff on the end table, he moved so he was facing Star, his legs crossed. He even reached over and grabbed one of Star's hand, holding it like a lifeline.

"Do me a favor and close your eyes."

He almost protested, but the look on Error's face made it so hard to form the words needed. So he closed his sockets.

"Imagine you opened them, but instead of being here, in your living room, you're alone. You're surrounded by pure white and it goes on forever. You can almost taste the white. It seems to crush you despite giving you so much room. You don't understand where you are. You're terrified."

The trembling note of Error's voice easily slipped him into seeing the picture in which he described.

"You don't remember how you got here. The memories you do have feel wrong... Scrambled, almost. You have all the names, all the faces, but you can't seem to piece things together but you do know that someone, somewhere, loves you. You got there, so they could, too. They would be looking for you, you think. So you tell yourself not to panic. You remain calm, but its so entirely fake that you can already feel the plastic pressing against you. But it's better than nothing, because nothing means running around and crying. Sitting there, pretending you're not frozen in fear was better than that."

The picture was lodged into Star's thoughts. He couldn't put himself into that situation easily, so Error flickered over the imaginary him in his mind's eye.

"Your fake calm says you are bored. You don't want to get up and wander around, so you lay down. You're not tired, but the white is too blinding, anyway, and it feels like all your thoughts are pieces of cotton trying to stick to cold, smooth metal. You can't think. You can barely breathe. You close your eyes and willed yourself to sleep and, it feels like a long time before you finally become tired, but you can't tell."

Error faltered and Star almost opened his eyes to look at him, but the other squeezed his hand, a shaky inhale being taken. 

"You wake up a lot. And, each time, you're alone, so you cry yourself back asleep. The panic is setting in. Every waking moment feels like you're being set on fire while simultaneously drowning in a cold, cold lake. You feel like the tree that fell in the forest when no one was around. Did you make a sound? Did anyone hear you, see you? Did you exist? Or were you background noise to yourself in a white room with no windows or doors? Did you even matter, just the tiniest bit to someone?"

Star could hear it, the pain and fear lacing through his quivering voice. He was reminded, again, that this wasn't just him living this image, that Error was walking side by side with him down his memory lane's lengthy intersection with torture avenue.

"Eventually, it's too much. You sit up and you scream and scream and scream until your throat feels like something clawed its way down it more than a hundred times. And then you scream some more. You're crying. Crying so much that you think, distantly, that you could make a river in this lonely place. You scream and then... Then the screams screamed back. Louder, like hundreds of thousands of voices, cramming into your skull from every opening, scrapping along your spine and tearing up your soul and putting it back together and tearing your soul, tearing up, tearing up-"

For a moment, he thought his boyfriend would crash, but, instead of the strange, drawn out auditory glitch and the little ping, there was a pained whimper. Star's hand ached with how hard Error was gripping it. Only after a few minutes did it ease.

"Aquila," Error muttered, his voice so soft, the sound broken shards of glass lodging into Star's soul, "can I please stop? I-"

Then Error sobbed, "I can't-!"

Star's sockets peeled open, lightening flashes of panic and sorrow bolting through his bones. Quickly, he maneuvered to grab the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

"Hey, hey, no, it's okay, Hyacinth... You did so good. So, so good," Star breathed as he wrapped the other up in the fluffy clothe. He wasn't able to hug Hyacinth yet. At least, not during moments of panic, so he stuck with holding his hand, running his thumb over the blackened bones. Error buried his face into one section, allowing it to soak up his tears. It did its best to cover the earthquake-kissed shaking that accompanied the cries in its ugly, thorn infested symphony. 

"I'm so proud of you. Thank you for doing this. I love you."

...

"Hyacinth, I'm gonna to the same. Describe an experience. Is that okay?"

A slow nod, barely there, drowned in the other's emotions, but he had the nod. He had the go ahead.

"Imagine, love, that you're in the rolling hills of Ourtertale and there's this weird weight on your chest that you're not used to. It kinda hurts, but you know you'll be okay, so you slip into your favorite stargazing to spot to think and to feel. To your surprise, someone is already there. You can't see them, and you don't talk very long for the visit, but your soul skips a beat... Unbeknownst to you, the stars hum with excitement because you finally found the best, the most worthy monster of love for you and, very known to you, you wanted to see them again. One visit, this lovely monster admits that they're hurting and that they're broken. Silently, you promise to help them pick up the pieces. One visit, they asked for  nicknames. And, with the softest, cutest voice, they announced a name just as beautiful as them; Hyacinth..."

His story continued, each word helping ease away the agony from Error, as evidenced by the gradual removal of the blanket from his face.

And, when Error smiled, Star marveled, once again, just how much he loved him.

Chapter Text

"Y'know," the voice at his window said, providing an incomplete thought left open-ended, like a question Dream should mull over in the following silence. His mind felt too fuzzy to even ponder over those sort of inquiries; the most he could conjure up was how tired he was and how his sockets were stapled shut, mirroring his planted elbows on the wood of his desk and the exhaustion's roots gluing his skull to his hands.

Why was he so tired?

"I loved you," the voice continued, as though a minute hadn't gone by in an eternity, "I looked up to you."

Dream couldn't get his jaw to move. His bones were made of lead-poisoned regrets he simply couldn't puzzle over right now.

"That's what brothers do, right?" asked the voice, the tone dipped into a new sort of misery where all the jagged edges smoothed into gentle, endless hills, rolling in monotone fields and soft like pillow clouds, sweet enough to tip into bitters.

Dream made a sound, meaningless within the forever room he found himself in, his only companion a disembodied vocalization that made his chest hurt.

A stone skip pause, then wavering words, "So, I wonder why you never loved me."

This prompted Dream's mouth to part, but the blackness his gaze found remained.

"Of course I love you."

His response was a pained scoff.

"Puh-lease! If you loved me, why did you mark as a criminal for just existing? Why did you hunt me and my friends down like we were wild game? Why did you sign th-"

"You know why," dream hissed, though the words had to be forced out. Even with his eyes closed, he felt like the room was spinning. Why couldn't everything settle and just rest? Why couldn't he just sleep?

"It's a crap reason and you know it."

He had nothing to counter. Perhaps it was because that familiar voice was right.

That made his head hurt.

There was a long, heavy quiet that blanketed him. Maybe it could finally allow him to drift off, but, yet, it stirred what little energy he had left in his body.

"Why didn't you say goodbye?"

"What do you mean?"

"...Never mind. It doesn't matter; I'm gone."

"You're not gone...?"

"Dream, I'm dead!"

"You're not dead!" Dream roared, jolting in his chair, the black disappearing into his office. His gaze traveled over the walls as if they were maps.

But he couldn't find his destination. He was alone.

Dream turned back to the papers on his desk, a hand brushing over a dark, torn cape and ignoring the execution order with his elegant signature sprawled along its bottom.

And ignoring what he had done.

Chapter Text

"oh my god," his partner breathed, "Look, look! Oh my god!"

The exclamation was accompanied by a face-splitting beam, almost too bright for Cherry to even look at, but nonetheless the most stunning thing here, even against the meteor shower's sparkling background. He could barely draw his gaze away to watch, so caught up in the precious treasure smile provided by Blue.

Absentmindedly, his hand not tangled up in Blue's tracing his pocket. He'd been planning it since he learned more about Valentine's Day (he thought it was needlessly sappy but he took the chance to spoil his partner) but, right now, he felt too choked up. The nerves he didn't have flared to life, burning through the will he had so meticulously built up over the last couple of weeks. 

He hated it.

"Cherry?" 

His eyelights flicked to Blue, every part of him releasing tension as though freed of a dam. His own mouth twitched upward into a relaxed grin.

"Yeah, Bluebird?"

The other shifted so he faced Cherry, his back facing the sky, the very reason they were there. There was a nervousness to his expression as he pulled his fingers close to his body, twisting like snakes, weaving between the cracks and grooves they created in their frantic movements. Then, slowly, with a low sigh, they moved, one set slipping into the picnic basket by Blue's hip.

"I've been... I've been meaning to ask you something, Cher'," He murmured, bringing back his limbs, cupping something Cherry couldn't quite see, "I just... Cherry, I love you so much, you know that, right? I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

Before Cherry could even think of a response, his phalanges became petals, unfurling from the base of the flower, hooking upon the top of the little velvet box and pulling it open.

"And I'd rather like to keep that. Will you merry me

Cherry bit back crying in favor of a hearty laugh, doubling over, his arms crossing over his stomach region. His laughter flowed easily, a sweet chime that just proved how much Blue had changed the wary skeleton. Tears of a different type sprung to his sockets.

"so, is that a no?" Blue sounded so withered.

"N-no, oh, god, no, ya goof," Cherry heaved out, bringing out his own tiny box and ripping it open, presenting it to his lover, "I'd say it's a yes, don't you think?"

With both succumbing to boisterous snorts and guffaws, they managed to slip their rings onto the other, cradling each other in the sweetness of this occurrence.

This is what it meant to be happy, Cherry decided. 

Chapter Text

"Oh, look, you're alive," he joked, his gaze trained on the curled up figure. His fingers were curled around his scythe, but he had no use for it here.

"you haven't reaped me yet, have you?" Error mumbled, his multicolored eyelights fixed on Reaper, the pain laced inside them radiating against the emotionless Anti-Void. His words caused the god to chuckle lightly, which prompted the glitch to let out a broken 'heh'.

Reaper couldn't take Error's soul. Not when the Multiverse needed its damned balance.

"You were just so... inactive so I couldn't be sure," Reaper replied, gliding over to sit with the other. He, himself, felt a flare of pain as he moved, swirling in his chest like a frantic bird, trapped in a cage of seemingly its own creation.

Error, still lying down, balled up like a fist, let out a soft sigh, "How long have I been... inactive?"

"Four weeks."

Error gave a meek cough before letting the knowledge settle with him. His fingers scratched against the 'floor'.

"Wow, okay... Did Ink send you?"

Reaper pretended he didn't notice the pained wince that ripped through Error's body as the name rolled off his tongue.

"Nah, I came of my own free will," the god said, "What's got ya stuck here, huh?"

Error's sockets closed, "I don't particularly want to talk about it."

"I figured."

"..."

Error sighed, slowly pushing himself up. The hand tucked away presented itself, unfurling red, yellow, and black phalanges to reveal crumpled and bloody petals. It was then that the death-bringer took notice of the shaky frame of the destroyer.

"You too, huh?"

At the confused look, Reaper shifted, pulling away cloth until the blossoms tugging painfully at his soul and chest were revealed, "They're petunias. They mean resentment and anger. Do you know yours yet?"

"Yeah," the glitch breathed, "white zinnias and-"

"-And? You have two?"

"...yeah. The other ones are tickseeds... I don't know what they mean yet, though. And maybe I shouldn't find out."

"And who are you in love with?" The thought of Error being in love was a strange one, but he was being confronted with undeniable truth, so he wouldn't deny its existence, nor its new found possibility. 

"You first."

"C'mon, glitchy, everyone knows who I like."

"Geno?"

"Yeah."

"...Ink and Blue."

 "Blue's not a surprise but I definitely didn't expect Ink."

"mm, I wouldn't find it so surprising, if we had different places. Stars, I can't wait for this to just fucking kill me."

"..."

Reaper fidgeted with his cloak, his empty sockets somehow conveying broken sympathy and misery that no creature should bear upon their sloping, quivering shoulders. It was the sort of choking damnation accumulated from everything that has ever lived and will ever live.

It was the horrid sensation of being the bearer of bad news as well as the creator of it, more often than not.

Reaper knew Error's withering sockets had held the same dwindling energy... And it made having to tell him so much worse.

"It's not going to kill you," Reaper murmured.

Error didn't even look surprised (but Reaper could tell the other wanted to cry), "Of course fucking not. Of course I can't get that fucking lucky."

He fell back again, slinging an arm over his eyes.

"You know this because of how long you've had it, right," Error asked, "three years now?"

"...Yeah. How'd you-?"

"Your flower means resentment and you love Geno. You reaped Geno's soul three years ago."

 "Heh, you do pay attention."

"Of course," Error responded, his mouth twitching up slightly, "Yknow, I do care about others. I really do care."

He somehow didn't doubt it. Maybe because he wanted to believe he wasn't the one forced into a job, forced to play a part in this damned production of life.

And, in that case, Error acted far better than he did.

The other dissolved into painful hacks, the stunning bright petals slipping past his yellowed teeth as he rolled onto his side, morbidly stained red. Tears bubbled to life in a now perpetually dying man and, now that Reaper thought about it, he knew Error would scream if his breath wasn't being stolen to aid this strange cruelty that he was beginning to realize shouldn't be plaguing the other, who had already suffered too long.

"I think my glitches are making it worse," he admitted once he'd recovered, his voice turned to gravel and nails.

"You should get the surgery," Reaper hadn't thought about the other's glitches interfering with the disease, really, "Can I take a look?"

Error got up again, shoving off his sweater then lifting up the thin shirt, "who would even perform it, Reaper?"

Reaper put off answering to examine the plants. He spouted the base of the flowers embedded along his lower thoracic vertebra, particularly into the cartilage. The tickseeds were a bit higher up. He frowned as he noticed the excessive glitching around the roots and the base of the stems, barely able to make out enough to guess how deep they had dug into the other's spine.

For humans and humanoid monsters, this disease clouded up their lungs until they suffocate. For skeletons, however, the plants started within the cartilage of their ribs or spines, continuously growing until either the plant destroyed them to the point of dusting or it crushed their souls. However, they never managed to get this far deep into the bones.

"Error," Reaper breathed, just a touch panicked, "This could paralyze you. You need to get the surgery!"

"But who is going to do it, Reaper?! Who? No one likes me! Even if they did do it, they'd probably try to fuck me up more!"

But this was lost on Reaper. There was ways around that sort of thing (having the literal god of death in the same room as you was probably a good motivator to take the job and behave, right? Plus, he didn't think Ink or Blue would wish this upon Error, even after everything). But, one way or another, he'd make sure Error got the surgery he was needing.

Of course, it wouldn't be necessary if Ink and Blue loved him but... What were the odds? Blue, maybe, but Ink? Not so much. And the likelihood of the both of them loving him was even more slim.

So he reached for the glitch, only for Error to jerk back, staring at him pitifully.

"Reaper, please leave this alone. I can't... can't do this right now."

"Will you ever be able to, Error?"

"..."

And the two just gave up. It's what they should've done from the beginning, really.

"Reaper?"

"hmm?"

"Will we ever be okay?"

Reaper smiled, but the mask had crumbled away long ago, leaving behind jagged pieces to create just another work of art displaying melancholy, "No, Error, I don't suppose we will."

And they both knew it to be true.

Chapter Text

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

”Yes.”

”I know it.”

”I believe you.”

”Everything’s going to be alright... right?”

“Of course.”

”He’ll wake up soon. He’ll get up, won’t he?” 

And the way Papyrus mumbled that, his usually loud voice contained in little tremors, barely a whisper of its capability in staggering volumes, made Mettaton want to force out every little confirmation and promise that, yes, Sans would wake up and, yes, he’ll be okay and, no, it’s not your fault he’s lying on a hospital bed, barely clinging on, seemingly disappearing with how small he’s grown in the face of life and everything would be okay.

But Mettaton wasn’t so cruel to feed this false-hope fantasy. Now wasn’t the time to sink into such disgusting displays. Now wasn’t the time to be acting, to be playing into a script with a happy ending, even if he wanted to. He would not hurt his lover like that.

The truth of the matter was the doctors all said that Sans probably wouldn’t wake up. He was too far gone.

His guilt reminded him that Sans was here because of how ‘too much’ everything got. Everyone had seen the signs (the unmotivated personality, the tired smiles and even more tired eyes, the longing gazes toward abyss nothings held onto by teetering lifelessness with the distinct muttering of things only a little reassuring) but failed to connect the dots. Now Sans was here, withering away into finely ground dust by his very own hand. 

But Mettaton knew better than to blame anyone. It would do no good.

Papyrus’ pleading eyes were still on him. Mettaton’s lips curled into a meek smile, his hand moving from the hospital mattress to his boyfriend’s shoulder.

”I’m here for you,” he whispered. The only reply he got was choked sobs.

as Mettaton knew it would always be.

Chapter Text

It was strange, Reaper thought, being here, in a large group of unafraid faces. Stranger still, he wasn't here on a job. Rather, he donned more casual clothes, standing next to Geno (the culprit for his dress as of right now), picking at his gloves methodically. The chatter swam to and fro as the group awaited their turn for the ride.

Ink and Error, the only two he could not reap, were up ahead, one-sided bickering flashing between them. Error was held back by Candy, who had a smile that had yet to fade, nor be tainted from anything. Blue stood by Ink, his arms crossed, no doubt wishing Dream were here to help him deal with the mess the two out-of-codes were. Behind them, Star and Sans talked to Sci, who was basically pinning a glaring Cherry back from rushing to his datemate (Blue, he reminded himself. How that happened, Reaper will never figure. Though, admittedly, Error and Candy were by far weirder), as he had promised to socialize with someone else for once. A few of the brothers had come along, as well, with Edge watching with muted amusement as Papyrus continued to baffle the usually stoic Stretch (which, really, had Reaper wondering what their conversation was even about), and Fresh was delighted to chip in and even censor the poor, unsuspecting Swap-verse resident. 

It was rather chaotic for just being in life the Ferris Wheel, but one should not expect any less with this group.

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Reaper mused, shoving his hands into the pockets on his jeans. They were brand new, forced on him by the one beside him to cause a little less stares when they walked about. He wondered if Geno how useless it was when the other's bright red chest wound and glitching popped out, added onto by Error's unnatural bone color, Ink's unusual choice in dress and hygiene, Fresh's... everything, and the fell brother's insistence on looking straight out of a bad post-apocalyptic movie with a tyrannical governing party. Though, the rivals were currently also coerced into something different and Edge and Papyrus weren't in any form of a battle body, opting into oddly stylish clothes, both involving a leather jacket but completely different at the same time. 

"I never thought this was a good idea," Geno shrugged, "I just thought it'd be fun. We all needed to get out and spend some time with each other."

"And I'm here because...?"

Geno shot him an annoyed look, "You also needed to get out. Weren't you listening?"

"I was listening, I just don't think anyone's dying to hang out with me."

Geno's expression changed to one of confusion as he fell silent to piece together his words better.

"Reaper, you do know that everyone's been really enjoying your company, right? You keep getting invited to hang out. Weren't you just telling me you, Sci, and Sans went to watch a movie together last week and you got coffee with Candy, Error, and Star afterward?"

"...I guess I really haven't thought about it..."

"Well, it's pretty clear that they consider you a friend. Do you feel the same?"

Reaper's sockets widened a touch. Did he? Well, oddly, he found that he knew the answer without much thought. Despite everything, he'd grown rather close to everyone here. He most definitely considered them friends.

"...Well, yes, I just-"

"Shut up with that. Come on, we're getting closer to the ride."

Reaper was draped over the chair, his feet hanging off one of the arm rests and his hands shoved into a new sweater (once more gifted from Geno). He eyed the game in front of him with amusement, taking in Error's intensely focused expression, Sans' completely neutral one, and the pile of Uno cards between them. Sans had three cards left, Error had four. Star was having the time of his life being the announcer and Cherry had relaxed back into the couch, watching it all unfold while marking the winners of each round down on a scratch piece of paper he found in his pockets earlier.

The mess had started when Star's boyfriend, Sci, had decided that he wanted to spend time with Blue, which rarely ever happened anymore. They ended up inviting Candy into the fold and that somehow pulled Geno in. Well, Sans had invited Star over because of it, which ended up dragging the others' partners into the mess as well. Sort of. Geno and Reaper weren't dating (an untold agreement between the two prevented it), but everyone seemed to assume so. Nonetheless, all of them had surprisingly enjoyed themselves, despite the nature of a few of them (Cherry didn't quite like doing these sort of things and Error was, well, Error).

Error lifted up a card, placing it down onto the pile. A blue reverse. Sans's eyelights flicked up, his sockets narrowed. Star's words were jumbled together in the mess.

The glitch placed another card down. A blue draw two, followed shortly by a yellow draw two when Sans made no move to save his ass with one of his own. Error slammed his last card down, a yellow three, a victorious screech escaping him. Sans threw down his cards, no longer hiding behind a poker face. Cherry smirked as he marked down the victory.

"Unbeaten, baby!" Error cried, pumping up his arms with a brilliant smile on his face. Reaper couldn't help but admire how different the destroyer was now compared to before. It was... well, nice to see him like this.

"There's only one other person who hasn't been beaten, either," Sans stated, his gaze landing on Reaper. True to his word, the chart in Cherry's hand showed as much. Error eagerly snatched up the deck, shuffling it as he scooted closer so Reaper didn't have to move, something Reaper very much appreciated. He was quick to deal. 

The other three watched with baited breath.

Two hours and eleven reshuffles later, Error laid down his last card, a new sense of pride bubbling to life. Reaper felt just a touch of despair of his defeat, but he was proud to have lasted this long. The crowd had gone absolutely wild.

He wondered if they could do this again, sometime.

As soon as the door was opened, Reaper was ushered in by Candy, the door quietly closing behind him. He swept up into a chair as the lust-verse skeleton rushed back into the apartment's kitchen. Error was also already seated, using his strings to entertain himself and he spared a quick look to him.

"Geno couldn't make it," Reaper explained, knowing it'd be enough to satiate the glitch and Candy. The two had backgrounds that made it so asking for more information only came up when it was one hundred percent needed. If Reaper didn't say it, it meant he didn't need to, and that was good enough for the lovers. It was something that Reaper rather enjoyed about the two.

Sure, he liked the others, too, but there was only so many questions that could be asked before the god grew tired of it. The only other monster to share this private trait as Candy and Error was the Fell brothers, so he picked to stick with them when it got too much.

"Alright, that's fine. More for us, huh?" Error replied with a shrug, tugging at one end of a string and watching the knot tighten.

"What're we havin'?" Reaper asked, leaning back and tilting his head.

"Mm, Candy was craving some lasagna. He'll be taking the left overs to Edge once we've had our fill."

It's something those two started. Most Papyruses are fantastic cooks once they got out of their habit of setting it all on fire, but Edge was doing his best to get even better with the craft. Candy was also quite the chef, but he was new to a lot of recipes so, whenever the two tried something new, they brought some to the other to try. Sometimes, Papyrus was included in, but he focused on doing it with his Toriel, so it was just those two. 

Reaper was pleased to say it was working for both of them. He had been subjected to more than one of their experiments, much to his delight. He didn't need to eat, but that didn't stop him from taking as much joy away from each experience.

"Do you think it turned out good?"

"Pretty sure. I've been smelling it the entire time and, well, it speaks for itself."

Reaper chuckled at the sheer amount of pride in Error's voice. He remembered when that first stemmed to life, way back when. Such an odd but adoring couple...

After a couple of minutes, Candy came out, oven mitts on his hands as he carried over the meal. The plates were already there, so he served it with a flourish.

"Careful, it's hot," he warned, a smirk on his face as he glanced down to his partner. "And don't get too jealous, Error~. You're still the sexiest skeleton around."

This sparked a bright yellow to spread across the glitch's face. He decided to ignore the comment.

"It looks delicious, Taffy," Error mumbled, reading up to steal a brief kiss. Candy brightened as he slipped away to put what was left away. When he came back, he planted himself in his seat beside Error and the dinner began. It was just a bit awkward without Geno, as it was a first for this particular group, but it didn't put a damper on their conversation.

And, yes, the meal was perfect.

Death wasn't sure how it happened, but Geno's skull was on his on his lap. He wasn't complaining; he kind of enjoyed physical contact, but he really couldn't recall when this happened. But it was nice.

Geno had a book in his hands, reading contentedly along. The only sound from him was the flipping of pages. Reaper had also picked up a book an hour or two ago, one that Blue had recommended him to him ("I figured you needed a book with a little less... death..."). It was actually a rather good book, too.

He liked this. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, a big smile on his face. He wanted more of this.

Things he has learned about this strange experience:

1. Star and Sci like to skip pebbles at the lake. They don't say anything about it but something the way they light up implies there's something more at play in those little stones, hopping from on watery pit stop to the next.
2. Fresh knows Sci very well. Sci knows Fresh even better (because Fresh once confirmed he didn't have any emotions and Sci looked to him, chuckled, and shook his head. The gig was up).
3. Blue doesn't always smile the way he should. Cherry seems to wear it when Blue's is missing.
4. Error is scared of being touched (but he's doing so good, Reaper always thought as the glitch's hand twisted to grab Candy's).
5. Edge is addicted to frilly aprons.
6. Geno likes lilacs and poppies.
7. Candy's best throws have been made with muffins (and he should not be challenged to a food fight).
8. Stretch first fell in love with Edge's strength and Papyrus' smile. He, then, fell in love with Edge's smile and Papyrus' strength.
9. Sci has never lost a game of Monopoly.
10. Geno likes star gazing.
11. Error first touched Candy April 7, XXXX. Error first kissed Candy Apirl 28, XXXX. And those were the first times Candy blushed shyly.
12. Cherry made the first move with Blue, but Blue beat him to kissing him first.
13. Star doesn't like stargazing much. Though, he rather does like rocks.
14. Tomatoes make Fresh sick.
15. Geno kisses soft, gentle, like he's scared.
16. Error loves rom coms, even if he refuses to say it.
17. Blue likes horror, even if he refuses to say it.
18. Star is best person for advice or if you just want to rant.
19. Geno refuses to call this love.
20. Stretch doesn't actually smoke. It's a lolipop.
21. Despite everything, Grillby's has been voted better than Muffet's.
22. Reaper can fall in love.
23. Fresh and Error sometimes plays sports (baseball, was it?)
24. They all call him his friend,
25. And how happy it makes him.

 He watched the three move, virtually in unison, towards their brothers. Papyrus picked up Sans, both scolding him and talking about how much he missed him. Stretch picked up Blue, who both scolded and talked about how he missed Stretch. Edge stood in front of his brother, giving a gruff, quiet 'I missed you', which was responded to in kind before embracing. Not too far off, Star and his brother were animatedly talking with Candy and Pink. If Sci's brother had been old enough, Reaper had no doubt that he'd see him dotting on him, as well.

It was odd, how they were all alike and not. But Reaper could appreciate the brotherly love they had, especially when he couldn't even imagine where he would be without his own. He glanced to Geno beside him, who just looked... tired.

That wouldn't do.

"Mm, this music is so bubbly. We should dance, Geno."

"What?"

"I said," Reaper began, standing up, "We should dance."

He grabbed the other's hand, the glove allowing him to do so, and pulled off the couch and away to dance.

And they couldn't seem to stop until the party ended.

 The first of the four couples to get engaged was surprisingly Error and Candy, the latter purposing. Three months later, Stretch purposed to Edge and Papyrus, followed by Blue and Cherry a month after. A year and a half later, Star and Sci were engaged, as well.

The first wedding happened a year after their proposal. Stretch, Edge, and Papyrus had been walked to the alter by their brothers in a small, personal wedding where only close friend were invited. It was simple in every way possible.

Error and Candy's wedding was much bigger, thanks to Error's status as the Destroyer denoting him as a god. This meant that other deities would attend to celebrate a god's joining. It was rather beautiful, as well. It was here that Error announced that they also had a kid on the way.

Blue had a wedding that was bigger than his brother's, but smaller than Error's. It was extravagant and Blue had left heads spinning with his dazzling dress.

Five months before Star and Sci's wedding, Star fell ill.

Three weeks later, Reaper appeared in Star's bedroom.

--

"hey," Star rasped, pressed against a nest of pillows. Reaper felt like his mouth had become a desert in a drought; his words had all dried up. So he nodded instead. The sick and weary skeleton provided this tiny little smile, sweet and understanding, standing with eyes that glimmered with admiration and sympathy. It made Reaper’s soul twist painfully.

”come here, won’t you?” Star said, his voice teetering into a cough as he gestured the god closer. And Reaper realized that he was a friend before he was a god and this made it so much worse because he couldn’t detangle and distance himself from this. He couldn’t deny Star this one last little comfort and he couldn’t just get this over with, pretend as if this was business as usual, and just move on.

No, he had to feel a piece of himself did with one of his dear friends. 

He walked closer, his cloak billowing behind him as he did. He came to stand at Star’s bedside, hovering above him with a blank face. 

A little droplet fell to the covers and he wondered absently if the ceiling was leaking. 

“It’s okay, Reaper,” Star mumbled, “we’re not going to blame you for this...”

”I can’t-“

”but you have to. It’s okay. It’s truly okay.”

And more of those drops joined the first, coming rapidly and Reaper knew his cheeks were growing wet, knew that this rainfall was coming from him, knew that he couldn’t deny it and this wasn’t fair. Why did he have to do this? 

It was destroying him.

”I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken and shameful.

”don’t be,” Star insisted.

They sat in an almost dazed quiet for a bit before Star sighed and held out his hand, the movement strained and shaky.

”I’m a little scared. Could you... hold my hand when you do it?”

Reaper couldn’t deny him that, either.

 At the funeral, Reaper stood in the back, a deep swell of nothingness in his gaze as the sweeping cry of mourning’s debut dancing within his skull, echoing mumbled of heartbreak so strong that Reaper almost expected someone to dust right then and there. 

Sci had had gone unresponsive after five minutes in. 

Geno has seared himself far from Reaper and would not look at him. Reaper found he couldn’t look at any of them, actually.

(who would be next?)

Afterwards, everyone insisted that it hadn't been his fault, that they weren't mad at him, but it seemed that he couldn't absorb those words. They died away in his mind, unable to fill the emptiness that ate its way through him.

He did not return to the apartment he shared with Geno. He did not return to his own home. He wondered the streets until the sky wept for him and, somehow, his legs became tired. It was only then did his own sobs met the air, surrounded and drowned out by clashing thunder.

 He stared at the text message, vision blurred. It was a simple question, he mused. 'Do you want to have a dinner with us?' flashed on his screen, asked by Candy. Reaper knew that the 'us' meant that the entire group was going (even Ink would be there this time), to help ease the pain from Star's untimely death, with the funeral having only been about a month ago. It was a good distraction, especially since the Error and Candy's child had been born not long after. What better way to forget death by celebrating life.

Reaper wondered if he should be offended.

Too tired to care, Reaper pondered his answer to the Lust. Before he could decide, Geno was beside him, snagging the phone and sending a decision. He stared at Reaper, as though daring him to demand, to question, to be angry with what he just.

Too tired to care, Reaper just nodded.

The party introduced Reaper to Kilo, Error's baby, who had a sweet face and heart-shaped eyelights. She had black bones and fairy light like markings, faintly glowing bulbs and all. She had completely charmed Reaper (who had tearfully vowed to protect her at all costs). He also finally learned why Star and Sci loved skipping stones ("we first truly fell in love when we were skipping stones. I said he kissed like he was forcing gravity on me and he said I kissed like I was trying to defy it. He then said he thought it was beautiful, how the skipping stone did both of those things and reminded him of how different we were and how perfectly we fitted together").

After that, everything blurred. It was like those stones Star and Sci skipped brought him to new places in time. One moment, it was Kilo's first birthday. Next, Edge was the only survivor in a car crash (he'd been angry at Reaper, it seemed, but he knew each 'I hate you' and each insult was really 'I'm scared' and pleas for them to come back). Edge moving in with his brother and brother-in-law, Cherry and Blue adopting a dark-skinned human named River. Kilo's third birthday. Edge's suicide. River's tenth birthday. Sci's lab accident (and resulting death). Candy's ailment finally getting cured. Kilo's six birthday. River's fourteenth (that came with a diagnosis of cancer and a three year long battle that ended with their death), Cherry and Blue going to counseling so maybe, just maybe, that they would stop clashing to create friction, to create warmth, only to tear themselves apart. Geno's death ("I thought I'd be mad, that I would fight but... No, I'm just sad. I wish I told you that I loved you," Geno had whispered, framed in the too-white world of a hospital room).Kilo, fifteen years old, watching Candy getting mugged and then murdered, which resulted in Error going mute for six months. 

Cherry and Blue died of old age, though Blue had been forced to watch his husband go and, in the end, Blue wasn't allowed to die until his memories were pulled apart of and thrown away (though Reaper would never forget his final words. 'Cher', is that you? I missed you...').

Then came time for Error to sit by Kilo's bed as she passed on in her sleep, surrounded by her own children, oddly content with her life.

Reaper wondered, if they were truly only forced to stay alive to do these jobs, why hadn't they been numbed to this?

"Did you really make a scrapbook?" the glitch asked, his tone lacking any form of cruelty. Just the tiredness that had forced itself there long, long ago.

"I didn't want to forget anything," Reaper whispered, gesturing for Error to come closer. The Destroyer obeyed, plopping down next to him on the couch as the book was opened to the first page, lovingly, each movement careful.

They pretended that Error did not cry as his fingers brushed his late husband's face in the first group photo they ever took, way back at that silly carnival. They pretended that sobs did not escape both of them as they viewed their friends' smiles, now long since faded into dust. And they pretended Reaper's limbs did not shake under the weight of existing as he stared at Geno.

But they needn't keep pretending. Soon, it was too hard to, anyway, as loud cries and wet laughter permeated the air.

Here, they kept their friends alive by breathing it into their memories. Here, they remembered, though unfair that they be forced to do so alone.

Here, they remembered, just as they should. And just as they always will.

Chapter Text

"You're starting a new book."

Blue's gaze wandered from the first page of the mentioned book to the speaker. Cherry, dressed in that silly band shirt his brother got him for Christmas and some shorts, nestled neatly into the other side of the bed. He was lying down, his head propped up by his hand as he stared at Blue, utterly relaxed, appearing soft and sweet in this little piece of domestic life they got to share. The glinting wedding ring made it oh-so-much sweeter.

"Indeed I did, Soda-Pop," Blue replied, briefly trying to recall when he started using that nickname. It wasn't fantastic but Cherry always seemed to like it, anyway. Who was he to deny the other when his reward was a cute little smile? Even Blue wasn't strong enough to resist that. "What about it?"

His husband (god, husband! It's been months and he still couldn't believe that Cherry was his husband!) fell quiet for a moment, those lovely crimson eyelights steady and focused still on Blue. One of his rough hands rested on the blanket, his fingers playing with a loose thread as he sorted through his thoughts, cycling through words and phrases almost mechanically. 

"Well, I guess I wanted to ask... Would you read it to me?"

As soon as he said this, Cherry's cheeks flushed with red. He finally broke the steady stare on his partner, turning his head to the side and staring at the blanket. The request through him off guard, his mind whirling to catch up to the situation this late at night. 

Before he could respond, Cherry opened his mouth, "Never mind. It's childish."

The tension in the other's body fluttered to life and, by all the star's above, Blue would not all that to stand. He shifted in bed, getting comfortable, using one arm to pull the other closer to him. That arm ended up wrapped around Cherry's shoulders with the Fell's head laying on top of Blue's chest. He prompted the other into aiding him in holding the book, succeeding without needing many words. 

"I'm gonna do stupid voices," Blue informed Cherry with a boyish grin.

"Do it," Cherry breathed, a look of excitement filling his features. "Fucking do stupid voices."

Blue cleared his 'throat', mockingly glaring at the page. His voice swam to the surface, easily flowing to life as the narration began. By the middle of the long chapter, Blue had grown too tired to do silly voices (though, before then, he had done well. The sound of Cherry's laughter was more than enough to spur him on until then). By the end of the chapter, Cherry had fallen asleep, his face smoothed into peaceful slumber that made Blue feel like he was falling in love all over again.

Later, when the two had woken up and finished their morning routines, Blue asked about the request.

"You just have the most beautiful voice. I wanted to hear more of it."

Chapter Text

Chubby Bunny - Scifell

"Russet, what the hell is that?"

The words caused Russet's mouth to curl upward into a smirk that he tried oh-so-hard to hide but just couldn't. He lifted his head, tearing his gaze from his phone to meet Sci's face and a soft chuckle bubbled to life, pushing past his teeth instead of an explanation. He glanced to the creature, now hoping her way over to Sci sniff at his feet.

"is a bunny."

"Bullshit. That's one big ass bunny. It looks like a dog."

"I can't believe you're body shaming her," Russet teased, leaning down from the couch. He tapped his finger to the floor and the rabbit made her way over, her nose twitching and massive ears bobbing along with her movements. He watched her smell his hand for a second before she moved to rub her chin on it, near aggressively, before moving on, back to her exploration.

"Russet..." 

"Okay, okay," Russet laughed, sitting back up. "That's a Flemish Giant. Largest domesticated rabbit. Her name is Rice Crispy. Isn't she cute?"

Sci scowled at him, "Why is it here?"

"You try sayin' no to your brother. He's mastered the puppy dog eyes," Russet shrugged, watching with delight as his partner's face twisted into stress.

"We're not keeping it."

"Aw, come on, Sci. Give her a chance... You wouldn't want to make your little brother sad, right?"

"I hate you."

"Sci, look at that bunny and say no to keeping her."

Sci turned to where the rabbit had hopped to, his hands on his hips. Rice Crispy lifted herself onto her hind legs, her head swiveling around and making those ears twitch and sway. Russet knew, even without seeing Sci's face, he couldn't say no.

"...I hate you."

"I love you, too, Scifi~!"

Where You'll Find Me - Cherryberry

The flames licked upward, fighting off the gentle dark of the night. Crim sat next to his brother, both smiling wider than anyone thought possible for their type. Sans was half draped over Star, his cheeks flushed and bear cans in his and Star's hands. Blue and Stretch were to Crim's left, Blue finishing a joke that brought forth the chorus of laughter from everyone, including Papyrus, who was sitting on the ground just in front of Stretch and poking the fire with a stick. Comet had taken off with Razz and Slim was behind one of their sitting logs, already falling asleep despite the activity.

The sounds of such joy was something that Crim never thought he'd hear, twisting peacefully like leaves in the wind along his skull, tugging at his grin ever wider. Edge passed him another drink and he turned to watch Blue down his own, that god-like alcohol tolerance coming to play as he was barely even tipsy at this point and time. There was a twinkle in the cyan eyes as they met Crim's and, suddenly, Blue was standing up and rushing off. 

When he returned, he sat himself back between Stretch and Crim and held up his ukulele like it were the holiest object. Comet and Razz had come back in time, it seemed. The starry-eyed Papyrus dropped the wood to the ground and clapped his hands together.

"I HAVE A REQUEST!" 

"Then give it!" Blue stated, eager to please. Comet shuffled his way over and whispered it to Blue. They both nodded and Comet took a seat. Razz grabbed himself a drink and sat, as well, shooting a curious look to the two.

Blue scooted closer to Crim, "You've got to sing for me, Crim!"

"Aw, come on, I can't sing, Baby Blue," Crim replied, tilting his head down with a low, amused huff.

"It'd be a Crim not to sing with him, buddy," Stretch piped up, achieving a few chuckles from those around him. Crim rolled his eyelights, but, really... He couldn't resist Blue.

"Fine. What am I singing?"

Instead of a response, Blue began strumming his instrument, the notes fighting to stay above of the noise of the fire. It took Blue humming for Crim to recognize the tune they used to practice.

(Something worth noting to Crim was just how nicely Blue hummed. The other couldn't sing for the fucking life of him, but his humming was perfect, just like him.)

"Oh, it's been a while," Crim mumbled but, nonetheless,  he prepared himself. He knew this song like he knew every little crack in his soul that was just beginning to heal. He knew it like he knew every curve and drip of Blue and every little perfect sound he made, every lovely smile and every snort that arose when he laughed. He knew all of it.

So he put it into play.

"Somewhere over the rainbow,

Way up high

And the dreams that you dream of

Once in a lullaby."

Crim's voice was nothing he imagined to be special. But Blue just lit up upon hearing it. There was soft cheer in their group with Sans lifting up his arm, holding up the can of beer as if toasting. 

"Somewhere over the rainbow,

Where bluebirds fly-"

He lightly nudged Blue with a goofy grin, a wrong note chiming with the movement but not a single person would care. Not here, not now. This was safety and love. This was where wrong notes came to thrive, to grow, to make their own wonderful songs in the midst of campfires and gentle nights and dancing trees.

"-and the dreams you dream of

Really do come true!"

Edge's arm around around Crim's shoulders, bright with this feeling, too. His own voice arched and swayed, entangling this his brother's. His was more smooth, soft, the opposite of him sometimes. But it melded with Crim's rougher sound in brilliant bursts.

"Someday, I wish upon a star,

Wake up where the clouds are far behind me!"

And then Sans' drunken vocalizations joined in, wrong but so fucking right because it didn't matter how badly you sang. It sent jolts of euphoria through everyone's spines, out of time rocking showing just how true that was. Fearlessly, the others collided in song, good and bad and whispers and howling, pitched together to fight for who would be heard and still. Still this did not matter.

"Where trouble melts like lemon drops

High above the chimney top,

That's where you'll find me!"

And how funny that they sang about the wonders above the shimmering rainbow when all the color he needed was right here. Radiant in its ordinary call, the greatest song that ever did have the pleasure of dipping along the air in excellent train wrecks of music, because the giggles and guffaws resulting were just so much better. This is where you'd find Crim; singing with a bunch of drunks and idiots like this was the performance of a life time.

And He wouldn't forget that beautiful beam on Blue's face as they arched into the next part.

 Morning Treasures - Kustard

Carmine's sockets fluttered open, fighting the longing to seal shut once more. The morning light streamed through the window, a breeze breathing through the opened maw and making the curtains dance. Those silly wind chimes Papyrus had insisted on sang out outside, adding a glimmer of music to the peaceful air.

And the most wonderful sight was before him.

Sans' face was smoothed in his sleep, his body tangled up in Carmine's and the blankets. One hand was secured under his skull and another rested on Carmine's hip, comforting in its gentle caress. Love assaulted Carmine from all sides, useless tears prickling at his sockets as a smile stretched across his face.

To think, not even a year ago, Carmine was standing at the edge of a cliff, ready for life to force his knees to buckle and push him down into the abyss of his own creation. To think, not even a year ago, the promise of his worthlessness had been on the tip of his tongue, ready to give proof at a breath. 

Yet, here he was, nestled into a warm bed with a warm soul, loving and loved back.

He brought his own hand to cup Sans' cheek, moving to press lazy kisses all over the other's sleeping features. As he felt him stir, Carmine's kisses sped up, eager to place as many as possible, as little tears dripped down his own cheeks.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Sans laughed sleepily, trying to swat the loving attacker away. Carmine placed a final kiss on his mouth, which held for a few tender moments before pulling back.

"I love you," Carmine whispered, sniffling. "So, so much."

Sans' expression softened further somehow and he pulled Carmine's body closer.

"I love you, too," Sans said, tucking his head in the crevice of Carmine's neck, his arms loomed around his waist, stroking along his back with care. This was Carmine's new promise. These sweet little snapshots of all that he'd lacked up until less than a year ago. The treasures that Carmine would never be able to get rid of even if he wanted to.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"for everything."

Chapter Text

Look Up - Errorberry

"Bluebird, come look at this."

The voice, stuttering and glitched as always, hummed to life not too far from Blue's position. Error had, seemingly out of no where, decided the two should stretch their legs out in other universes. Even more surprising, the glitch had not even attempted destroying a single one they had visited. Rather, he began showing off little things he found, like an excitable child, learning about the world for the first time.

Though, the nickname was certainly new.

He pondered it as he shuffled over to his companion, contemplating the random change in names. After all, Error was the one that started the Blueberry trend towards Swaps. 

"You called me Bluebird," he stated as he neared, crossing his arms but a joyful smile remained on his face.

Error snapped his head to him, a heavy frown set upon his own features, "What? No I didn't!"

"Oh, yes, you did!"

"W-Well, you're annoying like one!"

This prompted a laugh from Blue. He knew what that translated to in Error-speak. The indignant flushing of Error's cheeks just proved it.

"Ugh, shut up and look up!" the destroyer snapped. Giving a soft snicker (that, mind you, cut off pretty quick as he obeyed his orders) as his gaze flicked upward.

There, a massive hole stretched over the ceiling of the Underground, baring to them a stunning night sky. He gasped lightly, his sockets widening. He felt a bump to his side, only sparring a quick glance to Error to meet his gaze before the blackened skeleton lifted his hand to the sky.

"You can see Orion's Belt from right here..." He began, lulling Blue further into the charm such a twinkling pleasure held.

Surprise - Cherryberry

Blue dropped his heavy bag onto the floor, a scowl set on his face and that horrible warmth buzzing in his chest associated with a bad day and a worse mood. His shoes had been haphazardly kicked off at the door and his soaked coat hung on the coat rack, luckily right above a heater. Plopping onto the couch, the skeleton took no time in taking up as much of the cushions as he could, gripping one of those stupid, uncomfortable decorative pillows (why did he get them? Ugh, they're so annoying!) against his rib cage. His mind reminded him that he couldn't hear his lovely datemate's usual racket and his already tensed body became a quivering string pulled to its limits between unmerciful hands as a crash of thunder sounded its alarm.

He gave a near miserable sigh, though sparks of worry burned in his limbs. He fished out his phone and called Cherry's phone, trying to keep his expression neutral, if just to convince his voice to not show his fear. The device did not ease his unrest, as Cherry didn't pick up. Blue's soul plummeted. 

What if he had gotten hurt? What if he crashed on the way from work? What if someone kidnapped him? Oh god, what if he's-

Just as his frantic spiral of thoughts reached the worst of conclusions, the door to their cozy home was pushed open and the dripping head of his datemate poked through, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Sorry for not picking up, Bluebird. I couldn't hear my phone."

"Oh, you little-!"

Cherry finished slipping inside, his expression turned to a full blown smile as he hoisted up the bouquet of orchids and blue irises further against him, a grocery bag precariously balanced on his fingertips, effectively cutting off Blue's mean remark.

"I thought you might want a spontaneous date night. Heh, at least I thought it might be nice after the rant you posted on Undernet."

Blue's face flushed with his namesake, but he couldn't resist a flattered expression.

"You really did that, on your own, for me?"

"Of course, Bluebird! Now, let's go get some PJs on because I picked up Coco from the store."

Before Blue could bolt away, he placed a kiss on Cherry's cheek, a gesture that seemed to make the edgier skeleton melt. Then, he was off, alight with the promise of feel-good tears and pretty flowers.

Slip Ups - Horrorberry (kind of) 

Blue eyed his latest kitchen endeavor: lasagna. While he knew his current guests had no complaints with any food, he also knew his creations often were sub-par, no matter how many times he said that his skill was perfect! 

(Honestly, it made Stretch smile, so Blue had no problems with continuing to hype up less than stellar food. At the very least, he seemed to be getting better, so his boasts will soon have the proof!) 

Deciding that he'd kept everyone waiting long enough and the meal was edible, he made some even cuts, purposely leaving some pieces bigger, then brought the still hot meal out. He spotted Stretch, sitting tensely at the table, watching their guests, Horror and his brother, Fright, like his magic was already stirring to life with an attack. Which, really, was likely. But the brothers hadn't seemed to make any form of threatening move, so he supposed his brother's fear, for the moment, was unfounded.

Blue served Fright first, working one of the larger pieces onto the pristine place, not missing the excitement that flashed upon the other's face. He supposed a more hearty meal like stew would have been a bigger hit, but he had to work with what he already made. He moved onto Horror, plating another larger piece.

"Thanks, Bluebird," Horror remarked lowly, the single blood-red eyelight staring a fire into the lasagna, his unwavering grin seemingly growing. Blue paused, feeling a flush cross his cheeks rage to life.

"BROTHER, DID YOU EVEN ASK HIM IF YOU COULD CALL HIM THAT???" Fright piped up, only vaguely sounding scolding or even committed to his words, what with his attention primarily on food. His brother seemed to come to understand what he said and, though he did not blush, there was a startled and embarrassed look to the horror-verse skeleton.

"It's fine," Blue insisted, chuckling softly, "It's a cute nickname, actually. I like it."

That seemed to make Horror even more flustered as he seemingly tried to make himself smaller; a near impossible feat, considering his massive size. Blue found himself amused by all this as he moved onto finally giving himself and his own brother some of his home-cooked meal. Judging by the barely contained look on Stretch's face, his brother was in a state of confusion and, perhaps, shock by this odd development. 

Fright seemed quite delightful, however, and Blue was happy to know that there was a pleasant enough atmosphere for that.

"Well, you two must be-" Blue cut himself off before he said 'stared' or 'hungry', wincing, "...Let's eat, huh?"

Thankful for his own slip being looked over, the four proceeded with dinner. Blue was pleased to know that everything tasted actually pretty great, but he was happier knowing that Fright and Horror seemed to melt into contentment as they (messily) dug in.

Sing for Me - Classicberry

Interlocked, Blue wondered if Sans could possibly hold onto him tight enough to keep him from falling apart at the seams. It was a fantastical idea, that Sans could grip just enough to keep dust from gathering around them in terrible piles, reminders of the cruelty life liked to prance around with. He supposed it was a dream of a dying man, just a little illusion that would, perhaps, comfort his aching soul or blind him of the sight of his love's tear-filled face.

Sans pulled him impossibly closer, sobs raking tremor-creating claws over the other's body. Blue was left gasping with each little movement, pain shooting through his own in fire work bursts, burning and, for once, colorless. He shifted, despite everything, lifting a quivering arm until his bare hand met Sans' cheek, his fingers conforming to the gentle curve. A shaky smile worked its way onto his face, small and pained, but genuine with love and care.

"Don't cry," He rasped, shuddering with the effort, "Please, it'll be okay."

"It won't-!"

"Shh, it'll be okay," Blue insisted, keeping his eyes opened despite the weight now working them closed, "You'll be okay."

Because Blue wasn't going to survive this. They both knew it. The injury was too great and Blue just didn't have the will power to survive, no matter how great and stubborn the little skeleton was. He wasn't going to make it. 

Blue's thumb brushed away some of the tears. The quiet was deafening.

"...Won't you sing for me, Bluebird?" Sans requested, his voice just barely a whisper, a broken sound that killed Blue faster than his wound.

"...only if you promise to take care of yourself," Blue replied, knowing his lover was cringing at the thought of a promise. But Sans couldn't deny him, as he had long since found out.

"...I promise."

So Blue sang, even as his ribs collapsed in on themselves and his soul threatened to burst. He sang and sang, those little lullaby nothings and promises (You are my sunshine my only sunshine ohgodithurts you mA- shadows all around you as you surface icaNTBREATHE from the dark-- If I could begin to be stopstopstop half of what you think of me pleaseletmego I could-) heaving to life from his chest because he could play Sans' little bluebird, one last time, if it meant that Sans would go on-

And, just before he was gone, Blue marveled that the only thing he felt was admiration for Sans.

Then he was gone.

I'll Make You Sing - Sciberry

Sci was just trying to enjoy himself at one of the fancy, newer Grillby's for all interdimensional life. He'd been invited by his dear friend, Cherry, to meet up with a couple of other drunks and, really, he had been having a good time at first. The was many stupid shenanigans to be had, after all!

Then the waiter started flirting with him. Honestly, it wasn't too bad (it was actually quite pleasant!), but Sci wasn't used to flirting. Hell, it was even in his element (heh), so it was doubly embarrassing. 

The waiter moved back with another round of their drinks. He was a Swap Sans, stout with a sweet smile. His bandanna was still wrapped around his neck, even as he sported a nicely pressed suit. He was quite the dashing skeleton, really. He placed each drink down firmly, giving a quick word until he got to Sci's.

His drink was accompanied with: "Are you made of Copper and Tellurium? Because you are Cu-Te~!"

And then the Swap was gone. Cherry snickered beside him, nudging him.

"That's the third shitty science pick up line he's done on ya and you haven't done shit."

"I'm not interested," Sci replied.

"Bullshit. Ya woulda said somethin' earlier."

Sci glared, admiring his newfound hatred for the Fell. Mostly because the other was right.

The next time, the flirt was a little more... sexual. 

"If my right leg is the cell wall and my left the membrane, do you want to be the cytoplasm?"

And it left Sci's mind blank for a split second, a split horrible, agonizing second, his drinks caught up with him.

"Alright. I'll make you sing, little Bluebird."

His response was met with stunned silence from the waiter, whose face went a brilliant shade of blue. His little group was laughing.

"I am so sorry-" Sci wheezed, his own blush coming to his cheeks.

"No, no, it's okay," the other chuckled softly, "I've never got a response like that."

"I suppose I owe you," the scientist said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, n-"

"How about a date and a phone number?"

The waiter smiled, "Well, I suppose that'll suffice."

Chapter Text

Candy loved dresses. They were light and airy, helped keep the heat at bay, and they were absolutely adorable. Plus, they weren't nearly as inappropriate as his other clothes, allowing him to go into any form of the public outside of his universe without receiving heated glares about how much of him was just there, out in the open, for everyone else to see.

The issue was that, well...

He was self conscious, okay?

It had been an off-handed remarks from strangers, lectures from people he perhaps shouldn't have called his friends, and long, pained minutes in front of mirrors that he wished he could call liars. He had to pick himself apart every time he passed those reflective, telling surfaces. His bones were too thick, nothing like his slender brother's pristine appearance. He was too short. He had weird proportions. And so on.

So he didn't wear dresses very often. And certainly not without constantly worrying over his appearance.

Somehow, it led to his current situation.

"Aw, you two look adorable!" Candy exclaimed, clapping his hands together in excitement. Star never had much of a problem with his own appearance, nor was he picky with his own clothes. Still, he had insisted on picking out his outfit and, well, he certainly pulled it off. The dress's sleeves were long and off the shoulder and the skirt portion fell nearly to his feet in the back and over his knees in the front. A thin black belt wrapped around his waist, adding to the dark blue, purples, and pinks of the starry theme the outfit aimed for. He even wore dark ankle boots to match. His relaxed posture, combined with cute accessories such as a black head band and a star charm bracelet, aided Candy's excitement and opinion of this situation.

Error, on the other hand, looked like he was trying to hide behind Star. Candy knew the other had even worse body issues than himself, what with so much to hate on him. The glitching, the discolored bones, the chipped and scarred bones from years upon years of fighting... And, yet, he, too, picked out his clothes (with Candy's help, thanks to the glitch's lack of fashion sense). The pale yellow of the summer dress clashed against his dark bones with the white, sheer shawl covering his shoulders and unsuccessfully hiding the thin straps. Tiny pink flowers decorated the blouse, matched by fake pink roses on the sunhat he wore and white strips clung to the bottom of the skirt (which ended just above his knees), matching a wide ribbon around his waist that tied into a smoothed out bow on his side. He wore white sandals and silver and gold bracelets, bundled up on both wrists. His flushed face peeked under the brim of his hat, a scowl painted onto its features despite him agreeing to do this.

 "I swear, if Ink's there, I'm kicking him in the face and leaving," Error grumbled, his fingers wrapping around Star's arm in a small gesture to gain confidence, as if he could just sap some straight from his boyfriend. Star only chuckled, patting Error's hand. 

It'd taken far too long for Error to be comfortable with even just that, but Candy was so proud of him anyway.

"If he says something, I'll kill him before you do, Glitchy," Candy laughed, walking over and putting a chaste kiss to Error's cheek.

"I'd pay to see that fight," Star shrugged. "By the way, you're looking pretty out of this world, too, sweetie."

Candy tried to fight his own blush. He wasn't all dressed up like the other two, but his light pink, sleeveless dress did make him feel attractive. Seeing his boyfriends in similar states did help a lot...

"Can we just go and get this over with?" Error asked, his voice teetering into a whine. Candy snatched his keys and opened the door for the other two, sliding out after them.

"Five G says Blue starts squealing," he called out as he locked the door. Error's hand had moved to hold Star's, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Ten says Carmine stops functioning."

Star just gave another laugh, not wishing to get caught up in any of this, despite knowing how real the possibilities of these bets were. The sound warmed Candy's soul with sweet, innocent affection.

He was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

The dark surrounded him, seemingly never ending despite being confined to this one room. It seemed all-consuming, despite the light filtering in from the windows, pushing past the sheer curtains that danced and shifted with slight breezes. The birds chirped outside, flowers grew from the flower boxes clinging to the windows. Everything outside the room was vibrant. Everything inside the room had tipped into gray scale.

It was 8:37 AM and Papyrus was still in bed. He wasn't really asleep, no, just staring at the blurry red numbers on his alarm clock, willing them to go to 6:00 AM, the latest he usually woke. Despite this, he had no will to get up from the mattress, to get dressed and cook and fall into a routine that was now Sans participant. 

The pun made Papyrus' face screw up. He pretended it was in annoyance rather than the scathing pain that really was there.

Another check to the clock. It was 9:02 now. A blink of an eye and it was 9:46. Time was going to fast and Papyrus was still stuck inside this little pocket where the numbers changed, the lighting changed, but everything else was the same. Time didn't matter right now, in this bubble. 

He felt like drowning.

At 10:30, his door opened. The artificial lighting from the hallway poured into his room and, yet, the dark did not ease up. His bed dipped and it took him a little bit to recognize Undyne, her fins dipping down at her eyes sad as one of her hands came to rest on his shoulder. Her touch felt like nothingness, despite the weight of it against his body.

"Hey, punk..." Her voice was abnormally soft. He didn't respond. The clock read 10:38 when she spoke again.

"He loved you, y'know."

"I know." Papyrus' voice was just a scratch against the quiet. Barely there.

"He was just..."

"Sick," Papyrus whispered, tears already in his sockets. "He was sick, Undyne."

She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Sick."

"He was sick and there was no cure," Papyrus sobbed, his eyes closed tightly. His fingers curled into his blanket, grasping at the cloth like it'd bring his brother back. 

"There was a treatment! There was a treatment but I didn't know he needed it! I saw all the signs, all the symptoms but dismissed them like he had a cold! And now he's gone, Undyne! He's gone!"

Undyne turned away, unable to look at him any longer. This hurt all of them, but Sans was Papyrus' brother before he'd ever been anyone else's friend. His big brother, who raised him and loved him, who had supported anything and everything Papyrus did, who had done all of it with gusto. 

"We all did, Pap. We all did."

Chapter Text

When Error began living at the castle, there was an understanding that it'd be very, very hard for all of them to adjust. After all, Error wasn't all that conventional, being an ally rather than a 'worker', giving him more authority if he so chose to utilize it. He was often not a team player, so he rarely truly got along with anyone, even with Nightmare's crew. He was grumpy, unused to having to actually speak to anyone, making it highly unlikely he had anything nice to say or that he'd be able to keep the peace.

And, yet, there was something else that had caught everyone's attention: Error struggled with many concepts. Sure, he knew of a lot of objects and had seen some of them in use, but he really hadn't used most of them himself. Things like the shower and sinks, the oven and toaster, the TV... they were embarrassingly rough for him to tackle on his own. He was uncomfortable by how comfortable he was in his bed, how the floor and the walls felt, the constant stimuli of the world around him. The Anti-Void lacked proper time and, being inside of it, Error never had felt that hungry or actually had to sleep. So, now in a constant flow of time, his sleep schedule ranged from sleeping for a weeks at a time to never shutting his eyes. He could barely stomach most foods and his body had just begun to register that, perhaps, he was starving. His memory issues truly didn't help any of it at all, either.

Nightmare had purposed to work through all of this slowly. Horror helped a lot with the food aspect of Error's issues, having been there himself not that awfully long ago. Killer proved to have a fantastic amount of patience when working with Error, taking up the responsibility to teach or reteach how to use certain items. Cross eagerly aided in reminding Error of anything he needed to recall, becoming almost like a living planner book or journal for the glitch. Even Dust pitched in with his wide arsenal of coping mechanisms and tricks to make the constant noise and feelings seem more bearable.

While all of these aspects improved slightly in the short amount of time, Error's sleep did not. They found that a lot of things failed to get him to sleep and it was hard to wake him up.

Dust had suggested an alarm clock. Nightmare approved it.

Now he really wish he hadn't.

The alarm wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear outside of Error's room. However, Error's screams were. They began maybe a minute after the alarm should go off, seemingly nonsensical, accompanied by loud, shuttering wacks of what Nightmare assumed to be bone against various other materials. It wasn't even a second later that Nightmare himself was tearing down the hallway, still in his pajamas. He pushed into the room just as other pairs of foot falls joined the cacophony.

The sight that greeted them was glitching bone attacks everywhere, though an almost comically large one piercing the clock was the most notable. Error must've fallen off his bed because he was on the floor, his body twisting and contorting, glitches littering every aspect of him, particularly his eyes, which only harbored strings of code and the bugs. His screeching hadn't stopped. In fact, it seemed to grow into volume. He was grasping at his head roughly, digging fingers into his skull with almost murderous intent.

"Error?" Cross' voice came from behind Nightmare, drowned out. A few other words were breathed by the rest of the group, though Nightmare's focus on the glitch made it impossible for him to decipher whatever they had said.

In response, Error's wails increased, becoming more desperate as they clawed from the confines of his throat, wrenching from his opened maw, threatening to break his jaw, curling in the air in despairing howls and swells.

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUPSHUP," he cried, his hands moving to grip his nightstand. "BEQUIETBEQUIETSHUTUPSHUTUPIT'STOOLOUDSHUPSHUTUP-"

And with each word, Error brought his head down onto the piece of furniture as hard as he could. Over and over. Shut up shut up shut up over and over and over and over and and and-

It took Nightmare far too long to realize he needed to act. He couldn't touch Error under the risk of making this worse so he used a tendril to wrench the nightstand away from the glitch. His head came down once more, obviously meeting nothing but air. Combined with the sudden crash, the change caused a violent flinch, which was followed by Error's face warping into a dazed expression.

Several long moments passed in tense silence as Error regained some sense of reality.

"It's... It's too dark in here," Error croaked (Nightmare couldn't help but wince at the sound of his voice; it was so scratchy). Still stunned, the group watched as Error pushed to his feet and take a couple of stumbling steps before tripping over one of his attacks. On the floor again, Error let out a frustrated cry and sent another bone attack out, slamming it into the light switch and effectively turning it on, though destroying part of it in the process. Sparks stuttered from the damage.

"It's too dark!" Error wailed.

"We need flashlights," Cross whispered. Despite how quiet he was, Error jolted to look at him, his eyelights overlayed with static and fuzzy. His sockets narrowed, his mouth working but without sound. Nightmare could almost here it anyway ('who? Who are you?').

"Get out!" Error hissed. When there was no immediate movement, he repeated himself, this time a yell, and sent out one last bone attack. It went past Nightmare and straight into Cross's hand, resulting in a sharp yelp. Exactly at the same time, the negativity guardian's instincts kicked in, lashing out another tendril directly into Error, the glitch collapsing at the collision.

The conclusion was a crash on Error's part. The impact likely wouldn't be an injury to worry about, but it didn't make it any better for Nightmare. He turned to his companions, feeling like his throat had closed off. Still, he must speak.

"Dust, go get the flashlights. And find those old nightlights of yours and Horror's," he felt his tone was almost hollow. "Horror, go make breakfast. Killer, I want you to get the med kit and patch up Cross's hand and then give it to me."

Numbly, they nodded. Killer took Cross' good hand and led him off. A little nudge got the other two moving. Then he himself got to work.
He figured it was a bad idea to move Error from where he was now so he decided to make the destroyer more comfortable. He started with the pillows, which Error had a lot of. It began with two but, by the end of the first week here, Error mentioned that he liked the pillows and, eager to make him comfortable here, the othere residents, including Nightmare himself, brought him some more, one to three per person. Error had been so delighted and, admittedly, the way he had lit up was adorable. Likewise, he also had about four blankets to help combat the cold the glitch always seemed to be followed by.

(Every morning, Error, whether he was eating breakfast or not, whether he slept or not, would come out of his room wrapped in his black, fuzzy blanket. His arms would be folded over his chest, his fingers curled into the edges of the fabric. Sometimes, he'd come out with his eyes lidded with exhaustion and sometimes distant sadness, arms folded over his chest AND a rabbit plush that Cross had given him that he pretended he didn't like. Its charcoal torso and head blended into his PJs and hands, but the limbs of differing neon colors stuck out. It was an unspoken agreement to not mention it so they could all see Error burying his face into its belly and doze off while waiting to be served.)

(For good measure, Nightmare put the rabbit next to Error's limp form, too.)

By the time Error woke up again, Nightmare had gotten the lights and set them up, as well as got the first aid kit. He'd plopped down some ways away from the glitch.

He felt it had taken a bit for Error to wake. Nightmare didn't tend to his head, not wanting to cause anymore panic if the other had been roused while he worked, so great globs of half or fully dried marrow caught the lighting strangely. Error moved himself sluggishly, pushing up his form, letting his bedding tumble off of him. Soft whines emitted as hazy eyelights flicked to and fro, taking in everything they could. The hast that they possessed eventually faded and he went through it all again slower.
It took far too long for Nightmare to realize that Error was reteaching himself everything, identifying each object and the purpose, mouth working out the words into silent communication. 'B... Bed. Bed. I sleep there'. 'Cloos... Closet. Clothes go there'.

(Nightmare wished he could've given Error his glasses, to make this easier, but a quick skim around the room revealed that they were impaled on a bone through one lens.)

The glitch didn't seem to recognize the mess surrounding them like a graveyard.

He was the last thing Error identified and he'd never forget the spark that flashed in Error's mismatched sockets as he murmured: 'Nightmare. Safe... safe...'

Even then, Error wasn't fully coherent until about five minutes later.

"...ugh, my head hurts like a bitch," he complained, hanging his head with a low huff.

"That happens when you bash your head on your furniture," Nightmare remarked. "What happened?"

"...I... the alarm was..."

He trailed off, now taking in the rubble to deflect himself of the question, but the lord of negativity wasn't going to drop it so soon. Moving closer, Nightmare opened up the first kit.

"I'm going to clean up your head and you're going to explain to me what happened."

Error tensed, but the tone implied an unavoidable final. Nightmare began clearing away the marrow, surprisingly gentle as he cleared away liquid and flakes.

"It's fucking stupid," Error insisted.

"And when did we care about that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does."

With a sigh, Error closed his eyes. "The alarm was too loud."

"Oh."

"I just... I thought I was being attacked at first and then I heard the voices aga-"

"You heard voices?" Nightmare's hand froze above Error's skull, staring at him. Error turned away, picking at his shirt with quick movements, like he was digging through the threads, trying to find the one trying to unravel his being so he could keep together just a little bit longer.

"I haven't heard them for almost as long as we've had our agreement. I figured they were just gone but I think... I think my panic triggered them to come back? They scream and talk over each other and I hate them. They're loud and horrible and they always say awful shit about everything."

Nightmare let a sigh escape him. The rest of the patching up process was spent in silence, Nightmare mulling over this information as practiced hands wrapped bandages around the damaged, blackened skull and Error staring past his shoulder, looking exhausted and pained and waiting for the dust to lay claim to his body.

When he was finished, the two stood, the glitch unsteady but unwilling to deal with more physical contact, even through the blanket he wrapped around himself. They ventured through the forest of attacks (Nightmare caught Error's posture tightening further around himself with each one, choking on all the wrongs that could've happened) then into the hallway.

There didn't seem to be a single sound aside from the clamoring of cookware as the two approached the living room. Cross was curled into Killer's side on the couch, sandwiched in by Dust from behind. His skull pressed into Killer's chest as he stared at the floor, toying with the bandages lazily. From time to time, Killer would glide a hand over his head with a low hum or quick glance and Dust would stop Cross from damaging the bandages. They glanced up when Nightmare and Error came in, Cross making direct eye contact with Error.
The air was thick with something Nightmare didn't know how to describe.

Then Error looked down at Cross's hand and flinched back.

"...did... Did I do that?" He asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer.

"Error, it's okay," Cross muttered, bringing his pointer and middle finger to ghost along the bandaging, gaze never leaving the glitch's face.

"it's really n-"

"My hand will heal a lot easier than your head," Cross interrupted, a snap to his voice as his face hardened but, upon seeing Error curl in on himself some, dipped into softness once more.

"I'm sorry, bug. How's your head feeling?"

Outwardly not responding to the fairly new nickname, Error lightly kicked at the floor, socks clinging to the carpet. "Hurts like hell but it's fine."

"And how are you holding up?" Killer piped up.

"I'm okay."

"Are you really?"

Error didn't have an answer, Nightmare realized. Luckily, he didn't have to, as Horror shuffled into the living room, gripping a plate in his hands as he moved straight to the glitch. The ruby light of his eye seemed to have dulled with his worry over the smaller, blackened skeleton.

"They're chocolate chip," said Horror, nodding to the warm waffles before pushing them gently into Error until he took them. There was a brief nothingness in the air before Error sat down and began to pick through them, Horror watching the entire time like he was trying to ensure Error would throw them to the ground the moment he left.

Truly, no one else was any better.

When he was done, Horror took the plate before he could get up. Nightmare chased after him, letting him take care of the dish while he took the rest of the breakfast to the group. When Nightmare returned, Error had moved to his recliner, his shaky grasp wrapped around knitting needles while Dust was putting in a movie to watch.

Soon, everyone was settled in. And, as he looked around at tired faces, Nightmare decided that a day off was in order.

He would be lying if he said Error's tiny smile and relaxed posture didn't influence the decision.

(I mean, who wouldn't be happy to make Error feel safe?)

Chapter Text

As the last box of supplies was set on top of one the tables yet to be moved, Calico admired the small shop, with its large windows towards the front and the marble counter top they had made and lovely white tiles. He hadn't expected himself to continue through this line of work, but he found himself excited about it. Perhaps it had something to do with who he was doing it with?

Watching Holland step in, that brilliant, perfect smile brightening up his blue fur and his ears bobbing as he moved, Calico knew it had everything to do with him. Holland came to a stop next to him, putting his hands on his hips as his eyes wondered over their blank canvas, so bright with their future.

"This is perfect," Holland grinned, an arm drawing in the cat monster for a side hug as they both admired this new start.

"Once this place is all decorated, your nice creams will be the talk of this town," Calico stated, confidence in which he had previously lacked forced through his words, hopeful and knowing. No one would resist 'the cold treat that warms your heart'. Holland let out a breathy laugh, pulling away to twirl into the emptiness that would soon be filled with tables and booths, exhilaration dancing along his body, arching and buzzing within every little part of him. 

And Calico couldn't help his smile widening, leaning against the table, his own gaze fond.

"What're the name ideas?" He asked.

"I'm thinking The Snow Poff! I couldn't think of any cute and witty stuff involving bunnies and kitties," Holland admitted, halting his movements.

Calico hummed in response, considering the name for a brief second before placing his own input. "I like that. It's cute, just like you."

"Ha, you're pretty cute yourself, burger-flipper," Holland shot back, sliding back over to place a kiss against Calico's cheek.

"Not anymore, dorkface. I'm gonna be a nice cream vendor now and you can't stop me," he replied, jabbing a finger playfully into Holland's side, wringing out a beautiful laugh. Calico took his partner's hand, giving one last look over their new shop.

"Yeah, The Snow Poff is perfect," he admitted. "This is all perfect."

And, by the looks of it, Holland couldn't agree more.

Chapter Text

"This is stupid," Nightmare grumbled, scowling at those within his group currently within the living room. He even went out of his way to glare at Horror and Killer, both of which on the couch behind him, both gazing at him in amusement.

"It's not so bad," Dust laughed, adjusting Nightmare's hat almost lovingly. "At least we didn't have to force you into the costume."

Distantly, Error was heard screeching vulgarities with a vigor Nightmare had never witnessed from him before.

"It's because I know when to give up," he muttered, crossing his arms.

See, there was normally a moment of peace between most of the guardians and their groups for Halloween and an entire party was hosted at this little empty universe Ink repurposed specifically for this. It would be the first time Error would be joining them, or going at all, so his crew had insisted on a group costume theme.

So that's how he ended up with a suit and a dog catcher's patch stitched in, complete with one of this little thingies with hoops a dog catcher used (he hadn't the slightest clue what it was called, nor did he care) and a pretty fashionable cap. Dust, Killer, and Horror all sported headbands of dog ears and tails, accompanied by shirts, all varying colors to suggest they were all different breeds, slacks, and vests (to make it look cooler, Cross had explained). Horror's headband had a missing ear, since it couldn't span over the hole in his head, even with the other half taped on as it was. All of them were somewhat disheveled. They had even gotten muzzles, though they were waiting to put those on for the time being.

"I did it!" Cross cried. "I did it! I did it!"
He came in, dressed similarly to the rest of the gang, hauling Error by his own strings. The glitch looked even less pleased than Nightmare, comically adding to his costume. He wore a nice black fur coat over a white vest and black button up and slacks. A pair of tinted glasses rested on his nose. Finally, a pair of cat ears sat upon his skull, matching the black tail that had been forced upon him.

Dust whistled, eyeing Error. "You clean up nicely, Glitch."

"The fur coat was a nice touch. It looks good on him, too," Horror said, nodding his head as if needing to confirm what he said. Nightmare couldn't help but admire it, as well; he pulled off this kind of outfit incredibly well. In fact, everyone looked quite dashing in their vests and slacks. Error's cheeks were painted yellow, his glare now daggers glinting in the light.

"I hate all of you," he hissed (much to everyone's amusement).

"I warned you. You should've just put it on by yourself," Nightmare laughed, shrugging. "Now my diginity isn't as damaged."

"Hey, hey, at least we all look cool," Dust pointed out, as if this really mattered to the two.

"That we do!" Cross said, practically glowing in pride. It had apparently been his idea, which Dust refined a bit. Nightmare wasn't entirely sure how the hell he managed to get the other two to go along with it as seemlessly as they had, but they had and here they all were.

"I should've just slaughtered all of you," Error grumbled, though there wasn't much behind those words anymore. It was amazing that they had become so important to the glitch. Nightmare was pleased to, at the very least, be able to call him a friend, even if he, as well as his other partners, wished they could call him something more.

For now, though, he was just happy to have someone else to suffer with.

Dust scooped up his muzzle from the coffee table. "Let's get these on and head out. I actually kinda like these parties."
With some team work, the muzzles were fastened on to each 'dog', and the group left the hideout.

Just like every Halloween, Nightmare somehow ended up talking to Dream and Ink. Perhaps it was the similar statuses, along with whatever came with those titles and powers, they shared. Perhaps for this same reason, Error was by his side, his arms crossed, and his sharp gaze sweeping over the mass of monsters all conversing, dancing, and eating.

"You don't usually dress up, Nightmare," Dream muttered, leaning against a wall. He was dressed as some kind of Greek god, complete with a small set of feathered wings, a toga with a white-almost black gradient and glinting rhinestones, as well as fake gold accessories. A crown of poppies rested upon his skull.

"Well, sometimes you can't stop stupid," Nightmare replied, managing to keep the coldness from his voice. Even he wanted to have a good time; starting anything would only ruin this.

"Error makes a cute kitty," Ink snorted, sitting on one of the many (mismatched) chairs, this one pulled from the food tables. The artist was dressed as Bob Ross, afro and all. It was... Well, it kind of was funny, not that he'd admit it.

"I will kill you."

"That's the Halloween spirit!"

Nightmare had to hold Error back. He even pretended to scratch behind the other's fake ears, cooing, which resulted in a very good punch to his chest. The other two both let out loud laughter as a result.

"This is betrayal. Absolute betrayal and I will never forgive you!" Error yelled as he walked off, his arms thrown into the air. "NEVER!"

"That costume really fits him," Dream mused, grinning at the glitch's back as he disappeared.

"This theme really fits all of you," Ink chirped. "Nightmare and his strays."

Nightmare agreed, but he wouldn't admit it.

Chapter Text

His bed wasn't necessarily comfortable. The mattress was old and lumpy. The blankets and pillows were worn, the threads sticking out and little patches of equally torn fabric feeling rough. It felt scratchy and too firm.

Yet, here Carmine was, curled under the blankets like a fist; an image with more fight than he personally had anymore. His curtains were drawn, his alarm clock was on the floor, the cord having choked itself until the red numbers were no more so he didn't know how long he'd been there.

But he found he didn't care.

The world was awash in charcoal blooms of exhaustion. Sleep did not come easily, so he had to admire each stab of gray in full. He'd study the shades until he couldn't stand it anymore in a check-list. Then he'd go through it all over again. He had nothing to do, really.

Well, he did, but, well...

He couldn't convince himself to do them.

Camrine rolled onto his other side, blurrily staring at the white, empty surface with white, empty eyes. The ceiling fan whirled noisily above him, the chains clicking together in off beat masses of nothing. That was the noise most of the time.

His phone on the nightstand would sometimes light up with missed calls and texts and emails and those stupid app notifications reminding him to play or read or whatever despite him having not used them for months. Useless little breaks in his solitude before the glow faded and sent him into the monotone passage of time, alone.

In fact, his phone vibrated just now. Short, signalling a text. Carmine hadn't read any of them but, like before, he considered rolling over again and looking.

The thought, like always, left his limbs turning to stone. Too heavy, too stiff to use.

Then came the cry of a call. Drawn out, loud, cutting through the mostly silence of his tired room in the buzzing little ribbons of sound. It died but arose from its ashes not even five seconds later.

Carmine still didn't move, not even after the third, forth, or fifth time.

There wasn't a sixth, much to Carmine's relief. Just quiet that would allow him to zone out on the wall.

How long, he absently wondered, had he been in bed, in his apartment, wandering into the kitchen to not eat or drink anything, to his living room to just sit and scroll on his phone, to the bathroom to not bathe, and to his room to not sleep? How much longer will he continue?

There was hum of magic. Certainly not his own, if the blue flash against the pale walls had a say.

"Carm'?" Sans' voice was always soft. It felt like background noise, soothing and sweet. The bed dipped and hands grabbed at him (Carmine shuddered, holding back a distressed yelp. Luckily, the fear faded), turning him until he faced Sans, all pinched up in his muted worry.

Sans was the most subtle about his emotions. His tells were difficult to find; he was often tense, though hidden bu his laid back posture, smile, and hoodie, so tenseness wasn't the best indicator. For Carmine, he looked at two things: Sans' hands and his eyelights.

When Sans was worried, and his hands were free, his thumb ran the length of his ring finger, like messing with a metal band that would be found there. His eyelights lost their perfect defined shape, as well as opacity. 

"What's up?" Sans asked, leaning over him. Dulled eyes scooped over every part of Carmine, making him feel self-conscious. "Everyone's worried about you."

"nothin'. Been busy, is all," Carmine mumbled, wincing with the rough sound of his voice.

"Busy lying around?"

Carmine didn't answer the non-question. Sans nodded knowingly, bringing a hand to run over Carmine's skull. he was weak to this form of affection, with Sans and Stretch most definitely using it whenever they could. Carmine's sockets shut, feeling the warmth move from his frontal bone to occipital in slow strokes.

"Have you been eating?"

Carmine shrugged. The soothing pets disappeared, causing him to whine.

"Let's order a pizza, then. On me."

"Didn't know pizza places had a tab."

It was a meek jab, an attempt to show that he was okay. He didn't know if it was for Sans or himself.

"They do if you're cool," Sans remarked an an emphasis on 'cool'.

Carmine opened his eyes, letting out a snort. He pushed the other a bit.

"Only thin' cool you know is snow, was o' free EXP."

"Forgot ice," Sans replied, his grin widening. Carmine laughed, shaking his head a bit.

"Fucknut."

"Yeah, well, this fucknut's hungry. What kinda pizza do you want?"

"Meat lover's."

"You would say that." Sans quipped. Carmine sat up, shoving him from the bed. The 'tale verse skeleton stumbled, laughing as he regained his balance.

"You've upgraded from fucknut to fuckhead." Carmine said solemnly.

"Hell yeah," Sans chuckled, grabbing Carmine's hand and pulling him from the mattress.

"Is not a good thing."

"It is when you're cool."

Carmine shot him a disappointed look, which only got a goofy smile in response. The two made it into the living room, where Carmine was shoved onto the couch and his phone pressed into his hands.

"Text your bro that you're okay. You really scared him."

"I... did...?"

"Yeah. Papyrus couldn't even calm him. We were all worried about you but him? He was terrified."

Carmine rubbed the screen with his thumbs. He felt guilt swell up.

"Tell him you're alive, 'kay? You don't have to have a conversation right now."

He nodded, listening to Sans walk into the kitchen to call in an order of pizza.

With a sigh, he clicked the device on. it said he'd disappeared for four days. From constant contact to absolutely nothing; for a 'Fell monster, it was a reason for concern.

He opened the messages from Edge. The new ones ranged from lengthy threats to pleading.

The last one read 'Sans, please be alive'.

Carmine's soul twisted painfully.

He shot of a reply: 'hey sorry im alive'.

While he waited, he looked at his missed calls and other messages. Stretch sent him some stupid memes and a picture of Blue drawing on a sleeping Sans' face. The angle suggested Blue didn't he'd been caught. Said 'Swap had invited him to dinner and sent a recipe. Papyrus' messages were daily like Edge's, though they were inspirational quotes and updates, so Carmine didn't usually text back. Sans had sent some jokes (they had a joke war going) but, after the fifth one, he'd sent a 'u good' and then some question marks. Razz sent one message, a simple threat for if he didn't pick up his phone. Slim and him didn't talk much so it was no surprise he had nothing from him.

All the calls were from his brother. he didn't listen to the voice mails.

A buzz signified a response. By this time, Sans had finished ordering and had come to plop down beside him.

'Oh thank stars you're alive!'

That wasn't what he was expecting. He thought there'd be insults and threats.

'I had thought someone had killed, you, Sans.'

'Or that you had dusted yourself. I was so worried!'

His brother thought... oh, stars...

'im sorry, bro. im okay. just going thru sum stuff'

'Don't you dare scare me like that again!'

'im so sorry'

'Just text next time? As great an powerful as I am, I am not skilled in emotional support! But!!! I can try!!! At least text so I'm not obsessing over you like I was.'

He smiled at this.

'of course. im sorry again.'

'I can forgive you!!'

After relaying his plans to his brother, Carmine let out a soft sound, leaning against Sans, who started that lovely petting again.

"Better?" Sans asked in a whisper.

"Better." Carmine mumbled, closing his eyes again.

Stars, he was so lucky.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t crying.

No, of course Carmine wasn’t crying. Carmine didn’t cry. He didn’t feel anything but anger; his brother could attest to that! He didn’t cry.

He wasn’t crying.

No matter what the pale red magic dripping from his eyes meant, whatever they said, no matter how much his shoulders shook, no matter how hard he was hugging himself, he wasn’t crying.

He wasn’t.

The park blurred out past his sight, even with his glasses on. THe sun was just beginning to give into the horizon’s beckoning, teasing the time to set. Despite his, the park was surprisingly empty, a small herd of kids at the playground and three couples on the distant path to the river.

Carmine was nestled into some bushes, the old bench seemingly forgotten. He was shielded from anyone who wasn’t looking.

Was anyone looking?

He bit back a sob. He wasn’t pathetic, he wasn’t crying.

He wasn’t.

He had a bouquet next to him. Violets and pansies, a single white mum, massive in size, bloomed into the center. A box of chocolates and a box tied neatly with purple ribbon crowded the flowers, all of which leaned against a fuzzy teddy. The sight made his head spin. He grabbed the teddy, letting the boxes clatter and shift as part of the support was stolen from them. His thumbs brushed over the face, and red pittered onto its stomach.

Was anyone looking?

He wasn’t crying.

It felt like he sat there for years, choking on whatever it was caught in his throat. Surely the tears on his cheeks were from that. Surely.

But, soon, his stifled sobs and the wind wasn’t the only thing in the little bubble he found himself in.

Footsteps, rapidly hitting the grass and ragged breath. Carmine blinked some clarity into the world just as someone rounded the corner of the path obscured by bushes.

It was Candy, his clothes, consisting of a pink-white button up, maroon skinny jeans, a white jacket, and matching gloves and ribbon-turned necklace, rumbled, sporting a bruise on his cheek. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Carmine, I- oh, honey, are you crying?”

Carmine cringed back, shoving the teddy bear to his other side as he quickly wiped his cheeks using his sleeves. He had dressed up, too, a gray-blue turtleneck and black jeans, but the clothes had only grown more uncomfortable as he sat waiting.

“N-no.” He muttered, dropping his hand down to his lap where it tangled with its twin and gripped. Candy got down in front of him, brows creased upward in worry.

“Please don’t lie to me. Please, just let me help you,” he whispered sweetly.

“Where were you?” Carmine asked instead of acknowledging the words.

“I… I was getting something for you and,” Candy gestured to his new bruise, “I met someone a little unsavory. I was going to call you but my phone was taken away after the fiasco. I’m so, so sorry I was late.”

Carmine shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Candy said firmly. “...is that what’s got you down? Me being late?”

Carmine wanted to say no. But a rope of tension snapped inside him and he hiccuped.

“I thought you weren’t coming. I thought you just… left,” He murmured, his grip tightening on himself as his breaths came more labored. Little, hot puffs of hair that brought no relief to the warm soup of emotions he was feeling.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t ever do that to you,” Candy’s own hands now hovered over Carmine’s but he didn’t make contact. It was a question, one in which Carmine wasn’t sure he couldn’t answer. Still, looking into Candy’s eyes, he nodded, anyway, and his hands were carefully parted to be taken into Candy’s.

“I know,” he whimpered. “I know. It’s so stupid. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not. I promise, you’re not.”

Carmine dropped his head, taking perhaps a minute too long to calm down just enough to keep talking. “My last… they did that. Every Valentines. You’re not them. You’re not. How could I think otherwise?”

“You’re hurt. That’s all,” Candy gave a gentle squeeze before a hand snaked up, along with his body, until it wrapped around Carmine’s shoulders, bringing him down for an awkward hug. “It’s okay, Carmine. I’m not going to just leave you. I promise.”

Carmine didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Candy seemed to understand him, untangling and standing up. 

“Let’s go to my house? I think I left our food there, anyway. We can watch some movies…” 

The scarred skeleton got up, his legs trembling under his weight, as his arms gathered the items he’d brought. Though the intent of the gifts were clear, Candy did not ask about them, did not allow his gaze to catch on them for more than a second, instead focusing on Carmine’s face, watching the little expressions ripple over the surface. 

“Y’think Blue n’ ‘em would wanna come over for some Cards?” Carmine asked, tiredly, as their feet began to move along the dirt path. Candy hummed, putting his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe. Glitchy’s not much of a romancer, anyway.”

Carmine snorted loudly. “Tha’s an overstatement.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad. Can’t be any worse than your brother, anyway.”

A laugh ripped from Carmine’s throat. Candy lit up visibly at the sight, mouth twisting upward further, as if the very sound was enough to lift him up enough to make a difference. 

And that was enough for Carmine’s soul to ease into something less harsh than the panic from earlier.

“I’d like to see him play Cards Against Humanity,” he added with a soft chuckle.

“Oooh, me too.”

Soon, they reached Candy’s apartment. Candy unlocked the door, letting Carmine in first. The basket that had been for their picnic sat on the coffee table, dressed up with ribbon and fake flowers. Shutting the door, Candy ushered Carmine to take a seat on the couch, plopping down next to him shortly after.

“So, I have something for you.”

“Was it the thing that you got punched over?”

“Yes, in fact,” Candy almost said this proudly, receiving an eye roll in return. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a brown box, polished, inlaid with beautiful colors, forming an ornate heart with two birds. A bow, along with a fake flower, was hastily tied one, a signature of Candy that Carmine quietly adored. It was presented to him on shaky hands. 

He took it carefully. It felt light, but as it made contact with his hand, he felt a knob on the bottom… a music box? He ignored it for now, working the bow off carefully. Candy seemed to have grown tense beside him.

Carmine worked the lid open once the decor was off. His breath caught.

A small patch of foam sat in the small compartment between the wall of the music box and the container in which the mechanics lay. Nestled into it was a small, silver ring, completed with a little amethyst, surrounded by two tinier rubies. The music itself must’ve been wound up already, the soft melody trickling into the air with the grace and beauty of a small rivulet, tucking back in the forest, feeding into a little pond, begging those around it to listen, to watch.

And Carmine did. But he didn’t know what to say. 

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring, if you don’t want it to be,” Candy whispered. His voice had always been musical, soft peels of notes that rarely broke or trembled when they shouldn’t. Even now, when it shouldn’t, it was, and it was somehow still the tune Carmine would rather hear than the music box. 

Though, the shaky sound was still something Carmine would rather soothe back into the smooth tone.

“It can just be a gift or… or a promise ring. Whatever you want it to be,” he continued, gaze focused on the ring, not Carmine’s face. 

The scarred skeleton traced his finger over the foam, never touching the ring, as if it’d ripple away as soon as he did, revealing this was a dream and he’d just fallen asleep in the park, waiting for a lover who wasn’t coming.

“Are you serious about this?” he asked after a long minute. Candy, by this point, had taken to his voice’s behavior, trembling next to him. Waiting. Afraid.

“Of course. I wouldn’t do something like this if I wasn’t,” came the quiet reply. It was strained. Carmine felt bad; he didn’t mean to be keeping Candy on edge like this.

“You really want to be with me like that?” Carmine finally looked at Candy, searching for any possible wrongs, any shifts, anything that would prove this a prank.
“I really, really do,” Candy insisted, placing a hand on Carmine’s arm. “I love you.”

Somehow, that’s all Carmine needed. He took the ring out and slid it on, studying the way the light danced over the surfaces of the gems. It was pretty, a little too pretty for his gnarled hand, what with the teeth marks and painful grooves and the white that had turned gray some time ago. 

“It’d look nicer on your hand,” Carmine said, his tone twisted up into amusement.

“I think it looks perfect,” Candy breathed out, as if stunned.

“Engagement ring… I like that.”

Before he could even say anything else, Candy launched himself into Carmine, pulling the edgier skeleton in his arms with a brilliant laugh. He was basically silenced with kisses, excited and relieved and just so, so happy.

Carmine caused all that? Candy deserved it, though.

It took awhile for Candy to pull back. His smile was wide enough that Carmine was scared his face would split.

“You really made what I got you look dumb,” Carmine said with a chuckle, reaching around to poke the teddy bear. 

“I think not,” the other shot back, taking the bear into his arms and giving it a squeeze. “I think it’s adorable.”

“The box has a necklace in it, by the way.”

“Oh?”

Carmine forked over the box he brought. The necklace was really just a choker, white in color with a blue gem framed by silver in the center. A bow sat under the gem, the remainder dangling off the choker. Candy was quick to put it on, cuddling up to Carmine as soon as he was done.

“I love you,” he said again. It sounded like he meant to say he loved the gifts, but was distracted by Carmine’s existence. That made Carmine’s soul flutter.

“I… I love you, too,” he murmured. A second later, he spoke again. 

“Enough of this sappy stuff. We should eat… then beat some ass later in some Cards.”

Candy laughed. “I fully agree.”

(later, no one mentioned the ring, so clear on Carmine. But Blue looked at both of them with a sense of pride, enough to make up for Error unexpectedly slaughtering them in the first and second games.)

Chapter Text

Error knew, intimately, what it was like to be trapped and truly alone.

It had been a matter of remembering, really. He knew the quivering dark that seemed to shift uneasily with a conscious or with beasts writhing just out of sight. He knew the blinding light, cold and unwavering in its assault. He knew the way sound would bend in each environment, would crack and echo out before returning like a boomerang. He knew the feeling of each startling well, the way the dark curled into his chest, so full it ached, or the light would cram down his throat and choke him or how they both felt heavy enough to shatter his bones so, honestly, he was surprised his body hadn't just caved into itself.

So, yes, he knew well what being trapped and alone felt like.

At least... he thought he did.

It was important to Error to keep track of the time. Not just the time in passing, the kind that tugged him through the day, but the exact number of years, months, days, sometimes even hours between one event to another one. For example, six years and eight months ago, he, along with Ink, Dream, and Nightmare, agreed on a treaty. He kissed Star exactly five years ago. He remembered his life as Geno three years and six months ago. He cried into Reaper's arms three years and one month ago. Subtract a day and that was how long Reaper had been with them. Three months ago, Reaper had found a home for them; three rooms, two bathrooms, a yard with a tree perfect for the swing Error had already started making, a nice kitchen, a basement...

It really was beautiful. 

And, yet...

Really, Error loved their bedroom. They had a nice big bed with a canopy because Reaper liked to block out as much light as possible as he woke up and Star was still a little sensitive to the brightness so, when it got too much, he'd close the canopy and curly up under the blankets, listening to the muted sounds of the world outside of the room. Reaper slept closer to the window, so Error got to open his side up and he had a nightlight plugged in nearby so they made it work. They had such nice nightstands, too, with drawers with lovely handles that curled up like leaves or petals. Error's side had a flashlight, books, his glasses, and his knitting needles. All the yarn was tucked into the biggest drawer. 

They had a carpet, too. Soft and a deep blue. The walls were off white with a baby blue stripe at the bottom. Really, the nightstands looked really nice. They picked them out well.

That's why he was staring at it. 

By this time, 4:48 PM on a Thursday, Error would've gone to some dumb meeting about the multiverse, come home, knitted for a bit, maybe read, then helped Star by planning out dinner.

He hadn't gotten out of bed today.

He hadn't done anything today. 

He tried to convince himself to move. His boyfriends would expect him to do something. Wasn't it his turn to do the laundry? Star really needed that one outfit cleaned for his presentation tomorrow... He'd worked hard on it and the grade would put him in a good place, especially with his hard ass teacher. He couldn't let him down. He had to get up.

He closed his eyes, sighing softly into the silence. Star's class would end at 4:55. He'd likely take a shortcut home. Reaper normally came back around 5:30. Time was a leaf that had escaped the tree, trickling past with the aid of the wind and he simply couldn't keep up. He opened his eyes and it'd be 4:53. He blinked and the minute's hand gone up by one. 

Blink. It was 4:56.

Blink. 4:59. Star was a bit late.

Blink. 5:05.

Star was home. His footsteps echoed outside of the room. The door flew open and there was one of his boyfriends, smiling at him.

The pressure on his chest didn't lessen. 

Error didn't know about the kind of trapped that chained you to your bed.

And he certainly didn't know about the loneliness that came when someone was around.

Chapter Text

 Reaper watched Geno sink into Life's lap, neatly tucked behind her arms with that brilliant, beautiful smile Reaper always craved to see. One of his hands reached out to hold one of Reaper's gloved ones, phalanges entangled like slots fitted for one another perfectly. His own grin, always so small but this time packed with the genuine delight and love he felt, fell onto his features and Life's own lips were curled upward, her eyes soft and warm, glinting sweetly in the light of the little sanctuary of her own creating.

"It's always such a delight when you come to visit," Life practically purred, one of her great mitts lifting to rub little circles into Geno's skull, effectively getting him to lean into the touch with a pleased little hum.

"Really? I'm glad I make a killer guest," Geno replied, his sockets half-lidded. While Reaper simply chuckled, Life got a hearty laugh, having to stop her movements. After she settled and began, they fell into silence, just contented to share this peace with one another. Unfortunately, it was short lived. Reaper knew it was time to leave when the joy melted from Geno's face, replaced a sense of urgency and tinted with slight annoyance, tired and bitter in its nature, enough for even Reaper to taste it. Plus, even in the timelessness of Life's home, it seemed that it did less to soothe Geno's pain than even the Load Screen.

Reaper helped peel Geno from Life, steadying him as he wobbled. 

"Why don't you stay, Geno, dear? I can help with the pain," Life offered, her voice heavy with sadness from the mere thought of one of her lovers leaving, despite this scene playing out so many times before. Geno leaned into Reaper's side, his own expression bittersweet.

"I have something to do still," Geno muttered, "But, as soon as I'm done, I'll come back, okay? I'll live here, with you two. I promise."

And those words echoed as Reaper escorted him out.

"I promise."

Three months later, Geno disappeared.

 He wasn't completely sure how long, exactly, since Geno had vanished when Error rose from the crevices of all that was awful in the worlds. It had been even longer since the glitch had begun raining down chaos in shuttering little step he took, filling SOULs with newfound terror. Reaper had decided he hated Error. Error forced him too work even harder, all while he had to balance the intense longing and sadness that filled Geno's spot. Life hated him even more.

Everything was quiet right now. Reaper sat with Life, both quiet as Life methodically nurtured her namesake into the plants around her. Reaper was content in just watching her, thankful for even this small distraction.

A sharp, static-y sound arose in the air. The two gods snapped their heads to the source; a glitching, sputtering portal that spat out the very skeleton Reaper had taken to loathing. The Destroyer fell back with a low, pained grunt, facing away from him. There was shouting, his body responding with shivers, even as he forced if closed. His body spazzed, pieces of him disappearing and appearing in all the entirely wrong places and his breathing was incredibly labored. Both Reaper and Life remained still, unsure of what to do. 

A slow minute crawled on, digging its claws near desperately, the only sound being Error’s raspy breathes and something akin to a sob that, on occasion, escaped him. Reaper wondered, briefly, if Error was capable of crying or if it was just a weird sound that came with the glitching. Nonetheless, after this minute, Error’s head began to swivel side to side, molasses coated movements. 

“Where...?” His voice was grating, filled with static and odd beeps. It was twinged with a tired sort of fear. Slowly, he pushed himself forward into a proper sorting position. With his back facing them, Reaper couldn’t see the glitch’s hands but knew he was moving them.

”Do I... know this place?” He whispered. Life bristled beside Reaper, the shock finally falling away.

”you do not belong here!” She hissed out. Error twisted until he was he was facing them. In his panic, he’d summoned a bone in one hand, the other resting in the shadows of his hunched over form. The sharp end of his attack was pointed at them, his arm shaking, his sockets faintly obscured by errors.

”Whose there?” He gasped out, expression hinting of fear and determination to survive. Reaper’s mind twisted it into his lost lover, much to his disgust.

Life opened her mouth, only to shut it as Error’s arm fell some, his face smoothing into confusion. He emitted a high pitched whine that had Reaper jolting up and moving closer to the glitch without much thought. His movement made Error cringe back, his weapon once more pointed at the god. 

”stay back!” He forced out, now apparently  recognizing them, if his sneer of annoyance (and longing that Reaper refused to acknowledge in the least). “I die when I say I die, you hear me?”

The phrase had Reaper grasping for Geno in his mind. No doubt Life was in the same boat. Geno uttered those words often enough for them to be ingrained into the memory of who he was; a stubborn, determined skeleton with a goal. 

But Reaper almost didn’t want to know Error’s goal. It meant nothing to him and so it would remain lost upon him.

however, Reaper found he couldn’t summon the same anger as his remaining partner, what with those words echoing in his skull.

”I’m not going to reap you.”

Error didn’t immediately react. They watched as the glitch completely lowered his weapon after another tense moment. 

“Let’s make a deal,” the death god offered. He could feel Life’s gaze on him, burning with her questions. “We won’t harm you and you leave and never come back.”

it wasn't necessarily the best terms, but Error appeared to actually consider it. Another soul beat quiet came before he nodded his head in agreement. Reaper held out his hand to seal the deal, though the other simply stared at it before summoning a pale, dull string (there was a flare up of magic behind him when the other skeleton did so), using it to wrap around Reaper’s hand to signify a handshake. Reaper couldn’t help the confused expression, though he wouldn’t receive an answer to his unspoken inquiry.

With that completed, Error slow forced himself to stand, unfurling from his defensive position. Pained sounds dripped from his mouth as he maneuvered and, once he was completely upright, Reaper realized why, bringing a sense of cold, broken misery upon him. He even heard Life give a soft gasp.

From his left clavicle to the start of his false ribs on his right side, Error sported a bloody, painful cut. His legs shook and he swayed, his ragged breathing returning full force. He manhandled his bone attack into something longer, serving as a cane to lean on.

Before he could do much else, he was sent into a coughing fit, muffled by his hand. Marrow dripped from his teeth thereafter. 

He turned again, shuffling a bit forward to give himself space. Reaper watched as he presumably lifted his hand and flicked his wrist to open a portal.

All that came was Error falling to his knees with an agonized cry and a quick period of harsh glitching. After that, the Destroyer turned back around, wheezing with the very effort of such a movement in his state. Despite the obvious pain, which likely dipped everything into fuzzy, parody paintings of reality, he seemed sharp, ready to defend himself. 

Life surprisingly took forward, whilst the death god simply sat back. He recalled that, despite everything, she was still soft towards the living (in their universe, they were her children. Outside of it, they were someone else's and who was she to harbor ill will to another person's child?). She moved purposely but Reaper could tell she had something inside her, trying to pull her back, to stop her. But she didn't cease walking until before Error, who flinched as she drew near.

"We will not hurt you," She said, likely surprising herself with her words.

"But-"

"We did not specify when you had to leave. It is clear you are too hurt to do so."

Error eyed her, "I shouldn't trust you."

"Then be that-"

"But I do. I don't... understand."

And, really, none of them could.

At some point, Error had managed to pull himself into the depths of a decent sized groove within the sanctuary that had a beautiful, flowery overhang and plush grass. Reaper easily recalled Geno doing the same in the beginning and whenever things got too much for him. 

Why did Error remind him so much of his missing piece?

They had to wait until Error had passed out for them to be able to get him out and bandage his wounds, finding much smaller injuries that had been forgotten in the tense atmosphere. During this, there was a feeling of urgency, a need to get the job done. For one, neither wanted to interact with the glitch more than they had to (though Life drew the short straw, thanks to Reaper’s inability to handle the living). Secondly, the risk of the other waking up and freaking out looked over them with a steady, spotlight-like gaze.

Once that was done, Life carefully rolled the glitch back into his hiding place and left them to go think. Reaper didn't mind (it had nothing to do with the odd declaration of trust earlier, honestly, nor the memories of Geno. Rather, the knowledge that Error, despite his supposed power, could do nothing to the god in his state is what made him willing to take this post). 

It felt like an eternity had stretched out in dull slews of nothingness thoughts and bits of remembrances that coiled up in messy heaps, compacted so small he could imagine the strings of these distant echos fitting between the microscopic space between his hands when he pushed them together.

Strings, he thought, wasn't the best metaphor for what he was trying to grasp onto. Not now, not with Error here.

Speaking of the glitch, there was a low whine from the shallow dark he sat beside. His stare moved accordingly, observing, with some difficulty, as the black bones shifted and a pair of fuzzy, mismatched eyelights appeared. Reaper easily met the other's eyes, his own single pale orb no doubt bringing a sense of quiet judgement. 

Oddly, the other was the one who broke this brief contact.

"You're awake," Reaper mumbled.

"I'm awake. Do I get a trophy or something?" Error said dryly. Something about it sounded more like his SOUL wasn't into it.

"How are you feeling?" Reaper asked instead of some teasing remark that he couldn't even decipher in his own head right now. There was no response.

Reaper decided he wouldn't ask again. Error would just leave when he was able to, anyway.

"Can you," Error took a deep breath, almost like he regretted speaking up, "Can you just act normally?"

The god tilted his head slightly, a quiet prompt. The other looked frustrated.

"You're not acting like you!"

"We haven't even talked before this. You know nothing about me."

"But something's telling me that this isn't you. You're..." Error trailed off, the hush lodging into Reaper's throat and leaving a sad taste in his mouth.

 Neither of them found anymore words to share.

"I need to change your bandages," Life stressed, the third time within ten minutes. Her (rather unwelcome) guest just fell back further into his chosen safe spot, his arms crossed and hovering over his chest. There was a conflicted look to his features that Life honestly didn't have half the mind needed to understand at the moment. Her patience was wearing thin as it was.

"Do you want it to get worse?" She snapped, her hands on her hips. In response, Error flinched, turning his head to the side, anything to apparently avoid her gaze. "Come on!"

"I can do it myself," He muttered indignantly.

She rolled her eyes with a frustrated sigh, "No you can't. You wouldn't wrap the gauze correctly."

Error finally shot her a withering look, his eyes slowly moving to stare at her fluffy hands. His frowned deepened considerably but, seemingly picking up on Life's dwindling tolerance, he finally peeled himself from the shadows and waddled out. Life noted that he still summoned a bone to help keep himself steady, but it looked more stable now, for sure. She directed him to sit down, following suit only once he had done what was required of him.

He slowly peeled away his sweater, the shirt long since been trashed. She couldn't tell if it was his pain or his reluctance that held back his movements. 

Nonetheless, as soon as his sweater was gone, Life began pulling off the current bandages. His breathing hitched and his body began to glitch, much to her surprise. She pulled her hands away, as though burned, as he simply hid his face in his hands. After a moment, she decided to get it over with and push onward with her work.

The more she touched him, the more his body seemed to shatter. Shards of what made Error himself breaking off, going to all the wrong places. That's what she pieced together about him. He was wrong, everything about him was wrong, he didn't fit in the least and, yet, there was something about him...

She laced some healing magic into the new set of bandages and began wrapping it. Strangely, the wound didn't immediately begin to glow green (a sign that the magic was working). Rather, it gradually began to light up, sometimes flickering out before starting anew. 

she didn’t ask.

when she finally was finished, he made a high pitched pinging sound before he slumped over. Despite knowing there was something concerning by this, she just put him back into his hiding place and left.

(it was cruel, Life knows. But the more she helped him, the more attached she’d grow and she couldn’t handle that.

she just couldn’t.)

Reaper sat next to Error's hideaway until the other awoke. Error did this slowly, taking his time to blink, to turn his head and take in his surroundings like he had to remind himself where he was, feeling along the sides of his miniature cave, and then stopping, those strange sockets narrowing somewhat. 

Error pulled what looked like glasses out, which was confirmed as he unfolded them and slid them on. Reaper couldn't help the surprise that gathered within him about this trivial but new fact that came to life.

"You wear glasses?" He muttered, reeling with just how shocked he sounded. Error peered back at him in confusion, still gripping the sides of the frame, like he had to stop to gather himself once more and piece together what to say and do. The lenses looked a little roughed up, likely having taken beatings during fights, though Reaper was surprised it wasn't actually too bad.

"Is that weird?" Error questioned, his fingers slowly unfurling and dropping to his lap as he blinked owlishly to his forced companion.

"Well, no," Reaper started, sheepishly grinning at the other. "I just didn't expect it, that's all."

"That's an odd thing to be surprised about." The tone suggested no judgement. It was just a statement, something to say to keep from falling into a hush that was growing tiring.

"You look good in them," was the god's reply, much to his dismay. Though, it wasn't wrong; the red frames popped out against Error's dark bones but matched his colors nicely, anyway. His sockets looked wider, more innocent, supported by his surprised and curious expression, behind the glass. He was rather cute, actually, almost enough to make Reaper forget what he'd done. 

"I don't like those kinds of jokes," Error murmured lowly, his manner schooled into a clearly false annoyed state, covering up confusion and perhaps hurt.

Reaper tilted his head to the should, brows furrowed. "That wasn't a joke."

The glitch's face suggested his disbelief. "I don't think you should be saying stuff like that, Reaper. It's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

"..."

Error shifted so his back was to Reaper, a low, pained sound emitting before he settled.

"I think... I think you should go."

And, despite everything, Reaper left.

Life had this pond, fed by this little stream. Its water was crystal clear, fresh enough to drink. Fish danced through, cutting past whatever foliage grew there. With Reaper at its edge, there's a spot where nothing went, nothing grew. The wild grass at its edge wilted within his presence and, yet, he still sat there, watching with his hollow eyes. Despite the vibrant life that surrounded him and his blackened spot, everything felt dull.

Even Life herself, poised across the pond, her paws dipped with the water, letting the fish dance along her palms and her fur flow slowly, moved only by the gentle creatures contained within the liquid.

"Are we going to talk about him?" Life asked, her head still lowered, her gaze still elsewhere. But Reaper only watched her.

"Which 'him'?" Reaper inquired, his fingers twirling one of his ropes, making a pattern that only his body seemed to know.

"...maybe we should talk about both."

"Maybe."

Finally, her head went up, her ears shifting. Her fur always looked soft, silky, like she spent hours caring for it. It made her look softer and, sometimes, smaller. "Error reminds me of... of him. I know I am not the only one who has fallen victim to this affect."

Reaper's movements stopped, a shuddering sigh escaping him.

"I don't understand. He's... he's so much like him, Life."

"You have spent more time with him than I, Reaper. You have more answers."

"It hurts."

"I know," Life breathed, "I know."

Reaper was amazed how many times he's found himself sitting outside of Error's little hidey-hole. He told himself he was merely curious about the glitch, outside the strange familiar feeling the other presented. He was here so Reaper might as well ask questions, right?

(Except, before, he told himself he wouldn't ask any. Because he didn't want to know the destroyer. He didn't care about the destroyer. He didn't want to get attached.)

(But he almost felt he had grown attached.)

"Have you ever tried knitting?" Error asked. Something cleared in Reaper, as if he'd been lost in his own head. Maybe he had been, drowning in the silence between the two, his mind twisting off into mist and foggy thoughts. His gaze watched Error fiddle methodically with his strings, which, compared to when he first saw them up close, appeared to glow with an almost healthy cyan.

"Can't say I have," Reaper replied.

"It pisses me off," Error said, his face contorting slightly into a small scowl. "That's why I keep trying."

"You hate it, so you keep doing it?"

"I'm going to conquer it. I think I'm getting pretty good now."

Reaper cocked his head, chuckling. "You're really are something else."

"I'm going to pretend that's a good thing," Error responded cheekily, his hands pausing as he looked at Reaper, the light catching on the glass lens contained in the vermilion frames.

("You're really something else," Reaper laughed, his hand grasping Geno's, which had a torn piece of Reaper's cloak tied around it in a very, very shoddy glove. Geno's face was lit up with a cocky little grin.

"I'm going to pretend that's a good thing.")

Despite the bullet wound to his soul, Reaper kept smiling. It somehow lessened the sting.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were Geno's brother." The words slipped out without a thought, coming out like they'd shoved past a blockade in his throat.

Something in Error changed. It wasn't necessarily bad, simply... contemplative. Confused. And, when Reaper looked a second time, there was recognizance within his features.

"Geno... Geno... I know that name," Error muttered, tilting his head to the side. "Who is Geno?"

Before the god could stop himself, his voice sputtered forth. "He was Life's and my partner. He disappeared... a long time ago..."

"Disappeared? He didn't die?"

"...he didn't die."

Error looked like he believed him. There was something else there, too, but neither could decipher it.

"You started your...job not long after."

"Oh."

"You remind me of him."

Error didn't respond for a long while.

Life unwrapped the bandages, this time careful not to touch Error. She was pleased to see that he was getting better. Perhaps he was almost done healing? Then he'd leave.

(And he'd never come back. He'll never bring that frustrating feeling of love back.)

"You're healing well," Life remarked to her patient. She had to resist placing one of her massive paws against his chest, too pat his head, to give him some form of affection. He didn't deserve it, she figured.

"one step closer from never seeing me again, huh?" Error said, sounding amused. "You'll never to deal with me again."

It would be cruel to respond in agreement. So she didn't. She studied his injuries, instead.

"I know you're excited for me to leave. I... I wish I knew why that hurt."

Life drew her lips into a thin line.

"I wish I knew why I know... you."

"You don't know me," She hissed, jolting up. She wanted to him. She wanted to scream.

Instead, she walked away.

Slowly, Error shambled out of the hole and stood.

"Take me where he lived."

"Where who lived?"

"Geno."

"I can't-"

"Please," the glitch whispered, sounding desperate. "Please, I have to know."

Reaper hadn't been back to the Save Screen in a very long time. It was the first place he looked, back when Geno first disappeared. But then it became a painful reminder, one that Life and him avoided.

One that Life didn't need to be reminded of now. 

So he brought Error alone. It was a good time to see how well he'd healed, anyway, allowing him to analyze how he walked for a given amount of time. How he moved, twisting and bending. Maybe he could even test how much magic Error could use on the way back.

The area was completely empty. No Geno, no Frisk. Just a patch of grass, a thin beam of light, and those taunting words. [Continue?] [Reset?]

He wished he could reset. He wished he could get Geno back. His Geno. But it couldn't happen.

Error stepped inside the encasing darkness, flinching as he did. His mismatched eyelights flicked side to side, taking in the sheer emptiness of it all.

"There's two types of familiarity," Error whispered into the quiet. "One is that you went through something similar. One is that you've gone through exactly the same."

Then he turned to Reaper, appearing absolutely sure of himself. "I'm experiencing both."

Reaper supposed he knew all along. That's why it didn't shock him when Error hobbled up to him, when he glanced between Reaper and the ground, with his fingers twisting and turning through now bright strings, when he opened his mouth and stuttered and choked.

When he whispered, "I think I'm Geno."

Reaper didn't want to believe it. But he did. He did because he knew. Even if Error hadn't figured it out, Reaper knew he should be able to access someone's soul well enough to tell who they are. He just...

Didn't want to. Maybe he was scared.

Maybe it was because he didn't want to think Geno had done all of things Error had. 

But there was a surprise. There, of course, would always be a surprise. It came in the form of a butterscotch blush and a pair of sad eyes.

"And I think I still love you."

The next day, Error opened a portal and left. Reaper didn't say anything about the confession. He told Life about Error being Geno. But he didn't tell her that there was still something left in him for them.

Maybe it was because he was scared.

Chapter Text

There was a sense of awe coursing through Ink right now.

See, he was just on the couch with Nightmare and Error in Nightmare's home. He hadn't thought anything of it when the two had plopped down next to him as he sketched away in a brand new sketchbook... until Nightmare pulled him onto his lap and Error leaned against the two. He'd almost thrown up right then and there, but it got better.

Error wasn't panicking. 

He'd pulled his knitting needles and worked peacefully. Ink was still, as to not make the glitch pull away, but he wanted to jump in joy. There was other parts of this that excited him, too, of course, as Nightmare wasn't for cuddling all that much, but his arms were carefully wrapped around his middle, using the artist's lap to prop his book, his head on his shoulder so he could read. Ink couldn't really draw in this position but his mind was absolutely caught up with the two cuddled up to him.

The only sounds were Error's needles clicking together and Nightmare casually turning his page.

But something about that sounded like a grand orchestra to Ink. Everything was the perfect, most beautiful music to him. It was the sound of trust, trust he'd earned from the both of them. What was more wonderful than that?

"What's with that stupid face, Squid?" Error asked absently, gaze flicking to the artist briefly. Ink couldn't help but giggle, a goofy little grin on his face as he leaned back into Nightmare, who really just wanted to read.

"It's... nothing," Ink replied. "I'm just... happy. You two make me so happy."

"Happy enough to make you sit still for five minutes," Nightmare observed, though his gaze remained on his book. Ink nodded quickly.

"Why wouldn't I be happy? I mean, look, you guys are... you know...! And Error's, like, and you're-!"

"please do not throw up on us," Error deadpanned, stopping his work to eye the other. Nightmare let himself glance up, past the rim of his book to appear distant and stressed.

Getting Ink's ink puke off of him was not... easy.

It was worse than getting sand off of him, in his opinion. 

"Then Octi needs to let go right now!" Ink exclaimed. Nightmare immediately released Ink from the confines of his hold and the two watched with disgust as Ink threw himself off and black pigment bubbled forth and onto the ground.

"Why are you like this?" Error asked with a shake of his head.

"You both love me!" Ink replied, wiping his mouth as he looked back to them. The two groaned loudly; they couldn't deny it.

And, honestly, this thrilled Ink.

Chapter Text

Error was seated peacefully on his recliner, watching Dust, Killer, and Cross play some racing game (Mar... Marko Karting, he believed), when Horror darted into the living room from the kitchen. He pressed a plate into the glitch's hand, muttered something along the lines of 'for you', before disappearing in fucking seconds, leaving Error reeling.

"Oh! He did it," Cross mumbled, having looked away from the game to watch the scene with amusement.

"Did he?" Killer muttered, still trained on the screen. "what'd he make him?"

Error blinked owlishly, his gaze slowly landing on the plate. A chocolate cupcake with red and yellow icing, fashioned into flowers with little chocolate-covered strawberry and banana slices.

"Mm, a cupcake. It looks sooo good." Cross hummed, though a sound brought him back to the game. He let out a cry and quickly jumped back in.

"what?" Error asked, almost hesitantly. "What the fuck?"

"It means he's accepted you as part of the group," Dust provided, his grin widening. Error couldn't tell if that was related to him currently winning or if it was related to the conversation.

"...oh. Am I supposed to do something for him now?"

"Nah," the three said. A second later, Cross let out an unholy screech.

Error shook his head, looking back at the cupcake. It did look really good... He lifted it up, peeling some of the cup down before taking a bite.

He melted at the taste, smiling.
_

Error shifted the bag in his hand uneasily.

The day before, they had all gone to fuck some shit up somewhere that Error had already forgotten. He'd come across a store, already abandoned of customers and workers, and he suddenly recalled that, aside from chocolate bars, he'd never really tried candy before. So he'd stopped by and gotten some.

Now, despite the others telling him he didn't need to do something for Horror, the glitch felt... compelled to do something. He didn't think this really meant anything at all, but he figured it'd be nice to have someone with him as he tried out new things...

But, damn, he was nervous about it.

He still wasn't used to being around people, especially not in friendly scenarios. Working past his grumpy and paranoid demeaner was extremely difficult. Still, he was willing to do so, even more so after all the shit everyone else had to deal with when it came to him.

He shuffled into the kitchen, his head swiveling to look at Horror, who was leaning on a counter, looking through a cookbook. Error cleared his 'throat', causing the other to look at him.

"Uh, I was wondering if... if you'd try these with me?"

Horror cocked his head to the side, a brow lifting upward. "Try?"

"...I've never had candy. I mean, aside from chocolate."

Horror's mouth formed an 'o', though he apparently didn't need much time to consider. After a second, he smiled and gestured to the table.

"Let's see what ya got, Glitchy."

Error made his way to the table, plopping the bag down. He then pulled out the contents, reading out their names as he went.

"Oreos, starbursts, gummy bears, warheads, and cookies n' creme hersheys bars."

"Ever had any pop?"

"...no. I didn't grab any because I know what happens when you shake it up and we were fucking shit up."

"Damn," Horror grinned. Error shot up a glare before sitting down.

"Shall we?"

"hold on," Horror said, holding up his hand. He walked over to the fridge, pulling out the jug of milk and then snagged two glasses, returning only once he'd poured the drink. Error made a questioning noise, looking between the milk and the other.

"You can't really have the full oreo experience without milk," he explained, now taking his seat. "Do you mind if I record this?"

"...why?"

"Well, I think it'd be fun for both of us. Plus, we'd both get a list of what you like and what you don't. That way, I know what to look for and you won't forget what you hate."

"You want to actually get me candy?"

"Of course. I get everyone else the treats they like."

"They're your boyfriends?"

Horror shrugged, offering nothing else on this matter. Error sighed before nodding, which prompted Horror to pull out his phone, fiddling with its position once it was propped up so the two were visible in the shot. Then, he hit record.

"What do you wanna start with?"

"Might as well do the cookies. You've got me curious," Error admitted, grabbing the packaging and pulling the tab back. Ooh, that was actually satasifying.

"Wait, you don't like to get dirty, right?" Horror asked, causing the glitch to blink before nodding. He got up again, rushing to the silverware drawer and pulling out two forks. He returned, handing one to Error. He proceeded to grab a cookie and stick the fork into the cream slowly, like he was showing Error how to do it.
Whether this was the case or not, Error followed his example. The two dunked the cookies into their drinks together. Horror was quick to take a bite after letting it sit for just a second, while Error was a little more hesitant. Still he did so.

"Your review, sir?" Horror asked, muffled by his chewing. Error couldn't help but snort. He straightened himself, looking as professional as he could.

"Well, I do say that these cookies are simply divine. The milk certainly adds a certain..." Error squinted, trying to find the proper word for what he wanted. "...quality to it."

The taller skeleton laughed, clapping his hands together in a pleased manner. "Try it without the milk."

Error did as he was requested, humming slightly.

"Honestly, the cream is a little... I dunno. I probably couldn't eat too many of these before I couldn't stand it anymore. Unless it was just the chocolate cookie."

"You can take them apart." Horror offered, taking one and pulling it apart, managing to keep it clean. "You could remove the cream and give it to Cross. He goes crazy for that shit."

"Duly noted. What should I try next?"

Horror surveyed their choices before pulling the hersheys bars closer. "Cookie themed?"

"Alright, sure."

They both took one; Horror opening his with a surprising ease in which he could just slide the bar out from the top. Error had opened his much messier, leaving several pieces of the packaging on the table. They broke a piece off and, much like the cookies, ate it together.

"Oh! Oh, these are good... Kinda... rich, though. I'd have to be careful."

"They're, admittedly, not my favorites," Horror said with a shrug. "I'm kinda fond of Spongebob gummies."

"The fuck? They make gummy candies for Spongebob?"

"Fuck yeah they do. Shit's good, too. Looks like the little patties they have."

Error shook his head, disapproving.

"So judgemental."

This did give them a jumping point so Error grabbed the gummy bears. Tearing them open, he dug out a few for Horror and a few for himself.

"Eat 'em one at a time."

Error nodded and, without another word or gesture, he popped a red one into his mouth. Horror, having had these before, just tossed a handful into his mouth as Error worked through the various flavors.

"Y'know they put these in ice cream. Hard to chew but really good."

"I've never had ice cream," Error admitted lightly, squishing down a bear before taking its head off. He could see why these things were so loved. He wouldn't mind eating an entire bag, if he were able to handle it.

"That should be the next thing we get you to try," Horror grinned. The glitch couldn't help but nod. He hadn't planned on a next time, admittedly. But he was having fun.

"Sure. I can try everyone's favorite flavors or some shit."

"I don't think you could survive Cross's. Choco overload."

"I say bring it. If I die, I die a beautiful death."

Horror snorted, shaking his head. "Alright, glitchface. We'll prepare your grave later but, now, give me your review of these gummies."

"I like these. Nice taste, chewy, and I can violently bite the head off without getting messy or getting backlash."

"Respectable reason."

The two nodded in their shared agreement, trying to keep straight faces, like this was a serious taste test of wines and not dollar store candies. It, admittedly, failed.

Error reached for the warheads, but Horror stopped him by grabbing the package. There was a flash in his ruby eye, a twitch to his mouth that Error couldn't read.

"The starbursts first," Horror said, the mystery look upon his grin transferring to a mystery tone in his voice. Error quirked a brow.

"Sure thing...?"

Again the process of opening was done. Error grabbed a yellow one and ate it, followed by a pink and a red. Horror didn't grab any, just watched Error, his head propped up by his hand. For a second, there was a softness that was almost tangible, something the glitch couldn't understand completely just yet.

"Not gonna have any of these?"

"Nah. I don't like starbursts all that much."

"That's a shame. These are pretty good."

"I'll eat the next one. Those I like. One of my favorites, in fact."

A little eager to taste something the other enjoyed, Error pushed the starburst wrappers and candies, including the one he'd just opened, and grabbed the warheads. He hadn't forgotten the strange look to the other, but figured it was nothing. He didn't have time to look at the package before Horror took over the opening process, even taking the little yellow orb from its smaller casing. It was pressed into his hand with an almost sweet care.

Error narrowed his sockets at this but, nonetheless, popped it into his mouth.

It took only a second before the sour taste hit him like a train. His face scrunched up then smoothed into horrible betrayal.

"You shithead," He breathed, letting the sour candy fall from his mouth to the floor. "You horrible, horrible person. Oh my god. You just let me eat that."

Then, Error's expression into downright terrified as he watched Horror take four and just drop them into his mouth, letting out a pleased hum. Smug bastard.
Error grabbed the abandoned starbursts and threw them at the other, who just turned to the side, shielding his face with a loud, better-than-you laugh. The destroyer attacked in every way he could with the ammo around him, pelting the larger skeleton, whose laughter only increased into joyous squealing.

"Oh my-" Horror wheezed, hitting the table with hand. "You got a fucking gummy in my skull. Oh fuck-"

"That's what you get."

"IT FEELS SO WEIRD-"

Error had never heard Horror speak so loudly, laugh so loudly. Despite the gummy, he looked more amused than uncomfortable. He fished it out as soon as he regained some form of composure.

Error tisked. "Should've left it in there. Punishment for your crimes."

"They're not that bad. Don't be so dramatic."

"fuck no."

Horror got up, grabbing the broom to clean up the mess they'd (or, rather, Error) made. "We should do that again sometime."

"So you can torture me?"

"Unlock your inner masochist," Horror replied with a wink. Having not expected that phrase to come from Horror (it was, after all, more along the lines of something Dust would say), Error found himself with his head on the table again, letting out a pained groan, his cheeks feeling warm. Still, after a second, he got up to help.

After a quiet second, Error looked up to the other.

"Would you pick out stuff for next time?"

Horror's sincere smile said it all.
_
Horror couldn't help replaying the video whenever he could; Error's laugh, despite its odd echoes and glitches, was a nice sound to hear. Light, with a certain quality that seemed to whisper of its disuse, something Horror found himself wanting to change.

And, though how little the event had been, Horror was so happy to know that Error had wanted to share that with him.

"Hey, Error, wanna go to Outertale with me?"

Error froze, one hand placed on the wall. He'd been just taking off his (actual) shoes (Nightmare said he had to start wearing sneakers out instead of slippers, on account of one disaster of a battle), ignoring the chatter of the group. He looked to who said this, finding Dust looking back at him with an easy grin, a bundle of something tucked under his arm and a notebook clasped in one hand, a pencil pushed through the spiral. He blinked, looking between the others as his mind fought to catch up.

"What?"

"Do you wanna go to Outertale with me?" Dust repeated, no change in posture nor his tone.

"Uh, sure?" Error said dumbly, gaze once more flicking between the others. They all just seemed so amused by this event. Even Nightmare, who had been prepping a portal on the chance Dust was to go alone, grinned almost cheekily at the glitch,  amusement glittering in his one eye.
Dust seemed rather pleased with the answer, walking over to the portal as he gestured Error along. The destroyer, with his normal shoes already removed, slipped on the slippers and rushed after him.

Going through Nightmare's magic always felt different than going through Error's. Whereas his felt like the unnerving cold of the Anti-Void that was picking at your body, at your code, a slight tingling of glitching cascading from your neck to your ankles in unfeeling droves, Nightmare's was a blistering cold night in a wet cave, where the water hadn't yet frozen completely, dripping against your form in ice droplets. Even the portal sounded like the roar of a blizzard's unforgiving wind, battering just outside, beckoning for whoever was left inside the stone walls to get lost, to freeze, to dust.
Error didn't particularly enjoy it. His own had been discribed as uncomfortable, sometimes even painful, but he was used to that. He knew nothingness, not wintery landscapes turned graveyards.

So, upon reaching the other side, Error was left shivering.

"You okay?" Dust asked, voice uncharacteristically soft

"Yeah," Error replied, eyes tracing the ground. "I'll warm up in a second."

His companion gave him a weird look that he decided to just brush off. Soon, he pitched his view up to the sky, following along the unseen paths of the twinkling little dots in the deep ocean of eternal night. This calmed his nerves enough for the two to continue onward, to find a well hidden spot nestled into the cliff side.

While Error plopped down, Dust shifted the bundle, unwrapping its withering brown shell. It took a bit for the glitch to recognize the slightly dented surface of a telescope. Dust began setting it up, enjoying the process, the familiarity, of the task he must've done a thousand times in the last month alone. Once done, he ran a hand over the top, feeling along the wear and tear and the old stickers placed against the shiny material. It was such a loving, gentle gesture, something he rarely saw from Dust. It felt private, like he wasn't supposed to see this.

"I haven't come out here in a while," Dust admitted, adjusting the angle of the worn tool. He, then, shot Error a light grin. "I think a little after you came to live with us was the last time, actually. Got caught up with you being around."

Error wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Sorry?"

"No, no, it's fine. I must admit, I was more curious than anything. You're... pretty fascinating, Error."

The glitch felt his cheeks warm, enough so that he feared that his magic was staining them in a butterscotch hue. Just in case, he hid his face into his hands until he could control it.

What about Dust saying that made him flustered instead of angry or confused?

"What's that even supposed to mean?" he grumbled, peering between his fingers at the other, who was looking at him with something he really couldn't identify.

"It's a good thing, I promise," Dust chuckled. He shifted his position, opening up his notebook to a free page, and leaning down to utilize the telescope. Error chose to simply watch him, going between studying and sketching.

"What're you doing, anyway?"

"Making my own constellations. I usually start my trip like this and then I sit and write."

"Why'd you want me to come with? Wouldn't this be better without someone here to bother you?"

"I wanted the company," Dust glanced to him. "Even if we're sitting in silence, it's nice."

Error was finding his lack of knowledge on the one before him to be embarrassing. He really didn't understand Dust, nor anyone else in the group, as well as he'd hoped by now.

But here he was, learning. Learning more than he perhaps perceived

So the night progressed like this. Dust working in quiet, studying, adjusting, drawing, sometimes flashing a smile, all while Error just watched. He wasn't good at sitting still, finding himself fidgeting, his fingers twitching and aching for something to do, his gaze switching between the stone ground to his companion then to the stars, watching them wink in and out of the pitch in blurry swathes of brilliant light, dimmed only by distance. Still, this is all he did, unsure of what else he could honestly do.

Maybe twenty minutes into this, Dust's scrutiny fell upon the glitch.

"What do you normally do when you're here?" inquired Dust with a quirk of his brow.

"Think, mostly," Error replied with a slight shrug. He'd knit, too, but something about that felt too private to share with the others so soon. Or maybe he was still trying to sanction off personal relations, forcing a one-minded view of his character in some attempt to protect himself, should there ever be a reason for closeness to be weaponized.

Though he would not say it outwardly, Error feared, deeply, those around him. How easy would it be to pick a monster apart, to learn more than you should, just using a small, seemingly unimportant piece of information as a shovel?

And how easy would it be to destroy a monster who had no where else to go?

"Thinking's hard with a partner, huh?" Dust murmured with a bit of a hum. "Wanna take a peek through the telescope?"

Error looked first at Dust, then to the device. He narrowed his sockets.

"If there's ink at the end of that-"

"It'd only show up on the blue parts of your face?"

"It's the principle."

Dust just a gave him a look with miniscule shake of his head. Despite his suspicion, Error got up and stepped over, bending down to peer into it. Though Error's general shitty eyesight made the view hazy, it was no less stunning. He took in a subdued breath before he pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush along his skull just in case.

He, in fact, found nothing.

He regarded the sky without the magnifying aid for a second and then pulled out his glasses from a hidden pocket along the inside of his sweater, slipping them on before returning to the telescope's point of view, letting its singular eye make his sight.

It was then he registered a soft gasp.

"You wear glasses?" Dust asked, almost hurriedly.

"What does it look like, dipshit?"

"Do you always keep them in your sweater?"

"...yeah?"

Dust near violently turned to a page in his notebook and scribbled out whatever was on its surface. "Dammit, Error, you should've said something! Fuck!"

"...what?"

"My plans? RUINED! Thanks, man."

"...what?"

"So much scheming, all for not!"

Error stared at him dumbly, resisting the urge to just grab him and shake him. "What?"

"I planned out a prank that probably would've destroyed your glasses in the process."

Error scowled. "This is my only pair. Don't do that."

Dust held up his hands, a bit of a smug grin cracking onto his face. "I won't, I won't! It's just back to the drawing board, y'know?"

Error grumbled.

"No wonder you're the destroyer, huh?" the other joked.

"I'll destroy you."

"Kinky."

Receiving a glare did nothing to make Dust calm his laughter.

Soon after this, Error returned to his spot on the ground, letting Dust go back to his work.

"You're so much more... calm like this."

"Everyone needs their quiet moments, Error," Dust stated, as if this was a fact far more important than any other one in his arsenal of knowledge. "I usually do this alone but it's really nice spending your quiet, special moments with someone you like being around."

This admission found itself wrapped in shock, curling around in Error's skull.

"You like being around me?"

Dust turned to study the glitch. "Of course I do? Beyond you being a bitch, I mean."

The insult didn't lessen the intent. Error felt a certain lightness now.

It lasted until even after they returned back to the base, parting ways to their bedrooms, where, in his bed, Error sat with a silly little grin on his face.
_
Dust hadn't done what he'd set out to do with that outing. He hadn't gotten to write anything, no poem nor short story about the hidden images he created from the very stars. Yet, he found himself more than satisfied.

He felt he'd connected a little more to the glitch. It'd been nearing a year of him living with them and Error had still seemed closed off from them and, up until a few months ago, had any of them even considered attempting to get closer to the glitch. Two months ago, Horror had made the first big step with the cupcake (which resulted in him and Error taking over the kitchen twice a month for taste tests), which emboldened everyone else to work towards doing something similiar.

Maybe next time he could learn a little more about Error? Oh, he certainly hoped so.

It was early enough that, when Error walked into the living room, he would have expected either it to empty or the poor soul(s) occupying it would be drifting off while waiting for breakfast or Nightmare's instructions (which Error was blissfully exempt from most of the time, being an ally rather than a 'worker'). Instead, he found Cross wide awake, his eyes two wide pips of red and white as a pencil arched and flew across sketchbook paper. Error watched as the ex guardsman's face pinch into concentration, his movements becoming shorter. Peering over the back of the couch, as well Cross's shoulder, Error realized he was working on finer detail in a sketch.
There was, so far, three sketches in their own boxes, all of different places. While there was detail in each, it appeared that there wasn't a significant amount, left as an emphasis rather than an outright tell.

"Is that Underlust's Grillby's bar?" Error asked, ignoring Cross's jump. "...Gyftmas, right? I remember Killer telling me you two visited there last year."

"Uh, yeah, so I could get this picture," Cross muttered, sounding kind of defensive, clearing still recovering from his startle. "Underlust's got a cool neon thing going on so I wanted a picture of all the lights."

He nodded to his phone, the device lit up, forced to stay awake to display the photo Cross was working with. It was kind of pretty, the bright neon against the white of snow and the draw of the Underground.

"You're trying to draw it?" Error asked, raising a brow. "You... draw?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Cross shot back, this time definitely sounding defensive.

Error frowned, his hands gripping at the back of the cushions as he studied the work. "Nothing... These look good."

Cross relaxed a bit. Error hadn't even realized the other had been so tense. However, his own body gave him no reprieve, ready to react if the conflict progressed.
(Well, he couldn't really think of a time when he wasn't at least a little tense, so he supposed this was normal.)

"Thanks."

It was a bit curt, but Error didn't pay it any mind. Instead, he just followed along Cross's hand as the other continued to labor away at the sketches.

"Are you gonna color them?"

"No. These are just for practice, I guess."

Error supposed that made sense. He didn't really know much about drawing, his only potential teacher being his rival and, admittedly, that bastard was so dowsed with art and creation that it was sickening. How could someone surround themselves that much with paint and pencil and not drown in it?

Error came around to sit next to Cross, getting into a position that'd make it comfortable to continue to look over the paper without permitting touch between the two or bothering Cross. The artist shot him a quick look before continuing onward.

Once the sketch was done, Cross turned to the next clean page, despite there being room for more of those little sketches on the previous one.

He glanced to Error again, his face a buzz with thoughtfulness, as if he was only just taking in Error's appearance for the first time.

"Can I draw you?"

Error gave a bit of a start, cocking his head with a nervous sound. "You want to... draw me? Why?"

"You've got a cool neon thing going on," replied the other with a sly grin, gesturing to the strange colors imprinted on Error's bones. "Also, I know none of that is neon. I guess I just mean you look cool, Error."

For some reason, this made the glitch even more uncomfortable. He was under the impression his appearance was more... Well, unpleasant.

"er, I... I guess you can?"

Cross looked far more pleased than Error had expected by his response.

"Cool. Can you go get as comfortable as possible in your chair?"

Error made a confused sound, a little 'bing' with torn frequencies, but did as he was told.

His chair was massive. It might have been made for a Toriel or maybe even an Asgore, and Error's size, while quite average for a Sans, made it more a throne than a rocking chair. The remaining space had been crammed with pillows with patterns matching the living room's color scheme (apparently, Nightmare cared quite a bit about how clean and pleasant the base looked), as well as a spare fuzzy brown blanket. It wasn't the greatest for when he was actually cold, but it was soft, large enough to encase himself in the material like a furry shield against the world.

He settled into the chair, leaning all the way against the back after arranging the pillows to make his perfect nest. He sat cross legged, blanket pulled around his shoulders, and his hands in his lap.

Cross nodded, putting his pencil to the paper. Here, he seemed to consider something, his mouth pulling into a frown.

"Do you have anything you want to do while I draw? Something with not a lot of movement. So you're not bored."

"I'll be fine?"

"this could take me a bit, Error. I think you would be better off doing something."
Error sighed. He had his knitting needles and a little sewing kit in his pockets, but all of his materials and yarn was in his room. He'd planned on working on his little projects after getting some breakfast, holing himself away with an intent to hide his hobbies until he felt more... comfortable. He wasn't sure why he felt he had to do that, but he did.

"I'd have to grab something."

"I can get it for you, since you just got comfy," Cross offered.

Error shifted a bit, glancing down. Cross was going to kill him; the idea of someone else in his room...

"Sure. There's this basket at the foot of my bed. That's what I need."

But he found himself trusting Cross. He needed to start acting on it.

The other briefly looked stunned before smiling and rushing off to retrieve the basket. He returned a second later, holding the item with a sense of care. It was kind of funny, seeing this seriously dressed monster cradling this little basket of yarn and bits of fabric. Hell, it even had fake flowers in there; it was one of the few things truly messy about him.

Cross's face held a weird expression but Error decided not to decipher it. Instead, he took the basket from him, shifting around all his materials with a soft hum. He wasn't sure what he wanted to make now... Especially since he'd be creating it in a less secluded environment. He original wanted to knit up some dolls to look like Nightmare and his group (he'd grown fond but wasn't going to fucking admit it)...

"You knit? Or is it crotchet?" Cross asked after a second of just watching him. Error glanced up at him.

"Knit." He also crocheted and sewed but he wasn't going to admit that yet. Cross got to see his bedroom and his knitting; anymore and he'd be spoiling Cross without the ex-guard even knowing it.

Cross nodded, absorbing the information as he settled back down on the couch, positioning himself just right to gaze at the glitch. The other's eyes on him really didn't help Error relax all that much, but he took a deep breath and set himself up to knit...

Maybe he could still go through his original plan... If Cross was drawing him, he could knit a doll of Cross.

That wasn't weird, right?

"Okay, you can start knitting now," Cross mumbled, already pressing his pencil into the white paper, scratching against its surface. Error didn't bother nodding, just focused on his new project.

Soon,  most of the awkward tenseness gone, leaving the two absorbed in their tasks, their eyes sometimes meeting. In this moment, neither found this uncomfortable.

No, it was just a little side effect of making something perfect.
_
When the sounds of the others started to rumble from the halls, Error had shoved away his materials into a portal, his expression going from as relaxed as he could manage to discomfort instantly. Cross knew that meant he'd witnessed something special, then, and he couldn't help a small, pleased smile from crossing his expression. 

He couldn't even wipe it off his face when they all shambled into the dining room for breakfast, earning him several confused looks. He didn't really care; he felt... amazing that the glitch had shared this with him.

Killer was at his desk when he called that Error could come in.

The other had asked him to come into his room and, for what, Error wasn't sure, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to stop by, anyway.

Shutting the door behind him, Error approached quietly. His gaze fell onto the knife in Killer's hands... Well, not like one of his usual knives. It was smaller, with a paler wooden handle. Its blade was stubbier, curved at the top. The sharp side of the metal caved inward shortly before the handle, making a concave indent.

It was a whittling knife. Curiously, his gaze flicked to the little chunk of food in Killer's grasp, the start of a pawn engraved into its surface.

"Do you like it?" Killer asked, sending a smile upward to the glitch. Error simply nodded, studying the work.

"This is exactly the type of hobby I'd imagine from you," he admitted, leaning more onto the desk. He did eye the wood shavings with some disdain; he always hated a mess, but he chose to ignore it after his brief musings of it.

"That's fair," Killer chuckled, setting his project down on the surface. "Cross and Dusty helped me get into it."

The hollow-eyed skeleton gestured to his bed, which Error plopped down on it, raising a brow at the other.

"How'd that happen?"

"...I wasn't in a good place. They decided that, instead of carving bone-" Killer head up his arms, but kept the sleeves in place, "-I should try wood."
The casualness in which the other brought it up was jarring. Error frowned at him, leaning back a little. 

"You-"

"not anymore, I promise. Thought I should be honest, though... I trust you, Error."

And that admission was even more to handle, Error realized quickly. The thought that anyone trusted him, of all monsters, wasn't one he would've even considered.

"But enough of that... I wanted to see how you were doing, not get ya caught up in something that's not even happening anymore.

"Me? I'm... doing fine?"

Killer gave him this simple look, one that beckoned the truth from the glitch, called out for him to speak and to speak freely, something Error wouldn't really think to do otherwise. He paused, tugging at his sleeve.

"Don't give me that look. I answered."

"I'm worried about you."

Well, Killer was full of surprises today. Error couldn't help but look away.

"Why?"

"'Cuz you've been through a lot, Error, and sometimes I see you... getting 'bad', you know? I want to help, if you let me."

"...I... What're you playing at, Killer?"

"Nothing. I just don't like seeing you hurting," Killer swiveled in his chair to get a better view of the one before him. "I just want you to know that, if you need to, you can talk to me... to any of us, really."

"...Can we stop talking about this, please?"

Killer didn't seem to want to drop it but... he did. He let it be, but his expression told that he'd bring it up again later, to think on it, to understand it...

And Error will, later. Maybe. He pushed it all away for now. It was easier that way.

"Can I watch you carve some more?"

A smile etched itself into Killer's smile and he nodded, grabbing his tool and beginning begin in an easy, practiced manner. It was like he was cutting butter... or like he was peeling back layers to reveal what really was beneath the wood's grain. Error watched for several long minutes, taking in the way the pieces flittered to the ground, how Killer's hands never wavered or shuttered over his grasp or movements, how his gaze, though still lacking eyelights, focused on the chunk of wood like it was a prize he was working towards, how his face scrunched up over littler details and his tongue poked from his mouth when he focused just a little harder...

It was... endearing, really.

"Why a pawn?" Error asked, cringing when he realized he'd broken the silence, like Killer would just... stop. He'd ripple away into anger, he'd get upset, he'd mess up, he'd

"I'm making a chess set for Nighty," the other admitted, only pausing for a second to adjust his grip. "I've been working on it for months."

"...Oh?"

"He likes chess. Cross plays against him a lot, but he isn't nearly as good as Nighty."

This new information was filed away for later. He doubted he'd ever get to use it but... knowing something new about the guardian was always nice.

When did he care so much, though?

"Yeah, that seems like something those two would do," Error mumbled, leaning forward just a bit. "How much have you gotten done?"

"The board and the black pieces. I'm thinking of painting them a different color, though," he admitted lowly. Error nodded, though he recalled that Killer wouldn't have seen it... He didn't correct the gesture, though. Killer brushed a thumb against the now rounded head of the bright little pawn, feeling along it carefully. 
Like he was admiring what he'd gotten done, no matter how little.

"What about you, Error?"

"Hm?"

"Do you do any crafting?"

Error couldn't help a little huff. First Cross, now Killer... Well, that's fine. He supposed he could share a hobby... After all, Killer was right now.

"I sew."

"Oh? Makin' anything nice?"

"...Uh... Kinda."

Killer gestured for an elaboration. He got none, which caused him to falter. Shit, that's not what Error wanted.

"I'm making thank you gifts. For you guys. Won't say anything else, though."

"Thank you gifts?"

"Nu-huh. I said I wasn't sharing anything else."

Killer chuckled before nodding. "Okay, okay... But I'm intrigued."

"Good. Have fun wondering what the fuck I'm doing."
_
When Error finally left after another two hours, Killer finally let a big smile cross his face. He placed his project carefully onto his desk before spinning in his chair.

Yes, he was thrilled Error was making him and the others something.

It meant Error liked them! It meant he cared enough to do something nice for them! And, despite his calm demeanor normally, Killer couldn't help but get excited over such a little thing.

Why wouldn't he?

Nightmare leaned back in his seat as Horror and Cross sparred. He was supposed to be paying attention to that, but something else had caught his attention.

Error, poised neatly next to him. The grass had undeservingly met his scrutiny, his stare so intense that Nightmare was surprised the blades didn't wither beneath it.

Nightmare couldn't feel a single thing from the destroyer, which... Honestly wasn't new. If he got anything out of Error, it was such a jumbled mess that the guardian couldn't even untangle it himself.

"What's on your mind?" Nightmare questioned. Killer would give the other two the feedback they needed. He could focus on Error for now.

Speaking of, Error jolted and turned to him, those striking eyes (stars, Nightmare loved those eyes) now on him. He wavered, contemplating what he wanted to say, no doubt trying to piece together a lie or dismissal. Then, quietly, almost too soft, he spoke.

"I don't belong here."

The honesty was a a pleasant surprise. The words, however, were not.

"And why do you think that?"

Error's countenance settled into something deadpanned, wordlessly asking 'why do you think, asshole'. However, he did actually verbalise a response.

"I'm not like them. In many ways. First of all, the obvious, they're your boyfriends. I'm some weird... sixth wheel. I'm only here for a strategic advantage against Ink and them. I don't fit into this situation at all."

"I think I can safely speak for everyone here that what you say isn't true." Nightmare responded, gesturing to his boyfriends. "They like having you here, Error. And you're not just some strategic advantage, Error... In fact, I consider you a friend."

At first, Error was startled. Then it morphed into barely concealed delight, brilliant and perfect and exactly what Nightmare wanted to see on his face but...

But it didn't last. It melted away into something else, something he couldn't read.

"What a dangerous word."

To this, Nightmare said nothing. Neither did Error, for several, long minutes. The only sound came from the mock fight, somehow sounding distant despite being just right there.

"Another thing that makes me different from them," Error started lowly, plucking a blade of grass and pinching it between his fingers, twirling it in his clutches, "is that, if they wanted to leave, they could... Ink, Dream, Blue... they haven't given up on changing them. They could find somewhere to live, they're still considered redeemable to some degree."

He leaned back, head going to the sky with a low, miserable sigh. "But, if I leave, where do I go, Nightmare? If I can't stay here, where do I stay?"

The answer was simple, one that Nightmare didn't want to acknowledge: no where.
_
Later that day, after dinner, Nightmare stopped Error after the others had left. Unease filled the glitch, but he stopped.

"I just want you to know," Nightmare whispered, "no matter what, you'll be welcome here, Error. And, if you want to go, I'll help you find somewhere safe."

Error opened his mouth, but Nightmare was already gone.

He went to bed that night believing every word Nightmare said.

Chapter Text

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

Reaper came home to an empty house. 

This wasn’t unusual, per say. Whenever they fought, Geno would leave the house, go to Respite’s for a bit to think. He’d leave one light on for him and a note saying where he was and sometimes dinner because, no matter how mad Geno was at him, Geno insisted he still showed he cared.

‘Because you never know when you’ll lose someone.’

The issue was that the lights were all off. 

His feet touched the cold floor boards as he lowered himself to the ground, gazing through the pitch the best as he could as he fumbled for a light switch. Achieving illumination within a few seconds, he whisked himself away to the kitchen…

Only to find no meal nor note residing inside its depths.

There was nothing.

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

From then on, Reaper searched. He scoured the Multiverse, he pushed and pushed until his body gave out and then he kept going anyway because th exhaustion was better than the empty house and the empty house was somehow better than taking residence in his old room, curled up in a bed that wasn’t really his own with walls made of memories and voices of the past, where he could still hear Geno’s voice the first time he visited and curled up on the mattress with Reaper’s arms around him and-

He kept going. He would not give up until he found Geno. He had to find Geno.

During this, a new face arose in the midst of the chaos, clawing his way into a battle he had nothing to do with, face black and tear streaked but smile wide and crazy. A patchwork of emotions and thoughts that not even he could unravel.

Error. His name was Error.

And Error was familiar. 

Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding

Reaper didn’t understand it. Error’s soul called out to him in the same way Geno’s had, the demanding pull of a soul that should’ve shattered long ago holding onto what little it has because like hell it’d go before it was ready and damn did it want him to know that.

It was a constant. He’d ‘hear’ it in the background, prompting him to go to it. Sometimes, it was ‘loud’, a cry, a plea. It needed him to see it, to understand it, but Reaper didn’t listen. He hadn’t the time to.

Until he finally gave in and followed its silent ‘voice’.

…

There was nothing but white. Pure, unyielding white, stretching from one horizon to the next in endless expanses. 

It reminded him of the void of the save screen, except bright where it’d been swirling, empty pitch.

And, standing out in the way that Geno had, with his white bones and white clothes, Error popped against his background, bones dyed the color of his lover’s once prison. 

But nothing' ever stops you leaving'

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Error snarled, pretty little cyan strings curling forth from his hands and spilling out around him. “Get out.”

“What, I can’t come say hi, Glitchy?” replied Reaper, his hollow gaze taking in the other’s form. 

“And since when did death wanna just drop by to say hi?”

Perhaps Error made a fair point. Perhaps Reaper just didn’t care.

“Well, I am today.”

The response he got was narrowing eye sockets, an expression of turning cogs and calculations. He could see the annoyance painted over the contemplation in thick swathes. 

“You fuckers can’t just leave me alone, can you?”

“Already had some guests?”

The look in Error’s eyes was all Reaper needed to gleam an answer.

“You know, I’m not even going to bother,” the glitch said after a second. “I’m going to leave, but you better be gone by the time I get back.”

Reaper wasn’t even given a chance to respond before Error was gone.

Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own

So Reaper went home. 

Maybe he would’ve stayed if he felt better. He was the type of god to mess around with someone, after all.

But he was tired. Just too tired. Far, far too tired.

The dark of his house enveloped him in a deep loneliness. 

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

Maybe it wasn’t so bad? He could think about it as Geno had gone on a vacation or something and he had the house to himself.

Just… a really long vacation.

Geno wasn’t here to nag him. He could slack off on cleaning for a little bit. He could eat whatever he wanted. He could sleep for as long as he wanted.

He wasn’t getting scolded for it for now.

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

...He’d rather be getting scolded than hearing the emptiness of his own home.

Don't you know too much already?

The next time Reaper saw Error, it was in the middle of a fight. He wasn’t particularly interested in the battle, too focused on gathering the casualties left behind from it. He could hear Ink cackling in delight as he flung himself to and fro around his opponent, who hissed out insults and vulgarities like it was religion. A crash sounded from where Reaper had seen Blue last, attacking and holding up against Horror and Killer. Dust had thrown himself against Dream with Nightmare’s slightly more absent help.

Its calamity was his background music. Reaper really didn’t care to keep up with it.

That was until Ink let out some words (Reaper hadn’t paid attention to that), and a chorus of gasps arose above the chaos. Turning, Reaper’s gaze flicked over the battlefield until he found the source of the surprise.

Ink had pulled out Error’s soul.

I'll only hurt you if you let me

It took Reaper only a second to register what he was seeing. It took him less time to appear before the now angry glitch.

Reaper couldn’t help it. The hope flickering through his soul, pulling him closer to the familiar murmur of the other. 

“Geno,” he whispered, his voice tiny and shaky, built on crumbling foundations.

“I’m not,” Error breathed, shock rippling over his form before his anger returned in full force. The soul stuttered back into its place behind his ribcage, a glitching portal was torn into the air and, with a dark, unwavering glare, he began slipping into the opening. 

“ Geno ,” Reaper murmured again, devastation crashing through him. Whatever was happening behind him didn’t matter; he was entirely focused on the one before him.

But Error left.

Call me friend but keep me closer (call me back)

The God of Death was a persistent one.

It was both an expected and unexpected truth, you see. You’d expect Death to be relentless in his determination, but you’d expect less from Reaper. His brother had once joked that he was really the God of Slackers.

But, the times when the god applied himself, he would not give up.

Error was learning this the hard way. Since that name (Geno) had been uttered, Reaper had taken to following him. He’d pop up nearly every time Error left the comfort of the Anti-Void. He’d bring food or drinks, or he’d just show up to chat and joke. Reaper could see the annoyance on his face whenever he appeared but he just… couldn’t stop. Geno… Geno was right there… Right there and Reaper needed him so badly.

Reaper knew that Error could see the love on his own face.

And I'll call you when the party's over

“Why are you even bothering with all of this? I don’t even know who the fuck Geno is.”

“...I know. I just…”

Error’s gaze met Reaper’s. Reaper just… hopeful, even with nothing there to give away to the monster he’d once known.

“Maybe one day you will, Error.”

Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own

The silence was deafening. He knew it was all consuming, somehow holding up when compared to the Save Screen and the Anti-Voud. 

The home wore it like a cloak, curling into its depths like it was hiding from the outside world.

Reaper flicked on a light. This somehow didn’t help at all.

“This is where you live?” Error asked, sounding almost unimpressed. “This place is a mess! How could you let it get like this?”

The words brought a smile to Reaper’s face. He could hear the Geno in his companion.

He’d missed it.

And I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

“Serious, Reaper, what the fuck?” Error’s eyes rolled as he turned to Reaper. He paused when he saw the grin, expression dipping into bemusement. “What the fuck is that smile for?”

“It’s nothing, Error.” Reaper laughed, not even able to reign in his relief at having something more familiar to latch onto in his now empty home.

Yeah, I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

“You’re weird.”

“I know,” Reaper chirped. “Anyway, you wanted dinner? Might not wanna sass the cook.”

Error rolled his eyes. “Can you even cook?”

“You’re just gonna have to find out!”

“I swear to the stars that if you poison me-”

But nothing is better sometimes

Reaper made spaghetti. It was Geno’s favorite after everything that had happened. 

Reaper served it as if it was some expensive, grand meal, extravagantly sliding a plate in front of his lo-

His guest. Error was his guest.

Nothing more. 

His movements made the glitch let out a laugh, the sound airy and light and, even with the wrongness , it was right because he could hear Geno underneath the static and stuttering and glitching. It was right there, just beneath the surface, so close yet so far because Geno wasn’t Geno anymore and he had to remind himself and it hurt so bad.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done this.

Once we've both said our goodbyes

The quiet was back the moment Error left the house. It swirled into the empty space he’d left and, somehow, Reaper felt even lonelier.

Let's just let it go

“I wish you would remember,” Reaper whispered against the night air. The stars gleamed down at him, twinkling in their own little language. He wondered what they said absently.

“...I don’t need to remember,” Error muttered, rolling his eyes. “Why would it matter?”

“...It’s just…”

Let me let you go

“...You’re so much like him. But you’re… not at the same time.”

The look he got in return was confused, annoyed… longing. Just hidden up by everything else.

“Because I’m not him, Reaper. I don’t even know who he is.”

“But you do…” Reaper mumbled, almost pained. “You do…”

There was a moment of silence before Error tore himself from the ground of Outertale, glaring down at the god. 

“I don’t know he is! Would you move on?! You can’t just keep… leading me on like this and talk about some guy I don’t even know like this! What’s your end goal, Reaper?!”

“Lead you-?”

“Goddammit, you fucking idiot! That’s why you’ve been doing all of this, right? You started talking to me because you wanted to be with me, didn’t you? It’s not that hard to figure out.”

Reaper didn’t know what to say. It’s a good thing Error wasn’t done.

“And it’s not hard to figure out that you’re only doing it because, for whatever goddamn reason, I’m just enough like whoever the fuck this Geno is that you only after me because of it. Am I right? Well, I’m not taking it anymore. I’m not him, Reaper. And I’m not going to keep playing along.”

Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own

By the time Reaper had comprehended everything, Error was gone.

So Reaper went home. He was the consuming silence, the dark that clothed him in deep loneliness, the emptiness of his own house. 

He was all of it. 

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

Error was right, wasn’t he?

He had to move on. He had a chance of being with Error, to letting Geno go because whatever traces were there didn’t matter because Error wasn’t Geno. 

He might’ve been, once. But he wasn’t anymore.

He had to let go.

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

But he didn’t know how to.

Chapter Text

"Look, nature didn't make you fire just so I can't use you to make some bomb ass eggs."

"There's literally a stove two rooms away. You've got legs."

"..."

Grillby watched from his place nestled in the blankets as the most brilliant man in the underground popped off his legs and tossed them aside as though they were trash. The skeleton stared blankly at him, his arms crossed firmly over his chest, his PJs clinging to his bones or, in the case of the pants, a pelvis and a fuzzy floor. The flame adjusted his glasses, eyeing his datemate with an unimpressed, barely there frown.

"Gaster, I sometimes can't believe you're the royal scientist," he began, slowly, as though the other were a child, "where would the eggs come from?"

"Well, using my calculations, I can just-"

"If you're going to say 'use my portals blindly', then its a firm no from me, bonehead."

Gaster's skull contorted into a pout, "You're no fun, Grillbz."

Grillby laughed, the sound the quick snap of crackling fire and just as warm, and watched as the scientist melted with the sound, the pout evaporating for a soft, affectionate look. With it, Grillby's soul fluttered and flew, twirling in his own slew of love and adoration for his nerd. He slid from the bed, the blanket begging him to stay, but he pulled away, swiping the pair of legs from their banishment to the corner, their only crime being their existence and the purpose they served, which barred Gaster from actually doing things.

He walked over and helped the skeleton reattach the limbs.

"Yknow, I just wanted to cuddle longer," whispered Gaster as he was pulled from the floor, wobbling and snapping his legs back in place with an almost painful crack. "You're so warm and... comforting."

"we have work today," Grillby chastised, though his soul wasn't in it.

"Five more minutes wouldn't have hurt."

The counter had the bartender pause before he turned around and bent over some. Getting the message, Gaster climbed onto his back, slender arms hooking around his neck. The weight felt like nothing to Grillby, as he easily swiveled and marched to the kitchen with his boyfriend on his back. He felt the skull being nuzzled into his neck, taking in this perfect morning with him; the smells of domestic life and the sweet flavor of love, something that seemed out of reach for the both of them for a long while.

But they were here, and they were happy.

Their routine fell into place, with Gaster leaving Grillby's back once coffee was prepared. Breakfast was done with the two of them switching places whenever most convenient and eating it was spent in the thrum of the peaceful morning's kiss. They parted ways once in the bar.

"go change the world, my darling scientist," Grillby cooed, caressing Gaster's cheek. The sockets filled with utter joy.

"I'm so glad you changed mine so I can try," replied Gaster. They pulled away from one another, then the skeleton was gone, and Grillby felt his soul had left, too.

"...and Red Bird was left stuttering! Oh, that tourist shook everything up for that poor, poor drunk," Grillby laughed, pouring chopped vegetables into the simmering soup. The dinner was going well; Gaster was still interested and, by that, he meant purely that the scientist wasn't off falling asleep over some plans or whatnot.

There was a silence and Grillby thought perhaps he was wrong. He turned to find Gaster still there, staring at him with a gleam in his eyes, his skull relaxed into a dopey smile, his hands knitted together neatly at the table. Grillby tilted his head.

"you have the most wonderful laugh," commented the skeleton, his eyelights fuzzy, "in all my years, you still have the best laugh I've ever heard."

The flame chuckled, mocing over smoothly, "I believe you must be biased."

"clearly you don't understand me being a scientist; there's not a single bit of biased in me."

"then I need a second opinion."

Gaster raised a brow, and Grillby saw that coy glimmer snake into the other's features. The skeleton straightened out, putting a fist over his soul and a fist at the small over his back. He screwed up his face, inhaled deeply...

...And, in a deep, bellowing, horrendous voice, he said, " I'M NOT-GASTER AND I SAY THAT GASTER IS CORRECT!"

He moved back into his normal demeanor, grinning widely, "Thank you, Not-Gaster, your opinion was greatly appreciated."

Grillby responded with another hearty laugh, the sound slithering seamlessly into the air, so light and happy and it was all because of the man before him. How could he be so lucky?

"What are we going to do with you?" Grillby rasped out, pulling Gaster into his chest. 

"Well, love me, I'd hope," Gaster dryly remarked.

Grillby pretended to ponder this, which earned a playful dirty look, "I suppose that'll do."

The two shared a sweet, brief kiss before Grillby was back to cooking.

Grillby watched his niece push her way through the snow, making her way to the Riverperson and back home. He stood, watching her green flames glow dimly against the white snow. He knew his sister was proud of her; little Fuku was smart and kind, the closest thing you could get to a perfect kid, minus her slightly questionable friend she had made at school. Nonetheless, she was good, and Grillby adored her.

Once she was out of sight, he slid inside, closing the door softly behind him. Gaster was at one of the booths, a notebook and pen in front of him and a few blueprints pushed to the side, along with loose-leaf pages of equations and other things Grillby rather not attempt to understand. He wasn't dumb, by any means, but science beyond the basics escaped him faster than a rabbit monster escaped anything. 

He moved over to his lover, his bare feet thumping the ground softly, hardly noticeable. His PJs clung to his form, the thin fabric akin to smoke barely kissing his form, serving to remind him that, despite it being the time he should prepare for work, that he wanted nothing to do with it today. Grillby had been watching Fuku for a week whilst his sister and her husband took some time to themselves, and he always had to get up absurdly early to prep her for going home. Nonetheless, when he maneuvered into the seat across his boyfriend, his tiredness was pushed aside.

"You always look sad," Grillby mumbled, "when Fuku comes over, I mean."

"Do I?" asked Gaster, his pen not pausing for a second in its nearly excessive scratching against the notebook paper.

Grillby made a sound to confirm this, resting his head on one of his palms. He studied the other's form and, really, only found a deep sadness in him.

...

"Why is that?" Grillby prodded.

Gaster's shoulders twitched, " Why is what? Me feeling sad when she's here?"

"Yes."

Finally, Gaster relented, his pen tipping forth and stumbling to the uneven surface of the notebook. His gaze remained downward, a great, shuddering breath emitting from behind his teeth.

"It reminds me how much I miss my family, I suppose," Gaster's voice wavered brokenly, "Arial would have been about Fuku's age, you know. And Verdana would be just a little toddler."

Grillby's flames dimmed, his hand moving to intertwine with Gaster's. He could see the skeleton holding back tears, "It's not the same, but... We'll find more skeletons, Gaster. We'll find your people."

"I am likely the only one left," Gaster uttered, the dam trembling inside him.

"We'll find them."

"What is there left to find?"

Grillby did not have an answer.

 Gaster's smooth stride took him away from the buzz of excited co-workers as the final touches of puzzles came to a close upon the CORE. If all went well, they would finally be done with this project and the next one could be pushed forward; the incoming plans would be huge, as their future would be to bring down the barrier. Of course, Gaster thought, if the tests turned out alright, but he wouldn't deny everyone else their excitement for the time being. Even he wasn't so cruel to do that.

Well, maybe he wasn't cruel in general. Just... distant, was it? Well, he hadn't taken care to note what others thought of his behavior. He felt a flare of guilt at that. He had a deep respect for everyone he worked with and he just wished he could properly voice that.

He shook his skull, pulling out his phone. His thumb brushed against the crack surface before hitting the on button, a picture of Grillby spread out across the bed, the blankets tangled between the flame's legs and one of his hands settled on his stomach, tucked under his shirt and his glasses gripped by the other hand greeting him with a burst of light. Gaster smiled at the image, everything about him soft where the harsh strictness usually brushed. He unlocked his device before calling the very cause of his melting joy.

After the third ring, Grillby answered, but said nothing, just waiting for him to speak. That's how it was when Grillby was at work; elementals rarely spoke unless around kin or mates. It was considered honorable to be able to hear one.

"I wanted to give you a head's up before we finish up here. We've got to check if the puzzles won't overload the CORE or something. There will be a black-out if it doesn't work."

There was a pop of flame to acknowledge him.

"If it works out, then we'll be completely done. Isn't that great?"

There was some shuffling and some of the background noise on the other side died away.

"Did you remember to put in the safety rails?" Grillby questioned.

Gaster froze before glaring at the ground, "Crap, I knew I was missing something!"

His response was a bout of that beautiful laughter, which brought a dull purple to his cheeks. Of course he couldn't enjoy the guffawing when it was at his expense!

...

Well, that's not quite true... Damn, he had this 'love' thing bad. Not that he minded, of course.

"I'll have to talk to someone after we test out the puzzles. Adding the railing won't take too much resources, thankfully," Gaster went on, gesturing despite his conversation partner not being there with him, " I'm just glad my workers aren't complete dolts and horse around near dangerous things."

"Now I just hope you won't trip," replied Grillby.

"I'm not that clumsy, thank you," hissed Gaster.

The silence on the other side told him about Grillby's thoughts on that.

"You're lucky I'm not there, buster."

After that, Gaster paused, "I've got to go, Grillbz. I love ya."

"I love you, too. Thanks for the warning."

When the phone was tucked away, Gaster turned to the construction and made a grand, sweeping motion as he shouted for their test to begin.

The bony fingers slid through the flames atop his head, playing along the hardened core of his scalp, the intrusion of his magic a blessed distraction and pleasant feeling. The touch served to keep him from falling into a deeper hole of memories and nightmares that he couldn't distinguish from one another. Despite this, his chest rose and fell like a war drum, and his mouth parted like he was about do an accompaniment of screams from a charging soldier, whisking along the ground and plunging in his weapon those that hadn't deserved the punishment but had to suffer nonetheless.

Really, though, the war had been horrible but... Something about seeing the dust settle on an old lab coat and broken glasses hurt more. They felt almost like memories, riddling along his mind, teasingly offering up just the barest to let him know but without ever revealing where he'd seen this image. 

Grillby's frame shook, his flames flickering meekly, as he rolled over and pulled Gaster close. No words were spoken. Nothing but a hold almost too tight.

They had to be bad dreams. Just bad dreams.

Just stupid little nightmares that meant nothing. 

"I love you," Grillby breathed out, burying his face into Gaster's chest. 

"I know," Gaster replied smoothly, his gentle strokes never ceasing, "I know."

It was code. 'I love you' meant 'please don't go' and 'I know' meant 'I won't'. 

That's all he needed.

While the safety railing was being laid out, Gaster had called for an early release. And a few days off. Really, the scientists had all been working overtime until the CORE was finished, so it was only natural. He wasn't fond of pushing them all so hard.

But being tired was nothing being trapped in the dark.

Nonetheless, everyone would be taking a break. Including himself. He was actually quite eager, as he stepped out of the labs, to return to the snow and, more importantly, the heat from a certain bartender. This occupied his thoughts as he moved, the blazing red slowly disappearing into a cool blue, the humidity swirling to life, horribly unpleasant but not unbearable, especially when coupled with the stunning view. Yet, that's not what drew him away.

It was the skeleton child, poised by one the rivers. The water swirled and flowed, and their blank gaze seemed to harbor the lazy, nearly dull action of unknowing liquid. The child's clothes were awkward, the shorts too small and the sweater, in tatters, too big. Holes dotted the ratty sneakers on their feet and the striped shirt they wore clung awkwardly to their rib cage, the fabric so filthy that it was hard to even tell its original colors. 

Gaster could tell what that meant. He moved slowly, careful not to get too close.

"Hello?" Gaster asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The child jolted, looking up at him with wide eyes. They shied away, nearly slipping into the river.

"Wait, no, it's okay!" Gaster said, bending down and trying to make himself smaller, "it's okay, really. My name is W. D. Gaster. I am just worried about you. What's your name, child?"

The kid narrowed their sockets, and he watched their fingers curl into fists and unfurl periodically, as though it were a dice roll on what their actions would be with this confrontation. They were still, otherwise, as though a phantom burned image within his mind of another kid, so close yet so different from the one before. Sweet little Arial, a brilliant, kindling mind of flame and ice, tongue sharp as obsidian but gaze soft like clouds. But this child wasn't her, with their round, soft features but their jagged edges everywhere else. But he could still see the potential in those wide sockets.

"yer that science guy. The, um, famous one," the child said, their voice sandpaper against rust. Gaster shuddered.

"Yes, the royal scientist."

They tilted their head slowly, "yer my friend's hero. Didja know that?"

"no," breathed Gaster, blinking, "but I do now."

The conversation died. So, Gaster tried again.

"What is your name?"

The kid considered for a moment before shaking their head, "ya don't need it."

"I can help."

"No, you can't."

And, just like that, they were gone.

Gaster returned home with more on his mind than ever. Those words still rang emptily in his skull.

'No, you can't.'

Well, he was determined to, anyway.

When he stepped into the vacant bar, he knew Grillby could tell that much.

"You're late," Grillby mused, "something happen?"

"I met a child today."

"oh, exciting," replied Grillby sarcastically.

Gaster slid into the stool in front of the flame, "I mean a skeleton child."

There was a beat as Grillby absorbed that, his flames crackling in surprise. 

The scientist nodded, picking at his shirt, "I've got work to do. Is that okay, Grillby? I know we wanted to relax together but..."

"I get it. Do your thing, dear. I'll be here when you need me."

"You rarely visit nowadays," tutted Asgore, his massive frame positioned awkwardly among the flowers, a tea cup gripped carefully in his great paws and his cape bellowing behind him. The awkward, but kind, smile felt out of place in the context of a king, but was the finishing touch of a painting of Asgore.

"Yes, I am sorry. I have been busy," Gaster replied, his own cup of tea clasped between his hands, his sockets trained on the raising, fluttering steam. 

"And that brings me to something else" mused the king. "You need something, don't you?"

The scientist flinched at that, biting back the sting of truth the best he could, even as it weighed on something. He fidgeted, lowering his cup to the little stool-turned-table. 

"I promise you, it's important. I mean, uh, to me."

"Gaster, you're beating around the bush, as they say. Tell me what you need, old friend."

Gaster found his hands gripped together, as though holding the air between the two palms hostage, trembling just slightly with the effort. He seemed to struggle to produce any sound, "Asgore, I met a skeleton child."

The atmosphere froze for a moment which soured through his soul like an arrow, a clean hit that easily overtook him. For a moment. Then the arrow never existed and Asgore didn't seem to know. He just leaned forward.

"A skeleton child? Well, that is a big deal. Consider my resources now yours, dear friend."

And Gaster wondered how he got such supportive family.

Gaster was out. Not unusual, per se, considering how much the skeleton worked. But, just knowing he was running around the Underground instead of somewhat safely tucked inside the Labs made Grillby shudder with worry. 

He wouldn't get in the way of the other's new quest, but he prayed that this wouldn't end in disaster. Sure, the child (the skeleton child) probably couldn't do much to Gaster, even if they shared even a fraction of the strength the scientist did. But that didn't mean that there couldn't be more going on. What if this was a trap? Or an illusion? What if the child made a stupid move and Gaster, desperate, fell with them? 

He hated the thought of it.

So he didn't think about it. In the slew of work, these thoughts couldn't taint his flames with dimness. After all, he couldn't think about a dusty lab coat or a broken body when Red Bird was chattering on and on about something or other and the new dog guards were howling for more drinks or bones or whatever it was they required. He couldn't paint a picture of Gaster getting hurt, one way or another, when the restaurant and bar was thriving and the warmth was feeding flames' frenzy.

And then the warm colors cooled and he was left alone, cleaning up pieces of solidified ruckus and conversation, the fuel of his fire sapped away to imagine.

And imagine he did.

"any luck so far?"

"none. It's almost they never even existed, Grillby."

Grillby gave him a look and Gaster had to force himself not to scream. He had already pondered the possibility of it being in his head. But that had been too complex of an encounter to have been fabricated from his tired, lonesome mind.

"If it had been a trick of my mind, Grillby," Gaster spoke carefully, only a hint of bite in his words, "it would have looked like a skeleton I had known, right? Not many skeletons I had known had a rounded skull. Plus, I heard their voice. It couldn't have been fake."

The flame didn't respond, not quite, but he gave in. Gaster knew the other had yet to truly believe him and that was fine. If they couldn't find anything soon, Gaster would let this die down. 

He would.

Right?

A week later, Asgore called him. It hadn't sounded exactly urgent, but there was a tone in his friend's voice that pulled him to the castle. There, Asgore went through his usual chatter and set up, and Gaster just let him, knowing that interrupting it was futile. Besides, it was only fair that he allowed him to do this, as he had been vacant in the king's life for so long outside of the formal, brief meetings on his scientific advancements.

The mug was handed to him, he took a sip, and coffee, bitter with a pinch of sugary sweet, assaulted his mouth. He blinked and glanced up, finding Asgore's warm smile trained on him.

"I finally remembered to pick some up," he supplied with a near shy chuckle.

"After hundreds of years," Gaster laughed out, shaking his head with this, "and, yet, you remembered how I like it."

"I suppose I did."

The companionable conversation strengthened the sugar within his drink.

"This isn't why you called me, though, is it?"

"No," Asgore stated firmly, but his face had lit up, "it is not."

"You're killing me," Gaster replied, not having the force within him to snap at Asgore to spit out his reason.

"I met a skeleton child, Gaster. He did not look like the one you had described-"

"Then there's two? Two more skeletons?" He gasped out, nearly launching forward if it hadn't been for the mug in his grasp reminding him that he could still feel boiling liquid. Asgore didn't even flinch, no touch of surprise on his features with his reaction.

"I suppose so," Asgore sipped his own drink, "you remember Undyne? Well, she befriended him. I found them playing in the castle right before our sparring session. He was quite the boy, I tell you. Those two were like matching puzzle pieces."

Excitement brewed in his bones. Perhaps there were families out there, then, that he hadn't been able to find? Perhaps he could meet the boy? Perhaps-

"What state was he in, Asgore?"

There was a twitch of Asgore's mouth before his smile drooped some.

"He was not dressed like the other skeleton you described, Gaster. But... His clothes were quite worn and he looked as though he hadn't bathed in a while. I am afraid that, if he is not at least from a very poor family, he is homeless."

The touch of pain was disregarded from his soul instantly. He would find them both. And he would care for them.

"He mentioned a caretaker. A brother, I believe. But that does not mean they are another skeleton, really. The boy looked fairly young and could have bonded to anyone."

"Of course," Gaster nodded, "either way, I will have to meet them, yes? I have to gain their trust first."

He prayed this wouldn't go badly.

Toriel watched the little skeleton run up and down the aisles fondly, the boy's voice traveling over the empty air between him and her as he rambled about everything he could see.

She'd volenteered to take Papyrus clothes shopping, but the boy was so curious about everything that she'd let him have free reign to run about until he finally made his way to the clothes section, wherein she reminded him of their purpose.

In the end, they only came up with a pair of boots for Papyrus and a pair of star-covered sneakers and matching gloves too big for Papryus.
He'd explained that they were for his brother, who's shoes had recently had the soles fall out. He'd been running around barefoot since, he'd said.

Asgore's amusement was soaring as this meeting continued. It wasn't everyday he got to watch Undyne, with so much grace, tackle a friend with Papyrus in tow. Added bonus of Gerson getting to enjoy the aftermath.

Papyrus had been coming over once in a while, randomly, so he hadn't been able to have Gaster come meet him. Not only that, but Gaster still had work and a boyfriend to handle, so schedules didn't really overlap. But, other than that, Papyrus had been an utter delight to be around. The boy was loud and confident, but clearly had a soul made for kindness. He had no doubt that, given the training, the brave child would be able to perform healing spells with ease. Asgore would teach him, but he never had luck with that sort of magic. It's a good thing Toriel could, when she finally managed to properly talk to him. 

Not only that, but Papyrus had proved to be strong. He had watched the boy spare, on multiple occasions, and the boy's grasp on his own magic was remarkable, complex structures and varying magic types achieved with an odd easiness, as though he had done it a million times that day alone. It was clear that he was holding back, too. He'd even allowed a spare between Chara and Papyrus and the skeleton almost won! What a marvel Papyrus was. A puzzle he could not solve and, perhaps, it was for the best that he didn't.

As Gerson, Undyne, and Papyrus 'talked', he turned to the poor friend that had been tackled. She was quite small, with large, round glasses and yellow scales. Alphys. Undyne and Papyrus had spoken of her fondly.

"Undyne's a handful, isn't she? She's a good girl, though," he remarked, crossing his arms, "anyway, you must be Alphys, yes? These two talk so much about you."

"Th-they talk about me...?"

"Extensively. It makes my own want to meet you. You must be good fun."

The look on her face brought a chuckle to life from within his chest. Though, he hoped he hadn't scared her in the least.

__

Gaster's next visit was met with Toriel, rather than the king. Not that he had minded; she had become one of his close friends, as well, and seeing her again filled him with a sort of soft happiness he missed. She looked pleased to see him.

"Gaster, it has been a while," She cooed out, opening up her arms. Despite his aversion to affection like this, aside from the occasional indulgence with Grillby, he easily slid into the hug, which lasted three seconds in vague comfort and awkwardness.

"You know, you have poor timing," she said lightly, playfully, as she pulled back.

Gaster raised a brow, "Oh?"

"You always come when I'm out or busy."

"I didn't this time."

"Well, this is an anomaly, then?"

He chuckled, giving a light nod. 

He spent some time there, the two catching up joyfully. It hadn't even been ruined when the children came running in. He had no quarrel with either child, though Prinxe Chara had often made him uncomfortable, due to their species. He couldn't help the shivers that ran down his spine whenever he saw them, flashbacks to war, to stories unspoken of hostilities and ruined dreams, of broken families and broken souls and broken hope. All the glue and tape couldn't put any of that back together.

Perhaps they all had been Humpty Dumpty, sitting on a wall too high up to see the ground and praying they could stay atop, even as they sat upon spikes and flame telling them to leap.

Perhaps they had just been foolish.

"What even is your plan once you find them, Gaster?" Grillby asked as he wiped down his counter absent-mindedly, seemingly blissfully unaware of the fact that he'd done it four more times before.

"Well, just talking, I suppose," replied Gaster, sitting on his favorite bar stool at the far end, "Perhaps they have a family and I could speak to them, as well."

"And if they don't?"

Gaster met Grillby's gaze, showed by his glasses. 

"I... I don't know. We could..."

'We could take them in' was what he was about to say, but he couldn't seem to spit it out. Could he make Grillby take up that responsibility? The flame didn't seem interested in kids...

The discussion died away.

Grillby adjusted the bags in his arms, mentally groaning as he trudged through Hotland. While the heat certainly aided his flames, he always felt out of control and uncomfortable here but, honestly, he liked the options for groceries much better than Snowdin. No offence to the sweet shopkeep, of course.

He just needed to debate whether he wanted to walk through Waterfall or chance the boat ride again. The Riverperson was always careful of splashing, but they couldn't always prevent it, naturally. 

He should've had Gaster do the shopping.

It was too late now, obviously, so he shuffled onward after putting his things away into his personal dimensional box. Eventually, he settled for walking, as he he at least always had an umbrella for these outings on him. While it would take longer, he could control how much water got on him better, anyhow.

It was fifteen minutes into the serene silence and loneliness before he finally stumbled upon another monster. While Waterfall is usually fairly empty appearing, seeing someone else wouldn't usually cause him to stop.

Oh, no. It was the type of monster had that him halting. A skeleton child, aimlessly wandering about between pools of water, their face twisted into muted curiosity.

Small, rounded features, dirty clothes, wide sockets...

The child Gaster had mentioned.

His flames crackled anxiously, finding himself somehow frozen. The child's head jerked up to look at him, their eyes widening. They took on tentative step back, eyeing the elemental with an intense expression of something Grillby really couldn't identify.

The standoff was too much.

Grillby took in the child's appearance again. Dusty, he realized. Slight dusting could happen with starvation... He pulled open his box, slowly, digging out some bread and canned soup. He wasn't sure what else to give the child, admittedly, but it was better than nothing.

He offered it, tilting his head. The kid's gaze flicked between the food and him before slowly, so very slowly approaching, taking the loaf and can. He watched them examine the items, glancing up to him with confusion.

"fer me?"

Grillby nodded, the action small. 

"Why?"

"....why.... not?"

They opened their mouth, maybe to argue, but found nothing. Instead, they left, leaving behind Grillby in swathes of confusion.
-

"I could only give them some bread," Grillby explained to his eager boyfriend. "They weren't very talkative..."

"But now we know there's at least two skeleton children!" Gaster gasped, his hands gripping the counter with his excitement. "Two that we could help, Grillby! We can get them new clothes and help them get food and... and..."

He trailed off, slumping a bit.

"And?"

"I don't know. I just... want to help them, Grillby. So, so badly."

"I know. I do, too."
-

Gaster stood beside Grillby in front of the doors to the throne room. He'd never felt as anxious as he did now; not even Grillby's hand in his own was enough of a rock to keep him from flying away with all the things that could go wrong.

Still, he was here, and he would go through this.

He had to.

The doors opened, revealing the bright, flowery room, the king seated, again, amoung his little field, tea cup in his hand. Young Undyne, who he had only met a total of four times, sat next to him, crammed between the massive king and the royal children. On his other side, however, was why Gaster was here.
One of the skeleton children. He'd been informed that his name was Papyrus. It was a lovely name.

Papyrus went from grandly gesturing as he told a story in an upbeat, boisterious voice to completely going still as he spotted Gaster and Grillby. It wasn't a bad thing, as the child's face had gone into complete awe, thin sockets widening. A smile split upward onto his face and, in a heartbeat, he stood up and ran over to them, his gloved hands grasping at Gaster's coat.

"YOU'RE LIKE ME!!!" He gasped. Gaster could almost see stars in his sockets, causing his own smile to appear. Papyrus grabbed at his arm, pulling up the sleeve to look at the bones, his excitement overflowing. 

"Indeed I am, child," Gaster laughed. Papyrus looked up at him, still thrilled. He figured his voice sounded weird to him; common wasn't exactly easy, much like it was for Grillby, so he sounded strange. Still, this did nothing to ruin the joy this child was feeling.

"My name is Gaster," he said, looking to Grillby. "This is my boyfriend, Grillby."

"HI!! NICE TO MEET YOU! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

"Very great, indeed." remarked Gaster sweetly. The child tugged on him, leading to the others. Gaster, in turn, led Grillby, by proxy of hand holding. The three settled at the table, Gaster pulling off his coat (it was thick, for Snowdin, but he rarely took it off once he put it on).
Gaster found the tea to taste so much better with Papyrus around.

-

Chara watched the two skeletons curiously. They looked to their father, tugging on his sleeve to gain his attention. Once Asgore's gaze was on them, they gestured to the guests.

"Why are they so excited?" Chara asked, tilting their head a bit. Undyne and Asriel, in turn, nodded in their curiousity.

"Well, children," their father started. "It was believed, until you three found Papyrus, that Gaster was the only living skeleton left."

Grillby saw the unnamed skeleton child in Snowdin this time. Of course, in the worse way possible: digging in the trash behind his bar.

He didn't have a little trash can. It was this big old dumpster with weather beaten metal sides, a busted hinge, and graffiti tattooed anywhere there was a blank spot. The child had to push crates to make a staircase up to the dingy lid, propping it open precariously on a stick. Their small body was pressed against the edge, one hand gripping onto the rim while another skimmed over trash bags, little white pips dimmed and desperate.

Grillby hated that. He hated a child was picking through his trash to get something to eat.

His flames crackled, startling the poor thing, who jerked to look at him. They fumbled a bit, trying not to fall, their entire being shaking from the cold and, perhaps, fear, if their eyelights were anything to go by. 

"Sorry. Sorry, please don't get me in trouble," they breathed. Grillby felt his fire melt into a frown.

"Not..... mad...... hungry?" With the last part, he pointed to the child. They froze before shaking their head. Grillby didn't push it, not wanting to scare them away. Instead, he eyed their clothes; soaking wet, thin, worn down, not at all fit for this weather.

"Clothes...... wet.... not good," Grillby observed. The child glanced down at their clothes before shaking their head again.

"They're fine."

"Warm up...... for a bit....?"

The skeleton's gaze went to the door, the warm glow of Grillby's home and his own fire no doubt enticing.

"Can my brother come in, too?" they asked quietly, their hands grasping at their ratty old shirt. Grillby smiled gently, opening the door wider and nodding... The child only needed a minute to disappear before returning with a very familiar grinning face.

It was Papyrus.

"HELLO, MR. GRILLBY!" Papyrus beamed up at him, tugging his sibling further along in excitement upon recognizing the flame. Grillby chuckled, waving as he gestured the two inside and out of the cold. The other child had no time to react before they were being dragged straight into the restraunt, clearly being left in a daze.

"MR. GRILLBY, IS MR. GASTER HERE???" Papyrus asked eagerly, rocking on the balls of his feet. Grillby closed the door, studying the drenched children before deciding it'd be fine for now, not wanting to overstep any boundries. The presumably older skeleton was clearly already uncomfortable.

"He is...... eating......."

"AT THIS TIME?" Papyrus frowned disapprovingly. "MISS TORIEL SAYS YOU SHOULD EAT AT SIX, NOT... UM..."

"It's ten thirty five," the other skeleton mumbled, "but we shouldn't-"

"IT'S TEN THIRTY FIVE!!! HE SHOULD BE ASLEEP!!"
Grillby gave a warm laugh, nodding his agreement. "Big day...... at lab....... forgot to eat......"

"THAT'S NO GOOD!" Papyrus announced, taking his leave, likely to seek out the very scientist he spoke of for a proper scolding. Not even his companion could stop him now, despite the clear desire to do so.

"...Sorry," they whispered, shifting their weight from foot to foot. There wasn't much there, was there?

".......it's fine........ Gaster deserves.............. it......." Grillby replied with a shrug, following after Papyrus, leaving the other in confusion and discomfort.

And Gaster's face was, admittedly, worth all of it. A fork (and a half) full of left over lasgana  shoved into his mouth, a healthy dose of tomato sauce slathered down his chin, his glasses perched a little too far down his nose and slightly askew, eyes a touch wide from the startle the youngest had brought, and one hand curled into a newspaper with another holding a pen almost elegantly over the first box of eighteen across.

Oh, but nothing compared to the scandalized and horror on Papyrus's face.

"MR. GASTER!!!!"
-

Gaster gazed at the two on the couch from the kitchen, now cleaned up, gripping a platter of hot chocolate. Beside him, Grillby was studying him, a chain of wonder and worry.

"You know Papyrus already likes you," Grillby's flames crackled and popped, almost soothing to the frazzled scientist. 

"But his sibling-"

"-is just frightened," Grillby assured, an arm snaking around his waist. "Can you blame them?"

"No," Gaster admitted quietly.

Grillby pressed a kiss to his cheek and took the lead back into the living room. Two faces snapped up to look at them, one a brilliant smile and the other a tense, meek grin.

Without a word, mostly because his mind had all but shut down, Gaster passed out the mugs, followed up by lowering himself into his recliner. Every the server, Grillby choose to stand, his hands shoved into his gray sweatpants pockets.

"THANK YOU, MR. GASTER," Papyrus said, all bright and cheery and oh so energetic. A second later, he elbowed his companion, who stammered and pulled the mug closer. 

"Th-thank you, Mr. Gaster," they rasped out, head dropping level to their hunched in shoulders. 

"It's not a problem," Gaster replied, keeping his own voice soft, barely above a whisper. "You two are welcome to stay here for the night, if you'd like."

The shorter of the two kids opened their mouth but Papyrus, the whirlwind of a monster, was far ahead of them. "THANK YOU!! DID YOU HEAR THAT, SANS? WE CAN STAY THE NIGHT!!! PERHAPS IN A BED!!!!"

Sans's expression faltered, guilt and shame tugging at the bone and pulling even harder at Gaster's soul.

"Do you two have parents?" Gaster asked, unable to stop the question from leaving his mouth. The two paused, the heavy silence all the answer he needed.
Papyrus was only dimmed a little, and yet it was enough to send a wave of pain through Gaster. Looking to his partner, Grillby was in a similiar state.

"BUT IT'S OKAY!" Papyrus insisted, "SANS AND I ARE ALL WE NEED!! TWO PEAS IN A POD, BIRDS OF A FEATHER! NYEH HEH HEH! ISN'T THAT RIGHT, BROTHER?"
A heart beat of nothing before Sans nodded minutely. The cogs in his head were turning, a puzzle pieced together methodically inside his very mind that no one else in the room were permitted to view.

Gaster was a man of science. By nature, he was a curious creature. He longed to know everything, no matter how improbable he knew that to be. He accumlated knowledge, wonder, like light drew in moths, greedy in the nonpyschical matters. The collection he'd amassed, whilst surely not the biggest, was massive, nearly obsessive in his drive to collect and catalog it all and more.

But he'd trade a life time of everything he knew to know what Sans was thinking, how he was feeling.

He never wanted to know something as badly as he wanted to know this.

Unaware of this longing, Sans brought his cup to his teeth, taking a tiny sip of the warmth sloshing around the ceramic at every little move. There was a shudder in his hands, an earthquake of his arms, from a distant cold that did not permate Gaster nor Papyrus. 

What did it take to warm such a cold?
-

The next morning, Sans stood at the door, a pack of food in one hand and Papyrus gripping onto the other. Gaster had his hand on the wall, watching, brows drawn together.

"Stay, won't you?" He asked, pleading, voice pitched up just a bit in his quiet desperation. "It's safe here. It's warm here."

"...Thanks for the food," Sans said, turning, pulling Papyrus with him.

"At least come back," Gaster added quickly, forcing himself to stay put. "Grillby and I don't mind sleep overs."

And then they were gone. Two peas in a pod, birds of a feather, taking the wind elsewhere, where he just could not follow.

Three days later, Grillby found himself staring down at two little skulls in a sea of white behind his restraunt. Sans had aquired an old scarf that had seen better days, his mouth hidden behind the dirty fabric.

"Mind if we stay for the night?" He asked, gloved fingers curled around Papyrus's, who was all smiles and excitement. How could he say no?

Sans was holding a book when Gaster had found him for dinner, tucked away inside the spare bedroom. His expression was pinched as he held the little thing, feeling over the cover. It was quite a big book, seeing as Gaster was the main collector of such items. It was almost comical in Sans's hands.

"Sans?" Gaster stepped forward, the creaking floorboard singing out its discontentment. Sans jolted, pips darting up to him.

"Um..."

"Goodness, are you able to read that?" Gaster asked, the prospect of a meal gone from his mind as he approached. It was of his collegue's books on monster physiology, focusing on less studied monster species... Grillby had offered his help in its making, as elementals were rarely willing to take part in such studies. 

"...no," Sans admitted. "I can't, uh, read..."

"...My, that's unfortunate," Gaster frowned, settling on the bed. Sans drew back some but didn't outright bolt. "Those books are... well, a drag, but every skully deserves to enjoy reading."

"Skully?" Sans snorted quietly. 

"My grandmother's words, not mine," Gaster assured with a low laugh. "Not scientific, but certainly a term I couldn't forget."

"Well, it's weird."

"She was a weird skeleton."

"...Guess that's fair."

Gaster nodded, gently taking the book from Sans's hands. "You might not be able to read this but how about I take you book shopping sometime? Teach you to read, if you'd like."

"...Can I learn how to read your writing, too?"

"well..." Gaster hummed, reigning in his surprise. "If you'd want to."

"I would."

"YOU'RE FULL NAME IS Wing Dings GASTER?!" Papyrus slammed his hands on the table, eyes wide. He'd been here for three days and Sans had yet to say it was time to go. Leaning back in a chair, Sans let out a loud laugh, nearly tipping in the process. Gaster let out an agonized sound, his eyelights flicking up to his boyfriend in betrayal.

Grillby only smiled.

"That's a nerd name!" Sans chortled, clapping his hands together in delight.

"Fitting....." Grillby chimed in, only pulling out more laughter from the shorter skeleton. Papyrus couldn't help but join in on the amusement, no doubt spurred on by his brother's reaction more than anything.

"Grillby, we've been through this," Gaster tisked, wagging a finger in his direction. "I'm not just any nerd. I am the nerd!"

"Oh, sorry...... My Nerdiness," Grillby gave a short bow, walking over and sweeping the slender monster from his chair. Gaster snorted, allowing himself to be spun, hands resting on Grillby's shoulders. 

Feet once again on the ground, Gaster gave a firm nod. "All is forgiven, my humble grease lord."

Papyrus was only a little disgusted when the two shared a kiss.

"Why do they always choose Waterfall to hang out?" Toriel asked, her paws tucked inside oven mitts, a freshly baked pie seated between the two floral printed cushions. Gaster shrugged.

"If I was a kid, I think I'd like to spend my time there, too. Mysterious spot, isn't it?" he replied smoothly. Asgore gave a small nod in response, his own hands occupied by his absurdly small tea pot.

"Children do love a good mysery," he chuckled.

"It's dangerous," Toriel tutted but Gaster just waved her off. 

"I'm sure at least four of the six can handle themselves in danger."

"That is not reassuring."

Grillby hummed, pointing at Toriel to 'voice' his agreement. 

"Well, now we know who's the responsible parents," Asgore said, giving a warm smile. Toriel playfully 'slapped' him after putting her pie down. Gaster choked on his coffee.

"I would hope we're all reponsible parents," Toriel scolded. 

"Grillby and I aren't parents!" Gaster said quickly, barely recovered. 

"Then what are you, Gaster? You have had those skeleton boys with you for a while now, yes?"

"Well, yes, but actually no! They spend the night every once in a while but those two don't see us as their dads... and, goodness, Grillby and I haven't even talked about it yet."

"Perhaps it is time you talked about it, then," the queen said sternly. 
Of course, she left no room for arguments.

Three weeks later, Gaster and Grillby opened the door to a newly decorated room, Sans and Papyrus's wide smiles following the grand reveal. 
Two beds, a bookshelf, a desk, posters, glow in the dark stars... everything the boys could hope for.

"Welcome home, my sons," Gaster had said and, the way that Papyrus had squealed 'dad' would linger with him for years to come.
He couldn't be happier.

Gaster peered through the opening, the only hold he had on the physical world, his mouth melting together still pulled into a smile. His sons were so close like this, he could almost touch them.

But he couldn't. He was gone. They didn't remember him. Grillby didn't remember him.

It hurt, really. 

But he was so proud of them. At least he could have that.

At least he could have that.

Chapter Text

His finger tips trace up the porcelain like he's trying to find a pulse. Methodical, hurried, like the silence trembling around him was an emergency, like the gentle wind surging in from the windows was the choking breaths of someone fighting to survive, like the darkness outside of the flickering kitchen light was unconsciousness, eager to flood forth and envelop this person he was trying to save.

What an odd thought, Dream realized, thinking of this little house as a living thing. Perhaps the cup in his hand wasn't the best heart beat, then.

His touches slow as they reach the rim, circling over the curved edge. The liquid in the glass had remained untouched.

He'd heard that warm milk was supposed to help you go to sleep.

He swirled the beverage before setting it down on the cold surface of the counter, gaze flicking outside the little kitchen window. It was darker outside than it was inside, though he supposed that was just the nature of things. He could see the twinkling stars dancing in place, studded into the deep fabric of the sky. The moon, as heavy as it look, hung high and proud in its place, surrounded by those dazzling lights. It was just the right mixture of warm and windy, a cozy feeling that settled nicely in his bones with air tickling over the surfaces. He wondered if Nightmare would like this sort of night.

The tiny dots in the sky blurred.

He blinked and cast his gaze to his drink, rescuing it from the countertop. The microwave, just next to the mug, read 3:27 AM. He chose to ignore this, instead staring into the heated milk.

Dream doesn't sleep often. He was always tired now, of course, but he rarely found himself slipping into rest. On off days, when those came all so infrequently, he'd sleep longer, long into the day, and he'd wake groggy and feeling barely alive. He'd find that he was, perhaps, hungry, too, but he wouldn't make anything, instead staring at the ceiling like he was having a staring contest.

He doesn't do much often, now that he thought about it.

He doesn't play, really. He doesn't relax. He doesn't dance when Blue came over and put on some music. He doesn't laugh when Ink comes out of the kitchen, covered in something charred. He doesn't smile. He doesn't doodle when he thinks, doesn't fix the crooked picture he hung up, more for Ink's sake than his own, to detract from the white walls, he doesn't clean the dishes until they pile up, he doesn't cook when he's hungry, he doesn't-

He doesn't do anything, really.

Letting out a rueful chuckle that left a bitter taste in his mouth, Dream lifted his mug, finally, taking a sip.

He doesn't taste the milk.

His feet take him from the kitchen after the dying light is snuffed out for the night. He fumbled in the dark, careful not to let his drink spill past the rim of his cup. The wood flooring is cold against his bare feet and he wished he'd put on some socks.

Actually, no, he didn't care. Cold or no, he didn't have the energy to care.

He'd think that was unfair if he had the energy to care about, too.

But he's exhausted so he doesn't care. It's just outside of his grasp, now, so he just stumbled to his room, brushing up against the hallway walls until he was at the door to his room.

The house is quiet and lonely, he pondered, as he opened the door. He wondered if Nightmare would've liked a house like this, actually. 

He gripped his glass tighter and shambled to his bed, not caring to close his door, nor his window. Despite the fresh air, he felt he couldn't breath quite right.

Yes, Nightmare probably would've loved this little house. He wondered if, had things had been different, would Nightmare be doing all the things Dream couldn't right now? Would he tap his feet and spin when Blue's music fluttered through the beaten up speakers of his phone, would he laugh at Ink as he stumbled out, claiming someone else should take over breakfast even though the artist had insisted on cooking? Would he smile, happy, joyful, playful as ever?

...

Was he smiling right now, somewhere else?

Dream has no one to find his pulse, no one to give him the breath he couldn't seem to catch right now, to keep him afloat. He was alone as he placed his drink on the nightstand and fell to his bed. He doesn't call Blue or Ink, too trapped inside his downward spiral of emotions he didn't understand, couldn't understand, all of these feelings clawing at his ribcage and gathering at the edges of his sockets, threatening to slip down his cheeks in a testimony of this storm.

A sob bubbled forth before he could stop it and he buried his face into his hands, his body overcome from the tremors of keeping everything in. 

He doesn't sleep tonight. But, for whatever it's worth, he doesn't cry, either.

He really doesn't do much of anything anymore, huh?

Chapter Text

The air was heavy.

Truth be told, it always was nowadays. There was no reprieve from the weight; it fell onto his shoulders, threatened to pull him to the ground, and, honestly, he could barely stand against it, really. 

He'd fallen many times.

Of course he had. He was never good at carrying such a suffocating feeling around on his own. At least, on his own like this, where the laugh he aimed for each morning wouldn't, couldn't, slice through the air and through this... grief.

It was grief. 

Stretch knew it was.

His gaze stared out into the snow of the little town. His fingers twirled around a cigarette, held further away from him than it probably needed to be. Distantly, he imagined hearing Blue's scolding tone coming from the doorway. 

Those things will make you sick, you know?

He knew. He brought the cancerstick to his teeth and closed his eyes.

Snowdin was quiet right now. It was like the entire place had been cloaked in grief, as well... Well, it wasn't too far fetched. It was a small community; a loss would be felt by all. Still, he didn't think each night since the death would be spent in a vigil. He considered this as smoke filtered from his mouth, peeking open his sockets, watching the thin ribbons twist through the air.

The lights strung up to the houses seemed dimmer than usual, reflecting off the glittery white powder with less intensity than they really ought to. The dark danced between the little bulbs of failing lights, settling against anything and everything like paint on a wall, thick and drying, more permeant than he thought was fair. 

If he looked hard enough, he could see the candles, both fake and real. The real ones had gone out, but the fake ones clung to their flickering and fleeting power sources, lighting up a small spot just near Muffet's. They lit up a small, white wooden post decorated with fake flowers and blue ribbon, carefully protected by a plastic box Muffet had gotten just for it. It was a beautiful memorial, even if he thought the candles were ridiculous. 

Finally, there was sound. The door opened behind him, creaking miserably. He didn't bother turning away from the town.

"You should get some sleep," Carmine's voice rang out from behind him, so quiet yet so loud against the soundlessness of his home. It was cold, so Stretch almost felt surprise when he heard to clicking of bare feet against the wooden porch as Carmine came to stand next to him. Still, Stretch didn't spare the smaller skeleton a glance.

Of course one of the 'Fell brothers would try to coax him back inside, try to convince him to lay down and close his eyes. Whether any of them liked it or not, they'd grown rather fond of one another. Well, to be fair, they had to, living together and all. 

Stretch choked on smoke and words. Carmine didn't mention it.

"C'mon, I'll make some tea."

Stretch put out his cigarette. He almost lit another but, to be truthful, he didn't think he could. His hands were shaking.

So he followed Carmine inside. Edge was on the couch, his gaze distant, unseeingly focused on the wall. He didn't even respond when Stretch sat down, the two lost in this whirlwind as Carmine shuffled to the kitchen.

It took a minute or two (Stretch wasn't counting) before Edge sucked in a sharp breath, finally acknowledging the lankier skeleton with a little tilt of his skull. Stretch's fingers twitched and curled them into his sweater.

He could only imagine how Carmine and Edge left right now; not only did they lose a close friend, someone they'd adored, but they were also forced to see that this world, the one they'd come to know as safe, full of brilliant colors and friendly monsters, wasn't as perfect as they thought. They'd dealt with murder so often before in their own universe, but never had they ever have to come face to face with that in such a cushiony world. Easy to forget the shadows, eventually, when everything else is wrapped up with brightly colored paper and a little bow.

But even the most innocent places were tainted. The only difference was, here, those sort of imperfections were easier to hide under the guise of such happiness.

Maybe he was just thinking too much.

Stretch didn't really feel the time pass from sitting down to Carmine coming back in with tea. A mug was pressed into his hands, shaking him free from his thoughts. Warmth seeped into his hands but brought no comfort. He could hear Edge taking a sip from his own cup, could hear Carmine mumbling into ceramic, but didn't really try to decipher any of it.

He took a little drink, too, after a few moments. Peppermint assaulted his mouth and he cringed, setting the mug down on the coffee table and turning away. Recognizing his mistake, Carmine let out a shaky little 'sorry'. Stretch didn't reply.

The house was too quiet, just like the town.

When the three of them were up at this hour, normally, Blue would be, too. He'd insist on making something warm to drink and putting on a movie, trying to coax them all into sleeping, even if that meant falling asleep on the couch, all tangled up in blankets and limbs because, honestly, the couch wasn't suited for two Papyruses and two Sanses but, stars be damned, were they always up to try. 

It was never truly quiet when Blue was around. He'd hear his brother in the kitchen, exclaiming that they should rewatch a particular movie, or whispering against one of their skulls while the other two pretended not to hear, trying to whittle away tension as he worked his fingers along a back. He always knew what to say and, even though they all heard him, they never knew how to replicate that.

Stretch's breathing hitched. Edge and Carmine pretended not to notice. This was their routine...

Just thrown off without the forth skeleton that should be in this room but wasn't.

It was just too fucking quiet.

"I," Stretch began, voice meek and faulty, so soft it was clear he hadn't meant to start talking. "I miss him."

And Edge, though never one for such displays of affection, snaked an arm around his shoulders. "I know."

I do, too.

Carmine gripped his drink tighter, his hands and mug quaking. He didn't speak, but his gaze said everything he wanted to.

We all do.

"This isn't fair," Stretch continued. He wasn't much of a cryer, but tears were burning at his sockets already, threatening to spill. One of Edge's knuckles dug into his shoulder blade, rubbing little circles into the bone. 

"It shouldn't have been him," Edge agreed in a tiny voice. It was so odd, hearing him so hushed, none of his usual pride seeping into his tone. Just... sadness.

"Of course it was him," the taller Papyrus murmured. "Why wouldn't it have been him?"

Blue was a good soul. It only made sense that he'd risk everything just to save someone, should he need to. He was impulsive, even with a sharp, creative head on his shoulders. 

He'd take an attack for anyone.

"We all know why," Carmine finally said, sockets trained on the floor. And he was right. They all knew why it was Blue, what had gone down, even when they didn't want to admit it, because they all had been there, they'd all seen it, and it was forever burned into their skulls, they couldn't escape it, it was right there, right down to the moment the hit had landed, to Blue's face as du-

Stretch leaned into Edge, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks. As if his crying had been a catalyst, the push they'd needed, Edge and Carmine's sockets suddenly flooded, too.

Blue was gone. He was gone, and now they had to live with that.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing the Stars were good at, it was pretending.

It was a little freak show of method actors, those three. They wouldn't dare take a bow so someone could see how their smiles were a little show put on by their faltering souls. They knew how to play into everyone's expectations of them, know that they had to, because everyone was watching, everyone was demanding them to be all smiles and demanding them to do everything, even the things they couldn't do, so they tried and they pretended.

But, sometimes, unwillingly, they broke character. 

Today, they had lost. The AU they had been trying so hard to save had crumbled beneath the feet of their enemies. So the Stars left, whisking away to hide among the stars of Outertale, trying to pull some peace from the quiet there.

Blue was shaking. His hands were clasped together, his breathing forced in and out at a steady rate that seemed to be doing nothing for him. His sockets were burning with tears that he fought to keep from falling. Beside him, Dream's gaze was empty, staring out at nothing as he sat limply, leaned up against his smaller companion. He was somewhere else right now, trapped inside memories, making himself sick from the sadness and fear that clung to him. Ink stood a little ways from them, gripping a vial in one hand, debating whether it was better to feel this or become a blank canvas just to avoid the biting weight settling over his chest. None of them spoke, fighting their own battles, the ones they always had to face after meeting Nightmare and his crew in a fight.

Dimly, Ink realized that they were all still injured, their clothes torn and filthy, blood and dirt caked onto bone and cloth. But the thought died away from his mind.

The atmosphere around them felt like thousands of worlds were being carried upon their shoulders, a heavy sensation that pulled at their weary bodies and choked them. It was unrelenting and forceful, tasting of guilt and defeat.

For a while, they all just sat there in this misery, making barely any sounds. Then Blue broke the hush with a tiny sob that he tried to stifle. 

Dream jolted, shaking himself free from whatever thought he'd trapped himself in. He snaked an arm around Blue, who turned to bury himself entirely into the guardian. Ink swallowed, gripping his vial a little tighter.

"C'mon, Blue," Ink whispered, his own limbs shaking. "We've gotta keep it up. We can do this."

Blue didn't respond to him. Ink didn't think he would.

That's what their mantra was; they had to keep going. They couldn't stop because Nightmare wouldn't stop, Error wouldn't stop, so they had to keep their tired bodies moving, had to shove away everything that clawed into their minds, their souls (provided they had one) to these little moments, when they could finally breathe, but it hurt so much to let it all go so they still held on. This is all that they didn't say, because it was hard to, and they already struggled as it was so who could blame them for not adding this to the plate?

They would not talk about this grief. They would not talk about this failure. But it would always be there, another tally mark in their memories, in which not even Ink could ever truly forget.

Tomorrow, though tired and hurting, Blue would flash a smile as he waved his brother goodbye, promising he'd be alright, and Dream will hum a happy little tune has he made breakfast for the three when they'd inevitably meet up, and Ink would babble on and on about nothing... They wouldn't ever dare mention that, as soon as Blue had his back turned, the smile was gone, that Dream's song was forced out through quivering breaths, that Ink's yellow vial was a little more empty, and that they were staring at plates of food that, inevitably, they would not eat.

They were so good at playing make-believe.

There was a heavy air within the hideout's walls today, and they all could admit that.

See, it'd be easy to blame it all on Nightmare, since he was in a bad mood, and that meant that the atmosphere would, of course, would feel thick with his negativity. He was caring for Killer, who had been severely injured in the last battle, whilst dealing with his own injuries. On top of that, Cross had an upcoming anniversary of a... specific event that was making it hard to think. 

To make matters worse, Error was still dealing with the aftermath of his anxiety attack a few days ago, and the others were a bit on edge at the thought of drone who'd just recently bashed their skull against the corner of a nightstand roam about without at least get getting checked in on, much to the glitch's annoyance. 

Because of all of this, Nightmare had gathered everyone in the living room. Horror had Killer in his lap, a blanket wrapped around him with the utmost care. Dust sat beside them, watching the rise and fall of Killer's chest, knowing he was peacefully sleeping, safe and sound. Error sat on the floor, clothes in his new pajamas that he'd honestly been wearing for a few days now (he would've changed had he been allowed to go with the group on one of their raids, but Nightmare had reminded him of his current head wound and forbade it). Nightmare had placed himself on the coffee table, his sweater gone and replaced with a dark t-shirt with an old, faint design on the front (Error was pretty damn sure that shirt actually belonged to Killer, Dust, or even Cross), his shoulder wrapped carefully in bandages which disappeared beneath the worn fabric. 

And Cross stood against a wall, much further away from everyone. His gaze was glassy and his were arms crossed in an attempt to make them stop shaking.

"Cross," Nightmare said, voice soft yet stern. Cross turned his head until his gaze fell upon Nightmare, the movement automatic. That's what he needed; an order, a demand for his attention elsewhere, something to give him direction until he could do so for himself. This had been the first thing Nightmare had truly learned about Cross. 

"Come sit down," Nightmare added, gesturing to the space before him. There was some hesitation, but, slowly, the ex-guard began to move, his legs carrying him to Error's side, where he sat down. The glitch jolted a bit, likely not having expected for the monochrome skeleton to chose to be next to him rather than his partners. Error's mismatched eyes scanned the others in the room like he was looking for someone, anyone, who had a problem with this but, of course, he found nothing.

"Why are we, uh, here?" Error asked after a second, twisting the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt that, quite honestly, was a little too big on him. The light gray sleeves fell past his fingertips. 

"I'm just checking in with everyone," Nightmare explained. "I'd like to start with Killer. Horror, could you please wake him?"

It didn't take much to rouse Killer, who blinked sleepily at the guardian once he'd realized where he was. Nightmare held out his arms and, just a tiny bit reluctantly, Horror got up and deposited the burrito'd skeleton into his grasp. Once Horror was seated again, Dust took Killer's place in the larger skeleton's lap. Immediately Killer was curling into Nightmare with a soft, low hum, followed by a yawn. 

"Wassup, boss?" He mumbled, voice gruff with sleep.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," replied Nightmare as Killer glanced around, realizing what was happening, and gave a sleepy smile to his partner. "How have you been sleeping?"

"Good."

"May I see your arms?" 

"Yessir," Killer shifted, pulling his arms free from the cocoon of blanket and held out his arms for Nightmare. Nightmare knew he wouldn't see any new wounds, since he had been focused almost entirely on Killer since they'd returned from the fight, but there was always that nagging fear. Killer had no problem with these sort of things; he was open about his past self harm to the group and he was comfortable with talking about it. Plus, he knew this sort of thing reassured the others that he was okay. 

Once his arms were deemed injury free, Killer wrapped one around Nightmare's neck and stole a gentle kiss. His head fell to his chest, feeling the other melt, just slightly, at the affection. 

"Are you safe?" He asked, a little quieter. 

"I am," Killer promised.

This whole display made Error feel a bit uncomfortable. These questions, which he figured would be posed to him (at least some of them), felt too personal. He wasn't sure he was ready to be so open with the group, despite everything they'd already done for him. 

Horror had been asked questions after that; how had he been sleeping, has he been eating alright, how has he been handling the stress. His answers were positive, which seemed to relax the others in the room.

Dust was skipped over. Nightmare paused as his gaze landed on Error, contemplation clear as day on his expression, the attention causing Error to tense. Nodding, Nightmare turned his scrutiny to Cross, who had managed to ground himself at least a little. He was playing with the bandages around his arm from when Error had attacked him.

"Can I ask you some questions, Cross?"

"I don't want to talk today."

"Okay," Nightmare leaned forward just a touch. The worry in the air was palpable. "Nod or shake your head. Do you need someone to stay near you?"

A tiny, shaky nod.

"Who do you need, Cross? Can you point to them?"

There was a moment where Cross didn't move. A wave of anxiety washed over him, freezing him in place for a moment too long before, finally, he pointed at Error, who let out a shocked, strangled sound. 

"Error, do you mind staying with Cross for a bit until he feels better?"

"Um... S-Sure?"

Lost but at least willing to try, Error turned and offered a bewildered, awkward smile, which Cross could not return. 

"Excellent. Thank you." Nightmare then paused, observing the two. "I'll check in on you, Error. Once I've talked to Dust."

"...Okay?"

And, with that, the group started separating. Error got up and followed after Cross like a lost puppy while Horror took back Killer and left. He didn't really understand what had just happened, but it seemed that the meeting had put the others had ease.

...Error still had a lot to learn about them.

Chapter Text

"I think this is a wonderful idea," Ink chirped, nodding firmly as if that somehow made it less stupid. He was seated on Nightmare's desk, cross-legged, glancing between Nightmare, currently in his chair, and Error, who, during the portion of the meeting that Dream, Blue, and Nightmare's gang had been a part of, got bored enough to make himself a swing, which he was currently sitting on.

"and I think that new soul of yours made you even more stupid," Error grumbled with an eye roll.

"He does have point." Nightmare stated. "About it being a good symbol, I mean."

"Doesn't change the fact that it's dumb."

Ink's grin hadn't lessened in the least. He leaned back slightly, mindful of the edge of desk. "Maybe but you can't deny you aren't curious."

Error's mouth closed with an audible 'click' from his teeth, his scowl increasing dramatically. Nightmare tapped his fingers over the surface of his desk, a soft, gentle beat. that sang into the quiet air.

"Between Ink and I, there's bound to be a few people that could help the three of us... and it could definitely help us two travel a bit easier."

Error let out a low sigh before nodding. "Fine but, if anything happens, you two might not be the only things I'm breaking."

Ink pumped his fists into the air with a victory laugh, swinging off the desk shortly after and signifying the end of this discussion. He said something about asking around for their supports as he disappeared into his ink all while sporting a stupid smile. Error peeled himself from his swing, lifting a hand to unravel his creation but Nightmare stopped him. 

"Leave it. You'll be in here more often, anyway," Nightmare gave him a grin that Error figured was supposed to soothe him. "We'll all be in this room soon to discuss what dating will entail for us."

"I can't believe you actually agreed to being Ink's boyfriend," Error muttered, turning away from his swing as he opened a portal. 

"You did, too. Now we've got to carry through."

_

Dream had thought that he could no longer truly be surprised by anything his team, his brother, and literally anyone else could throw at him. He had seen some incredibly strange things with his work as a guardian, having to traverse the Multiverse and the many words that housed its inhabitants. 

And, yet, here he was, speechless. 

Ink had appeared out of no where a few days ago, asking if he could help with relationship advice. It'd been a whirlwind event that left Dream too dizzy to say anything other than 'okay'. And then he was dragged into his brother's office today and herded into place next to Horror and Killer, the two, for some reason, being chosen to help. Ink was cheerful as he just... plopped into Nightmare's lap (Dream could see an expression of surprise ripple over the annoyed face he'd been making), grinning at Error, currently wearing Nightmare's hoodie, as if he'd accomplished something. 

"...I know, it threw us off, too," Killer muttered to Dream. Dream simply only felt dread.

-

"Ink?" Error peered into the dark of the room. Behind him, the creator could faintly make out Nightmare's frame, carefully positioned as to not touch Error but still lean in enough to catch sight of Ink.

As much as he wanted to, Ink could seem to force a smile onto his face.

"Hm?"

"Can we come in?" Nightmare inquired, voice soft, like, if he raised it, Ink would disappear into nothingness. He kind of felt like doing that, actually, but, since he couldn't, he simply nodded to his boyfriends.

Of course they could come in. They could always come in. 

The two shuffled past the threshold, quietly closing the door behind them. Error sat on the floor next to the bed, pressing his side against it, tilting his head up to meet Ink's gaze. Nightmare chose to sit closer to his feet, his gaze anywhere but Ink.

He wish he had the energy to admire their differences. So beautiful were these actions, a puzzle piece in the bigger painting that made up the two, their contrasting colors that swirled in great swathes of otherness.

Yet these colors still led them here, to his side.

"I feel heavy," Ink whispered. This was not what he had meant to say, really, but since when did Ink manage to think it through before he spoke? He was just in character, wasn't he?

His eyes closed, a quiet breath escaping him that sounded more miserable than he'd intended. He felt a hand on his arm, he felt the weight near his legs shift and, within the moment, Nightmare was laying beside him, that hand traveling to his own. In a gesture of tenderness you would not expect from the guardian of negativity, their fingers intertwined like string.

"I can tell," breathed Nightmare against his neck.

"I don't need to be an empath to figure it out," added Error. 

Neither prompted him to say any more than those three words. That was okay. Ink didn't feel like talking.

He just felt heavy.

-

Nightmare's fist slammed against the wall. The resulting sound echoed through the air, startling Error and Ink, who were both on Nightmare's bed. Ink, as per usual, recovered easily.

Error, as per usual, did not but pretended he had.

"You should calm down," Ink murmured, moving his phone to lay on his chest. Error's gaze fell to his project, glitching more than usual as his knitting started once more.

"I want you to shut up," Nightmare snapped. His tone was clipped and sharp, jagged edges cutting into the pair. Ink studied his angry partner with a surprisingly expressionless face.

"Dream said-"

"Shut up." Nightmare basically growled, carrying himself to the window. Ink fell quiet, for once willing to listen to what he was told. The artist watched Nightmare's forehead go to the glass, his gaze casted out to whatever scenery it separated from him. The anger on his features smoldered, hiding whatever he felt beneath that flame.

Maybe mentioning Dream wasn't the best decision, Ink thought.

Still, fire couldn't burn forever. 

When the rage melted away, what remained was a tired sadness. Ink wasn't sure if Nightmare cried. Hell, he wasn't sure if any of them cried, really. He'd never seen it, never noticed himself doing it, so maybe it just wasn't a thing they'd do. Maybe it was something they'd hide, or they were incapable of doing. Could tears gather within Nightmare's sockets? Did Error's glitching rip away any chance for those little waterfalls to travel the path his markings already created?

What was his own excuse, he wondered.

"Come here," Error whispered. His voice carried across the still air, loud in the quiet, as he shifted, pulling his legs up onto the bed and adjusting himself so there was room between him and Ink. Despite how often he listened to other's commands (see: almost never), Nightmare made his way over, crawling into that space.

Error, in a flash, was pulling closer to him, corralling him between one arm and his side, surprising both of his partners, but he said nothing, even as his body spazzed. Silently, Ink grabbed Nightmare's hand and returned to his scrolling.

Thirty minutes, Error couldn't handle it anymore... but he didn't leave.

-

What remained of the AU seemed to crumble under its own weight. Smoke reached towards the flattering sky like arms trying to hold onto something, someone, in hopes of never losing them. 

Ink choked on the pollution. 

Blue strings curled around buildings and trees. Pieces laid in clumps across the ground, clinging to dirt or snow or rocks. Other attacks were stern about everywhere. Glitches arched and sputtered everywhere.

Nightmare was taking the lead. Ink's gaze kept getting caught on every little jagged edge of something that had been destroyed, but thank the stars Nightmare hadn't let go of his hand. The guardian was just pulling him along through the rubble, making no comment as their search continued.

Error sat in the middle of Snowdin's ruins.

He looked so small, curled up, his knees pulled to his chest, his head ducked down. Tremors ran over his bones like shocks. But what really got Ink's attention away from the destruction was the glitch's expression; guilt mixed with panic and pain. It was an ugly color on his boyfriend, really. He missed the picture-esc little smiles already and he'd only been looking for a second.

Nightmare tugged Ink over to Error, the two swiftly settling beside him. Neither made a move to touch him, however, knowing better to do so, especially in a situation like this. 

"I'm sorry," Error rasped, "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It was uninhabited," Ink replied, brows furrowing.

"I broke the truce," Error continued like hadn't even heard Ink. "I'm s-so sorry... I broke the truce... I didn't... I didn't want..."

A tiny sob escaped Error, barely audible even against the raging silence surrounding them. Nightmare glanced to Ink; neither of them knew what to do. Error rarely became like this, so openly broken and afraid. It wasn't like Nightmare's masks of rage or Ink's bouts of depression (though these were quite new). This was something Error carefully kept under lock and key, buried deep inside him to never be seen.

"Pl... please... please don't leave..." Error pleaded, static-filled eyes shifting to the artist. "Pl-please! I'm sorry!"

Startled, Ink flinched back, sockets wide. "Error, I'm not going to leave you...!"

"I messed up. I ruined th-the relationship," Error gasped out, burying his skull into his hands. Nightmare shifted, moving more in front of the glitch and pulling Ink to his side.

"Error, look at us," the guardian demanded. Instantly, Error obeyed. Normally, he'd make a fuss about it, even for something as simple as this, but he clearly didn't have it in him to do so right now.

"We agreed to make this work, and that includes hiccups like this." Nightmare started, looking to the little creator in his grasp. "Ink's not mad and we can work through this. I want to work through this."

Providing a grin, Ink nodded quickly. "I do too! I promise, Error, I'm really, really not mad."

What they received was a disbelieving look. 

"I'm serious," Ink insisted quickly, trying to put as much sincerity into his voice as possible. "I'm not mad. I'm actually proud! You picked an empty AU even though you were in the middle of a breakdown... That's a lot of progress, right, Nightmare?"

Beside him, the goopy skeleton nodded. 

"But I still... I still destroyed something..."

"It's okay. We'll work on it, kay?" Ink held out a hand to the destroyer, who eyed the offered appendage for a moment, probably longer than what was needed, before his own trembling hand met his and gripped it. Smiling wider, Ink gave a tiny squeeze.

"Why? Why are you even bothering?" Error asked, though this time it was clear he was aiming this at the both of them. Sharing a look, expressions gentle, far more so than what you'd expect from the two, Nightmare and Ink scooted just a tiny bit closer.

"Because we love you, Error-" Nightmare mumbled, taking his other hand and placing the softest kiss, so soft that it was just a feather sensation against the knuckles. 

"-completely and utterly love you." Ink finished.

Chapter Text

The sound of a photo being taken echoed throughout the kitchen, the noise just barely loud enough to be heard over the sizzling meat in the pan. Jolting, Horror turned on his heel, coming face to face with a camera hefted up to Cross’s face, partially hiding a pleased grin, as another click was heard, capturing the surprise across the larger skeleton’s features.

“That’s definitely a keeper!” Cross practically purred as he lowered his camera, eyes gleaming. Quirking a brow, Horror put a hand on his hip.

“What’re you doing? Where’d you even get that thing?”

“Oh, Nighty got this for me in the last raid,” Cross replied, tapping his fingers against its surface. “I’m giving it a little test run.”

“Do you even know how to use a camera?”

“I’m… figuring it out.”

Horror let out a little chuckle. That was honestly the response he figured he’d get. Humming, he turned back around to cook. 

“I don’t remember you ever talking about photography.”

The monochrome skeleton came to stand closer, fiddling with the camera straps. “I never did but Nighty said I should give it a try… To get better quality reference photos, I guess.”

“So you’re gonna draw whatever you take a picture of?”

“That’s the plan!” 

Nodding, Horror allowed the conversation to die away in lieu of his work. Cross watched his boyfriend labor, admiring how at ease he was. Every movement was smooth, no hesitation, the slowness that seemed to always plague the other not at all found here as practiced motions brought Horror’s hands to and from the pan, the seasonings, the side dishes… An easy smile rested upon Horror’s face, so gentle and sweet.

He was almost jealous of the food for having all of Horror’s attention.

Cross loved watching his partners (and Error) doing what they loved. It was almost magical the way they relaxed, like the word melted away in that instant. He had always wanted to draw them when they were like that…

...and now he could, he realized. A big grin on his face, he lifted up his camera and took one last photo.

There’s a lot of things Cross loved about Dust.

For one, the other skeleton was strong. Not just in physical strength, but emotional and mental, as well. It had taken Dust a very, very long time to recover, and of course he still had issues, but he did it. He got better. And that was incredible, really. 

Another thing was he was smart. He had a funny way of showing it, honestly, always goofing off, pulling pranks, saying weird things. But his mind was sharper than he let on.

And then there’s the fact he was funny, loving, playful, handsome- 

Cross could go on and on about it, truth be told.

But, when it came down to it, his favorite thing was the way Dust looked when he was reading or writing.

Dust had some serious focus when it came to these activities. It’s like nothing else existed when he was turning pages or putting pen to paper, like the only thing that mattered right then and there was what his imagination could conjure up with mere words. The look in his eyes was always so intense, but his expression often was more peaceful than not, unless something he’d read had made him angry, sad, or whatever else a book could induce, given the proper set up.

It was… adorable. Dust was so adorable. 

And it was one of the many sights Cross was so, so happy to be able to see constantly. He could never get over seeing Dust like that.

In fact, he was supposed to be drawing right now. Dust was laying on his back on Cross’s bed, a book held aloft above his head. A clipboard and several papers were scattered around him, suggesting he’d taken a break from his own writings to enjoy his book. Cross was seated in a bean bag, his sketchbook in his lap, but his pencil idle. The camera was nestled between his leg and the fabric of the bean bag.

His gaze was entirely on Dust. 

“Stars, how’re you so cute?” Cross mumbled, dropping his pencil in favor of rescuing the camera. In a stroke of pure luck, he managed to get it on and posed for when Dust turned his head, his cheeks already warming with a lovely purple-blue color.

Click.

He pulled back the camera to peer at the screen, smiling at the photo he’d retrieved. Dust narrowed his sockets, his blush darkening. 

“What the hell?”

“Look at you!” Cross exclaimed, turning the camera so Dust could see it, too. Dust rose a brow, trying to play it off, like this hadn’t caught him off guard or flustered him.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said you were cute.”

Dust looked at him like he couldn’t feasibly see the connection between the photo and his words, baffled as he eyed Cross.

“...Whatever, ya weirdo.” He finally said, turning back to his book. Cross laughed but soon turned to the picture again, rubbing his thumb against the screen. His smile softened.

How lucky he was to have this sight in his life.

Killer had always preferred craving in his room, more often than not because of how much easier it was to keep his space clean. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to get wood shavings all over the rug in the living room. Nightmare may love him dearly, but he had no doubts that his boyfriend would utterly destroy him should he make such a mess.

That being said, it didn’t stop him from, occasionally, lounging and working in the living room with the TV on. That’s exactly what Cross saw from his hiding place, his form shadowed by the dark hallway.

Killer was curled up against the arm of the couch, the only light coming from the little lamp on the end table beside him and the TV, which had the volume turned down as low as possible without making the show inaudible. It appeared to be some mystery show; a human’s dead body laid partially off screen while two other humans stood above it, talking over the crime.

But Cross’s attention was entirely on Killer. He looked incredibly relaxed, digging his knife into a small chunk of wood. He had a rag on his lap to catch the wood chips, and a little shoe box next to his foot to dump it into. Even without summoned eyelights, Killer’s gaze was clearly focused on his work of art.

Gaining a dopey grin, Cross could only think that Killer was the only real work of art here. In fact…

Cross slipped back into the hallway as quietly as he could, moving quickly to his room. He slid inside and poked around the impeccably clean area until he produced his camera. Stars, he was getting a lot of use out of this thing, just by taking photos of his boyfriends.

As soon as Killer was in his sight, he snapped the photo.

Killer jolted, twisting to look at Cross, whose smile had widened. The two stared at each other before Killer let out a quiet laugh.

“You fucking dork,” he muttered, his voice soft, love filling his tone. Cross walked over, plopping down next to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I couldn’t help it,” Cross replied, leaning into the other’s side. Killer put his knife down into his lap, sliding his now free hand around Cross’s side. If he had eyelights, he would’ve rolled them.

“What’re you doing up? It’s, like, one in the morning.”

“I was thirsty,” Cross replied, letting his skull fall to Killer’s shoulder. “What about you?”

Killer shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Rough night?”

“...Yeah.”

Shifting, Cross nudged Killer’s arm back to his lap, prompting him towards his tool. 

“I’ll stay up with you tonight.”

The was a major perk to Nightmare’s bed being so big: the boyfriends could fit onto it, scattered across the mattress, some slotted together like puzzle pieces, all sinking into the plush surface, surrounded by the warmth of each other and the covers.

Tonight they’d all cuddled up for a movie date. Cross couldn’t remember who, but someone had suggested a horror, if only so they could make little jokes to the chef. Personally, Cross thought they were allowed this because Horror had everything else going for him; big enough to cuddle the majority of them, talent in cooking, the best hugs, sexiest voice…

Yeah, they deserved to tease him. 

Cross had been drawing through the movie, using a reference photo he’d taken in an Underswap somewhere in Waterfall. Now his sketchbook laid in front of him, his camera perched on top of its surface. He was curled up, his head at Horror’s right knee. Horror was laying on his back, slumbering peacefully, his head at the headboard with Killer laying on top of him, no doubt having fallen asleep feeling safe in the giant’s arms and smug because he was hogging him all too himself. Dust was lying parallel to the footboard, a spare blanket having been laid over when he’d dozed off in the middle of the movie, his arm his pillow. 

And Nightmare was to the right of Horror, with barely any room to properly lay down because of Cross. Still, he didn’t seem to mind, still wide awake as he fumbled with the remote to his TV, trying to press the off button in the dark. Cross wondered if it was harder with his other eye covered up, but he’d never asked what his depth perception was like. It didn’t really matter, considering how well Nightmare handled it either way.

When the TV was shut off, the remote was placed on the nightstand, ever so careful not to make a sound and potentially wake the others. Honestly, sentimentality aside, Cross understood why Nightmare took so much care in being quiet; Dust and him were still light sleepers. While Killer and Horror’s insomnia had been eased over the years, the other two still greatly suffered sleeplessness throughout the night.

...Which was probably why Cross wasn’t asleep yet.

But, honestly, Cross didn’t mind the exhaustion this would no doubt cause in the morning, all because he got to see Nightmare like this, when he thought no one could see him.  His expression was soft as his gaze swept over all of them, a tiny smile spreading across his face. His body was at ease, as if it was enough just knowing that they were all safe, right here, to pull all of the tension away from his often busied mind.

Cross watched as he leaned over to plant a kiss on Horror’s skull, followed by Killer. The gesture was just so… gentle, so sweet, and just so intimate.

Nightmare, though an adoring partner, still had this belief that he had to put up a front around them, that he had to be tough and sensible, that he couldn’t give into the desire to dole out or even receive these small affections. It was only when he thought no one could possibly see him that he dared risk it.

Slowly, Cross grabbed his camera, turned it on, and managed to get the picture. The click was so quiet but, in the quiet, it felt too loud. Nightmare’s eye shot over to him before he simply rolled it.

“Cross, go to bed,” Nightmare whispered, nearly inaudible as he leaned over, pulling the comforter over the monochrome skeleton a bit more. 

“I don’t wanna,” Cross replied, equally as quiet, reaching out to grab the front of Nightmare’s shirt and tugging him down for a kiss. It was probably a bit uncomfortable for Nightmare (it sure was for Cross), but the goopy skeleton didn’t make any indication of caring, simply giving into the other’s need for affection.

He even went as far as to drag Cross up to where he sat after their kiss had ended, letting him get comfortable between him and Horror before he finally laid down, too. Cross threw his arm over his stomach as the covers were once more adjusted.

“Will you go t-”

“-I like the way you look at us when you think we aren’t paying attention,” Cross mumbled, cutting Nightmare off. The guardian looked surprised, though he tried to hide it. “It makes me feel… really loved.”

“...Am I not saying ‘I love you’ enough?” Nightmare asked, his concern seeping into his voice. “Maybe not getting you guys enough gifts? Is it how infrequently I cuddle you?”

“Nighty, you’re fine,” Cross assured, laying his head on the other’s chest. “You make me feel plenty loved. It’s just… you know…”

“I really don't.” Nightmare placed a hand on his skull, his other one easing the camera out from his grasp and putting it on the nightstand. He began running his hand over Cross’s skull, the action prompting him to close his eyes. 

“That’s fine,” Cross muttered.

“...Go to bed.” 

And he did, after a few minutes of reveling in the contact with his boyfriend. How safe he felt, right here, knowing nothing could hurt him, that he had all the support he’d been lacking before this…

So he fell asleep, knowing he was loved.

Error was napping on the couch.

Error was napping on the couch!

It took everything Cross had not to outwardly freak out over this development. Error never slept on the couch; he never had felt safe enough to do so, which was reasonable. Sleeping meant that you were vulnerable, and that sort of openness was something Error didn’t really do. He’d even locked his door for the first few months that he lived here.

But, here he was, showing so much trust in them by sleeping right there in the living room.

Cross sucked in a breath, staring wide eyed at the glitch. He was on his side, facing out into the living room as opposed to the couch’s back, his coat acting as his blanket and a throw pillow tucked between his arm and his head. His glasses were perched precariously on his nose, a bit askew thanks to his position. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady, his face set into a peaceful look. The TV was on, whatever Error had likely been watching had ended ages ago.

...Fuck, he was adorable.

Cross’s camera laid against his chest, the thick strap encircling his neck and its weight reminding him that he had a way to preserve this moment. After all, when was the next time he’d see this? When would he get lucky enough to catch Error peacefully napping like he had no cares in the worlds at all?

In all likelihood, never. So he was quick to snap a picture… or two.

Three, for good measure.

I mean, who could blame him?

Chapter Text

Nightmare was preparing some tea when Horror came in, the sound of the kettle just beginning to screech filling the air. His thermos sat on the counter nearby, already prepared to contain the warm beverage. 

There was a little bit of pride when Horror didn’t flinch at the sound. His boyfriends were healing so much… How could he not be proud of that?

Nightmare grabbed his kettle, pouring the hot water into its new prison. Horror came up behind Nightmare, his hands hovering over the other’s body, all of his willpower going to stopping himself.

 “Can I hug you?”

“Absolutely,” Nightmare replied, falling back into the larger skeleton as those arms wrapped around him, hunching down just to bury his face into the crook of Nightmare’s neck. Horror had always been more affectionate out of the others, constantly seeking out physical contact and quick to provide when one of the others wanted or needed it.

He used to just go in, only asking if the person he was wanting to give contact to was in a fragile state. He started asking outside of that when Error was confirmed to come live with them, just so he could make the glitch more comfortable.

And here the Multiverse thought they were cruel. Yet it was the others who couldn't do the bare minimum of just goddamn asking.

As Horror nuzzled him, Nightmare placed his kettle to the side and put the cap back onto his thermos. His hands wrapped around the container, enjoying the warmth that both seeped from his drink and from his adoring partner.
 
“You’re so relaxed,” Horror observed in a soft voice, his breath tickling along Nightmare’s neck, causing the goopy skeleton to shudder a bit.

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?” 

“No,” replied Horror, “I just like seeing you like this. You’re usually so tense.”

A shot of anxiety went through Nightmare; there was something so terrifying, knowing that there were monsters that could read him so well, regardless of his ability to mask such things. Not even his own twin could do what his boyfriends could, even back then, when the two had been practically glued at the hip.

At the same time, there was a comfort to that. Should he ever fall mute and choke on his own feelings, should he drown in his own thoughts, fall under his own weight, slip too far into his own mind where his thoughts stabbed into his bones, froze his limbs, and brought a stinging pain to his eyes, they would know, perhaps not to the full extent in which he was falling into his own miseries, but they would know enough.

The two reveled in the quiet that followed. Nightmare cradled his beverage, stealing tiny sips from it despite it being far too hot still and, after a little bit, likely the cause of having to be hunched over but not wanting to release the other, Horror ever so carefully picked Nightmare up, holding him close to his chest.

It wasn’t very long before the two fell into Horror’s bed, collapsing into the incredibly soft mattress, sinking into the blankets and sheets, the pillows sag beneath their heads. All while they slipped into the comfort, Horror’s arms remained gently wrapped around him, a promise that, should he chose to pull away, he could, but his mere weight brought to him a sense of peace.

This is how he loved, and the way he needed to be loved. Horror needed to know the others were right there, safe and warm and fed, that he was right there, safe and warm and fed and loved, in such a way that it was physical, that it was his arms encircling waists, peppered kisses along cheeks, foreheads, necks, and chests, puzzle-piece fingers slipping against one another in gentle grasps, soft puffs of air on bones, the dipping of a bed…

It was so entirely him in every single way.

“I love you,” Nightmare whispered, bringing a hand up to rub a thumb beneath Horror’s good eye. Somehow, his expression softened further, so incredibly full of affection and adoration that it was almost overwhelming.

It wasn’t that Nightmare wasn’t affectionate, that he didn’t say ‘I love you’ at all, but he was much more reserved than his other partners. He often preferred to be subtle about his own love for them, tiny acts of protection and care that could easily go unnoticed or little gifts that he was pretty sure everyone forgot.

(This, unbeknownst to him, was untrue.)

 That being said, they always looked as though they’d been given the most precious present when he uttered those words. It made him feel a little guilty at times, but he’d been assured so often that it was okay, that they were fine with how he showed his own devotion in his own way, much like they did.

“I love you, too, Nighty,” Horror breathed, a ghost of a kiss being pressed to his teeth. “Stay with me for now?”

“If I must,” Nightmare responded, which translated to ‘anything for you’, and Horror smiled because he knew, he knew just enough to understand what he meant.

This was just how Nightmare showed his own love.

There was a quiet shuffling behind the door before it opened, allowing more light from the hallway to spill into the somewhat dark, tiny office Nightmare had been working away inside, the only other lumination being a lamp’s dim glow.

The hallway light outlined Dust’s form harshly. Without a word, he slid inside, closing the door behind him and making his way to the little couch to the side, where Nightmare would sometimes fall asleep when he found himself too tired to make the trek to his own bed. 

“Good morning, Dust,” Nightmare spoke after a second of just watching, twirling his pen. 

“Mornin’, boss,” Dust replied as he got himself comfortable, his own notebook being propped up on his legs, which were bent, his bare feet placed on the couch, his toes just barely missing the support the cushion brought. His own writing utensil, a ridiculously bright, hot pink mechanical pencil with garish stickers plastered to its plastic (a joke gift from Cross, he recalled), was held delicately in his hands.

“Can I help you?”

“No,” Dust murmured, ducking his head, his mismatched eyes falling to his paper. Already, his pencil was scratching against the surface.

Troubled, Nightmare studied him. Dust didn’t seem to be upset or depressed. He wasn’t having an episode, lest he’d be twitchy and erratic. His posture was relaxed, eyes partially lidded from sleep, having no doubt come here as soon as he woke.

An understanding twinkle came to Nightmare’s eyelight, realizing what was happening here.

Dust just wanted some company.

Dropping his own head, he began to work once more. The room was quiet only for a little bit before Dust slipped out his phone from the depths of his sweater pocket, quickly turning on some soft music. The notes fluttered through the still air, dancing around their skulls, being breathed in, tangling along their bones. 

It wasn’t what Dust normally listened to, he knew. This particular partner of his enjoyed louder music, whether it be something he could dance to or something that grated against your mind, losing yourself within the growls, but this…

It was so gentle, just above the sound of their pen and pencil. 

“Got tired of headaches?” Nightmare asked, not looking up from his mindless, tedious work.

“Very funny,” replied Dust with a roll of his eyes. “You’re just weak.”

That is when Nightmare spared a glance, in all of its unimpressed glory. Not at all fazed, Dust grinned at him.

“The audacity-”

Dust interrupted him without a care, “I picked it out because it’s nice. Wanted some quiet with you.”

Nightmare couldn’t help the fondness that gripped him tightly. “Of course.”

This is how Dust was; as much as he enjoyed the chaos and commotion his presence brought, as loud and crass as he could be, these were the moments he thrived off. In seeking them out, he shed the lingering loneliness that had once suffocated him, casting it aside in favor of the simple act of being and existing within the same space as another.

And this was what they returned to; simply being.

“Cross.” 

This was all that was needed for the monochrome skeleton’s head to snap his direction, turning his attention away from Killer, who had been wrapping his arm, now sporting a nasty cut from their battle. Always so quick to obey, it was sometimes hard to recall Cross could do so much more.

In truth, while a diligent soldier, he knew Cross was perfectly capable of being anything else. Yes, he knew how to fight against what he did not want. Cunning little creature, in deed.

“...You did wonderfully today,” Nightmare finally said after a second. 

It only took a second for a brilliant smile threatened to split Cross’s face in half, a gentle purple blush coloring his cheeks. Killer let out a little chuckle, leaning forward to place a little kiss to the other’s cheek.

“I agree,” the knife wielding skeleton added. “You saved my ass out there.”

Cross sputtered and, before he could recover, Killer was standing up, having finished his work. He stretched out his arms, mumbling something about taking a nap and shambled away. Nightmare couldn’t blame him; the fight had been long and exhausting and even he felt the pull of tiredness urging him to retire.

But, no, he had a job to do.

Cross had been feeling insecure earlier, just before the raid and the inevitable battle they’d faced. It came from a failure not too long ago, which resulted in a failed attempt to get supplies at the time, and this left Cross feeling anxious. He’d seen it in little moments, like when he asked Cross to do something and hesitancy seized up his body for just a second, or how he worded certain phrases, even how his jokes came out.

And, quite frankly, Nightmare wasn’t having any of it. How dare anyone make HIS boyfriend feel worthless, especially said boyfriend?

He plopped down beside the other, putting on a sweet smile. 

“Killer’s right, that would’ve been a pretty nasty blow. I’m impressed you managed to get in there and prevent Killer getting hurt,” the guardian pulled Cross closer. “You get stronger every day.”

“You… you think so?” 

“I know so.”

Cross turned away, just a bit, to hide his face. While Cross was naturally shy when complimented, it was also known that Nightmare didn’t just… give out compliments that often. When he did, it always made them feel more real, heavier and truthful in ways that the others couldn’t quite replicate (though they were pretty damn insistent, so it wasn’t like Cross didn’t get the same rush when they praised him).

Slowly, making sure he didn’t frighten or upset Cross, Nightmare made him look at him again, a pleased smile crossing his own features.

“You’re so adorable, Cross,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. Cross let out a surprised, flustered sound, sinking into the affection, reveling in the praise.

Just as he should.

Nightmare knocked on the door in front of him, a few bags clinging to his other hand and his arm. True to every other experience he’s had when knocking on one of his lovers’ doors, it swung open not even a second later, revealing a sleepy looking Killer, still donning pajamas, which consisted of a dirty shirt with holes in it, boxer shorts, ratty socks, and his sweater.

...It was cute.

“Mn, Nighty?” Killer murmured, rubbing one of his sockets. The black had yet to begin to pour from his eyes, leaving his hand thankfully clean.

“Can I come in?”

Killer didn’t provide a verbal response, but he nodded, stepping aside and allowing the other to slip right into the room, closing the door behind him. The two plopped on the bed, with Killer instantly laying down, though attempting to stay awake.

Nightmare smiled softly, leaning over to run a hand over Killer’s skull, watching his eyes close for a second as he leaned into the tender affection. A barely audible whine was produced when the guardian pulled his hand back.

“I got you some stuff,” Nightmare murmured. Killer’s sockets opened once more and he raised a brow. Nightmare took this as a sign to go ahead and show off the gifts he’d gotten. He scooped out the first few items, which were ornate carving tools. The first had beautiful designs inlaid within the wooden handles. A second set had their handles carved into elegant designs before resin had been laid over them.

Killer held out a hand, and Nightmare passed the two sets, placed delicately into two small, clear boxes. The empty-eyed skeleton opened one, running his finger tips first against a single blade and then over the handle.

“These are beautiful,” Killer said after a moment of just appraising them. 

“I had them custom made.”

That earned a look from his partner, surprise dancing over his features. “Why’d you go and do that?”

“Why not?” replied the goopy skeleton, providing a shrug. I mean, why wouldn’t he spoil his boyfriend? Killer loved gifts, anyway, and it wasn’t like Nightmare had put himself into danger to get this made. A little threat and a promise of plenty of money had gotten the job done.

If Killer had eyelights, he would’ve rolled them, but he did smile and give a thank you.

“I’m not done,” Nightmare said, already digging into the next back. He produced a thick dark blue scarf, three different teddy bears (one had a heart pillow in its arms), and a small stack of books. 

“...You really got all of this for me?”

“Of course. I remember you shivering the last time we went out to a snowy place, and then you saying you wanted more books by this one author, so I picked them up… And the teddy bears are just to remind you that I love you.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” Killer laughed, pulling himself up to kiss Nightmare ever so sweetly, one hand stealing away one of the plushies to hold to his chest as he did. When he pulled back, his expression had molded itself into pure and utter love.

“Thank you, Nighty.”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

The carnage of the movie night had long since been cleaned away, the participants having peeled from the couch and beanbags to return to their rooms, grogginess pulling them towards the beds, who called ever so sweetly to their heavy bodies. 

All except for one. 

Error had fallen asleep. Not wanting to startle nor wake the glitch, Nightmare had left him in his big chair, tucking him in beneath his blanket ever so lovingly, much like he'd do for his boyfriends, and left for his own mattress. 

So when Nightmare, far too early with the remains of panic curling around his form, returned to the living room, he knew to expect Error within the space. 

...he just hadn't expected to see him wake, his breathing heavy, faltering puffs, his eyes wild and eyelights tint pinpricks that darted to him as soon as he's stepped in. Nightmare had been too tired to notice Error’s anxiety intermingling with his own, but he realized this now.

Slowly, Nightmare eased himself into the couch. As tempting as it was to offer his hand to the glitch, he knew better. He didn't need to worsen this.

“Hey,” the guardian whispered, voice ever so soft, yet sounding like crashing thunder in the quiet. 

“...hey,” Error replied, his hands curling into his blanket more. 

“It's okay,” Nightmare continued, “we all get bad dreams.”

Nightmare thought Error would be dimissive of this. After all, the black-boned skeleton didn't like talking about these things. He wanted to bury it away and pretend it didn't exist, that he wasn't struggling, that he was fine just the way he is even though it was so damn clear that he wasn't because who can be so hungry, so scared, so alone, and still be okay? Who could pick apart their entire being, and still be happy?

But Error didn't dismiss this. He looked away, sucking in a trembling breath of air, and held onto his blanket tighter.

“How do you deal with it?”

“Talking about it, when I can.”

Error’s gaze fell back into him, taking in the other steeped in the dark. Nightmare could tell he was reluctant to spill his fear to someone, especially him.

A heartbeat passed in quiet.

“I had one tonight,” Nightmare murmured. “its just after I've eaten the apples… It's coming out of my mouth and I can't breathe. I'm choking. It's pure agony. I can hear Dream above my choking. He's crying, at first, and I'm silently pleading him to save me. When he noticed, he just starts mocking me. I woke up before I passed out in the dream.”

Error didn't outright react, but he could feel his shock.

“I get bad dreams a lot. Of course I would. What happened was traumatic and, in many ways, I was just a kid. I was desperate and made the wrong choice. It resulted in a messed up body and me being alone for far too long,” Nightmare added, his gaze and voice steady despite the heavy topic he spoke of. “I talk about it. My go-to is Horror, but I'll talk to the others, too. We sometimes get warm milk and I fall back asleep in their arms.”

There was a pause before Nightmare shifted in his seat, steadying the glitch before him. "But I don't always talk... Sometimes, I just don't want to. That's okay... But, if you want-"

"It's dark," Error's voice cuts through the air like a sharp knife, and he looked startled that he'd even spoken. "I mean, in my dream. It's pitch black except for a light above me. I... my hands... They're..."

He faltered, his gaze falling to the rug. His fingers dug into the armrest of his chair, clawing into the fabric almost desperately. Nightmare had to stop himself from prompting him to continue, knowing that this was hard enough on its own, so he stayed quiet, crossing his legs at the ankle, letting his own hands rest in his lap.

"They're not mine," the glitch choked out. "They're white. And, when I look down, there's red and I don't..."

Another pause. It's heavy, blanketing the two in this discomfort in which they know had to share. Nightmare absolutely had no problem shouldering this, just so Error could open up to him.

...It was a more valuable gift than anyone would ever realize.

"...There's this voice, telling me to leave the light. It's so familiar... and I know it isn't safe but I'm just so curious, so I go. And then the black disappears and it's white,  and it's blinding me. I know it's the Anti-Void. I'd know it anywhere," Error buries his face in his hands, like this was far harder than Nightmare knew. He was trying to process this, trying to understand why he was getting these dreams, why the dark felt just as home as the Anti-Void, why he knew it intimately.

But he didn't have these answers and, as much as he wished, Nightmare wouldn't either. 

"When I get there, my first thought is 'he'll find me', but I get the feeling that he doesn't know I'm there, you know? And I start yelling his name but it's like static. I'm screaming it. I'm begging him to come find me. But he doesn't know I'm there. I'm alone again. I'm-" Error gasped and shuddered. Nightmare felt a new wave of anxiety and sadness roll off his companion, knew it meant that he was holding back tears, trying to force out the last of his sentence.

"-I'm all al-alone again."

And it broke Nightmare's heart to hear these words. He reached out a hand, letting his fingertips just graze the armrest.

"You're not alone here."

For a moment, the guardian thought that Error would disagree but, after a moment of delay, Error nodded, slow, barely noticeable but there, and that was such a relief.

"I guess I'm not."

Nodding, Nightmare got up, gesturing for the destroyer to follow. Soon, they were shuffling to the kitchen, where Nightmare went about fetching two mugs and filling them with milk. As he worked, he mulled over the information Error had given him. Once he had both mugs within the microwave, he turned to Error, who had leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

"...Is any part of your bad dream familiar? Aside from the Anti-Void, I mean."

"...Yes and no," Error admitted quietly. "It all feels familiar, like I know it, but... I don't."

Nightmare nodded. "Maybe that's something we help you on. Finding out why you know those things."
Error nodded absently. They were quiet until the microwave beeped and Nightmare freed the mugs, handing one to his companion. When he closed the door on the little machine, he noted the time: 3:27 AM. They really ought to go to bed.

And, when they did, it wasn't long after, as they sunk into the cushions of a large chair and the couch.

Chapter Text

When he’d finished his patrols, the day after they broke down, Blue was exhausted. That horrible, crushing weight still clung to him, pulling on his weary body. Still, he dragged himself home without giving either of the other Stars a goodbye, nor a glance. He didn’t have the energy to put up a smile for them AND his brother, so he focused what he had left into grinning for Stretch.

It always took a second when he got home to build up that smile, of course. A second that he spent with his hand on the knob, trying to convince himself to be brave, to go about as though nothing was wrong, to go inside. He had so much practice but there was always a moment when he put this costume on.

So, though his limbs shook, just a little bit, he pushed open the door. The cold flooded in after the gesture, sweeping through the warm home… He was supposed to feel warm, stepping into his own house, but the chill followed him even here. He couldn’t escape it. It was always there, in the eyes of his friends, in his hands, in his home.

There was no escaping the cold.

He slowly moved inside, closing the door. Stretch didn’t look up at all, situated on the couch with a book and he knew that Stretch was waiting, that he had stuff to say, because he wouldn’t sit here for him, only did that at the beginning of all of this, when the worry was about him getting hurt and not him never being around.

His shaking worsened, just a little. 

“H-hey,” Blue whispered into the quiet, pulling his limbs closer. Trying to fight off the cold, of course. Of course.

“You’re back,” replied Stretch, clipped, neutral. No warmth permeated those words. Icy and tired. That’s all they were.

“Um, yeah… Sorry for getting back so late.”

Stretch’s gaze fell upon him like an avalanche. One of Blue’s hands reached to his bandanna and began twisting it nervously, fingers digging into that old fabric, and he almost felt like he’d rip it, despite knowing this to not be possible.

“Papy, not tonight. Please not tonight,” his voice came out in a harsh whisper, like it had hurt to speak. Stretch kept his stare on Blue, even as his younger brother began shuffling past and towards the stairs.

“Look at what this is doing to you,” the taller skeleton murmured just as Blue’s foot came in contact with the first step.

“...Not tonight,” Blue gasped out, now running up the stairs to escape this, to escape that ire, that cold, that truth that, yes, he was helping people but he felt no happiness in it, that this was all crushing him, but it didn’t matter, it just didn’t. 

And that’s what he told himself when he slammed his door closed and slid to the floor against it, another sob pushing past his teeth.

Blue felt so cold.

Dream and Ink had been left in silence when Blue had left, all for just a moment, a moment where both knew exactly what was to come now that the ‘happiest’ of three was gone.

The floodgates would burst and the two would drown. 

“Blue can’t keep going like this,” Dream observed, his hands in his lap as he stared at the table in front of him. Ink, leaning against a wall, staring off into the distance, snapped his head back towards him with a deep frown.

“Are you suggesting that we stop letting him help us? He’d hate that, you know.”

“Of course not. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Do I?” shot back Ink, with that low simmer in his voice. Fluttering heat captured him in its claws and he almost felt that, when he looked down at his vials, red would be dangerously low, but he knew well that wasn’t the case.

“Ink, stop it!” Dream hissed, slamming his hands down into the table. The sound pushed them a part further, in a sense. “I meant that this is tearing him apart! It’s tearing us apart!”

“Do you think we can’t take it?”

“Yes! ”

Silence, that shuddering soundlessness. There it lay, curling its heavy, weightless wings over them, digging its horrible, horrible claws in, just for a moment. The fire flared and sputtered around Ink, and Dream felt like he was breathing in nothing but water.

Then a laugh, so airy that it could be mistaken for delight, had Dream not known better.

“Are you saying you want your brother to win, Dream? Do you want that? For us to give up?”

The guardian jerked up, his chair falling back onto the ground. “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“But they aren’t wrong, are they?!”

And, all at once, Dream launched himself at Ink, shoving him into the wall, his fingers curling painfully into the artist’s shoulders. Ink’s head fell back, but all he did was grunt in surprise and slight pain.

“Stop it! I hate when you do this! You don’t fucking listen!” Dream cried out, and there were tears in his sockets, another dam to be broken soon. “We can’t keep going like this! We need to talk about it!”

“And how do you suppose we do that, Dream ? Are you gonna hurt us like this when we try? Are we really able to do it without dissolving into violence?” 

His name being spat out with such disdain, and what the other thought about his actions, Dream recoiled. Stumbling backward, he stopped when he reached his fallen chair… and he just stood there. Trapped under the water. There was no lifesaver to grab onto. 

“I hate you,” Dream finally whispered after a few seconds. “I hate you so much.”

And then he was gone, leaving the chair as evidence of this skirmish. Without him here, the flames faltered and died down a bit, lacking its fuel. 

Amazing that the Guardian of Positivity felt hatred, huh?

Error was led into Cross’s room, with both of them very quiet. He didn’t really know what to do to help, but there was something about this situation that… made him want him to help. If he was asked, he’d probably say something about just repaying all they’ve done for him, but he knew, whether or not he wanted to admit it, even to himself, that it was deeper.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about it.

He watched Cross pull himself onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest, burying his face into his arms. Error slowly came over, sitting down at the chair at his art desk. He twiddled his thumbs, not sure what to do.

...So they sat there for a while, the only noise being the soft tap of Error’s fingers against the desk… Somehow, this was enough because, after a while, Cross unfurled a little, casting a tired look to his companion. Error tried a smile smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace.

“Um, are y-”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Cross admitted, his brief glance dissolving as he looked away. Error nodded and nervously looked around. He… normally distracted himself when he got like this (not that Error ever got like this, mind you, that was a silly idea), so he fumbled for something to do just that for Cross.

He ended up snagging the other’s closed sketchbook. He scooted the chair closer, drawing Cross’s attention again, and the glitch held out the book awkwardly.

“You like to draw, right? Can you, um… maybe teach me?”

Cross looked surprised, which… was honestly a fair response. Error had given no indication of caring for creation (quite the opposite, really), but, after a moment, a tiny grin formed onto his face.

“Yeah, I can teach you.”

He snagged a lap desk from beside his bed on the floor before moving to the side so Error could get onto the bed. Before he did so, the glitch snagged two pencils and an eraser.

Once all settled, Cross tore out a blank piece of paper, clipping it to the lap desk before passing it over to the destroyer. 

“Okay, so, you’re gonna want to make sure to not press down too hard, okay? Or the lines are gonna get really hard to erase…”

Before long, Cross was rambling about the process of making art, and Error was… so relieved that the other seemed happy now.

...Maybe he could get the hang of this thing, helping others… helping them , in the way they were helping him.

…

He kind of liked that.

Chapter Text

Those quiet days at the castle were rare, not at all surprising with the people that lived there. The sounds of disaster followed the little group with every twist and turn of their home, a calamity of unpredictability and a penchant for trouble curling around them like cloaks, except, rarely, did they shed them. 

So, when the peace did settle, it was always welcomed. The silence that drifted through the halls was one of content, knowing that everyone was safe and doing whatever they needed to do to relax, to revel in this. They'd meet for meals but wander off to do their own thing, mostly alone. And that's what they had planned for today.

Cross had chosen to take a walk through the halls for now, having spent some time drawing in his room and taking a, in his opinion, a well deserved nap. He knew that Horror was taking a bath, having watched the larger skeleton meander that way not long ago. He was sure that Nightmare was reading somewhere hidden, getting lost in fictional worlds where he was unneeded, while Killer and Dust... he wasn't actually sure where those two were, but that didn't matter, really. It was time for him to relax, not wonder of his partners.

That being said, he did want to know what Error was up to. The glitch normally disappeared on days like this so it was unclear what all did to unwind, aside from the crotchet (which Cross was still pretty happy he got to witness). He was hoping to catch sight of him now, actually, keeping his eye open for ajar doors and the like.

He didn't get all that lucky with parted entries, but a glitched, frustrated cry alerted to him of the very skeleton he was seeking. Frowning, the ex-guard shuffled towards one of the rooms, noting that it wasn't one that any of them really used, and gave a gentle knock on it. 

"Hey, Error, is that you?" 

There was a gasp from inside before the door was wrenched open. He was met with an angry expression, but didn't fail to notice the tint of pain on the black skull. He noted the glasses, as well, slightly askew, and his rolled up sleeves, revealing a beige fabric around Error's hand and wrist, velcroed securely in place. It took a moment for Cross to recognize it as a pretty cheap compression glove, the material brushing against two knitting needles.

"What the fuck do you want?" Error hissed out, his voice glitching more than usual. 

"...Are you okay?" Cross asked, stupidly, instead of answering. The response was a fiery scowl, which... still didn't deter Cross in the least. He did jump back when Error threw his needles, on the ground with a frustrated sound, though it faltered into a broken, pained whine. His other hand came to wrap around his wrist, his thumb pressing into where his carpels met with his radius and ulna. 

"N-no. Happy?" Error snapped. 

Cross was rightfully stunned, so he scooped up the needles and held them out. "uh, no...? Is there... anything I can do to help you?"

The glitch gave a withering look at the needles, not even attempting to take them back. "No... It's just..."

He stopped, sighing quietly and, when he spoke again, his tone faltered into defeat and exhaustion. 

"The same pain as always... Not much to be done..." 

The former guardsman tilted his head, but returned his gaze to the wrist brace before understanding came to him. Oh. 

"...Just... go. There's no need for you to be here."

Error mumbled, returning back into the depths of the room, leaving Cross out in the hallway, gripping two knitting needles and worry puncturing through him. 

...But he had a plan of action, at least.

It had been a bit of a pain to find Nightmare, but it was a necessary one, Cross decided. Nightmare was very good at not being found when he didn't want to, but Cross had gotten pretty good at recovering things that wanted to stay lost. And, indeed, here he was, curled up in a hammock out in the woods beyond their home, cradling his book to his chest and a displeasured expression on his face as he gazed down at Cross. 

That look had long stopped being as frightening, however. 

"Do we have a heating pad?" He asked instead of a greeting, making the other grunt and raise a brow. 

"Why do you need one?" the question came calm, nearly bored, but Cross could tell that worry seeped in. Cross never made it very easy to sense his pain, and he knew that it got to Nightmare quite often, but he truthfully never really noticed when he was doing it... And that made noticing this little change from annoyed to worry, though minimal in appearance on the negativity guardian, much easier to see.

Cross tried to give his partner the best reassuring grin he had. "It's not for me. It's for Error. Did you know he has wrist pain?"

Nightmare pulled himself from the hammock, shaking his skull. 

"No, I wasn't aware," Nightmare said slowly, clearly displeased that someone living with them had hidden their suffering. Not that he'd be too harsh on the glitch, what with the other still learning that it was okay to speak of these things in their presence. "Do you mind if I help with this?"

Cross felt a grin pull on his mouth and he shook his head. How could he turn down Nightmare's help, with that sparkling need to help their housemate, just as he did with them, that softness many would never get to see beneath the black tar and writhing tentacles because they refused to believe that it could possibly be there. But it was, all gentle words and quiet, caring actions and loving gazes-

...Nightmare made it far too easy to fall in love with him, really. 

"Of course not. Any suggestions would be nice, anyway. I was just gonna get him some chocolate and the heating pad."

"Not a bad start at all," came Nightmare's reply. The other began walking. "Let's expand on that a bit, hm?"

After gathering what they needed, the two made their way to Error's hideaway. Everything was packed away neatly into two bags, both held by Cross, while Nightmare took the lead, their foot falls thudding softly in the emptiness. At the door, Nightmare was the one to knock on the door, which parted a second later. Error looked far more defeated now, exhaustion set into his face, an ancient one, as though he'd lived a million years and seen far too much, felt  far too much, in that sweltering agony within his joints and that boiling frustration that came with. 

Nightmare could feel it. Could feel that turmoil beneath that tired face. 

"Hello, Error, do you mind if we come in?"

The glitch's gaze fell to the bags, narrowing slightly before they shifted to Nightmare, taking in everything, trying to pick apart his intent. However, a moment later, he pushed the door further open and retreated into the room. The two watched Error climb into bed, curling up on the mattress as he pulled the blanket over himself like a shield. Fragile, no doubt, which Nightmare couldn't blame him for. He would be too if his body was actively fighting against him. 

"What do you two want? And what's with the bags?"

"They're gifts!" Cross said, maybe a little too excitedly, but Nightmare wouldn't fault him for that. He was, too, after all, intoxicated by that thrilled buzz he got from giving gifts to his boyfriends clinging to him tightly... Plus, Error adorably didn't know how to accept gifts, and his shyness... Well, Nightmare had wished the last time they'd given him a present, Cross had his camera on him.

Error's mouth drew to a thin line, and mismatched eyes fell away to trace along the wall opposite the two. "Psh, yeah, whatever."

"He's genuine." Nightmare chimed in. "Why don't you take a look? I think you'll at least find them useful."

That was the part he didn't like about giving something to Error; he didn't normally believe it at first. And, honestly, it was sad, that he couldn't fathom the idea of someone truly wanting to give him something, innocent and stringless. 

Error glanced to Nightmare with a wary look, but accepted the bags as Cross held them out. He then selected one of them, finding some chocolates and a small teddy bear he eyed oddly. A faint flush came to his cheeks, but he focused on putting that aside, and retrieving the other bag, which revealed a hot pad, brand new compression gloves, a microwavable wrist brace, his old knitting needles, along side a new set. He was quiet for a moment before looking away, gold burning across his cheeks.

"What's all this useless junk?" He grumbled, but there was no missing how he twitched to grab the teddy, just barely stopping himself. Nightmare was glad that he seemed to enjoy when they gave him plushies. He wondered if he'd cuddle up to them? 

...Did he think about them when he did? 

Dashing that thought, Nightmare smiled. 

"Comfort... and care. I would've gotten you these things had I known before this that you had wrist pain, Error." 

"...It wasn't important enough to mention. It's just... what it is," came the reply, tiny and quiet. Shaking his head, Cross sat down next to him, careful not to get too close. 

"Pain like that is important. We all deserve to have our pain soothed, so you do, too."

"Well, you didn't have to get me chocolate or that... bullshit," Error gestured to the toy, then snatched it up, and put on an almost convincing show of studying it with disdain. Even if it had been enough, he ruined it a moment later, putting the teddy bear in his lap. 

"I see no reason not to," the guardian said. "I would get anyone here something like that to cheer them up, and you're no exception." 

Baffled, Error opened his mouth to argue, likely to point out that he wasn't Nightmare's boyfriend, but Nightmare held up a tentacle. 

"I mean it. Regardless of our relationship, it's a small action to provide at least a little bit of comfort. So, please, enjoy it."

Error's mouth shut and he sighed. There was joy within his defeat, though, as it meant he'd accept everything. Cross got up and went to Nightmare's side, but both stopped when Error cleared his throat. 

"...I'm gonna be pretty useless using this stuff... Can we... the three of us, I mean... Uh... Watch a movie?" 

The two couldn't, in any capacity, refuse.

Chapter Text

If you'll be my star,

"Hey, are you awake?" 

"...ugh, yeah. What do you want?"

The bed shifted, much to Star's annoyance, as his boyfriend slid from the bed and grabbed his glasses, effectively and simultaneously disregarding and answering Star's question. Despite the weight of his body, Star followed suit, his feet slipping into those silly bunny slippers Sci bought him two years ago for shits and giggles. He joined the other on the balcony of their apartment, tangling his fingers with Sci's like branches on trees a little too close, unable to free themselves, even with angry gusts of wind.

"I couldn't sleep," Sci whispered, his head tilted up, taking in the black streaked sky, dotted with hundreds of thousands of blinking lights to which Star had received his namesake and had long since been desensitized to it. But Sci could never stop coming out here, each time seemingly more dazzled with the beauty he faced.

But Star couldn't help but look to Sci, face soft in the dark, so startlingly perfect. This was his star and he would never tire from viewing him.

I'll be your sky.

The grass tickled their bare feet, their shoes and socks abandoned on the picnic blanket with sweaters and crumbs. Sci tried his best to keep up with Star, though it wasn't working. The other's features had lit up, a joyous grin set hard in his face as he ran about, laughing, even if he stumbled, like a child young enough to view their backyard as untold potential for adventures and daring-do's. 

Star took a right curve and zoomed into Sci, his guffaws arching in volume as they both tumbled to the green ground. Sci couldn't even speak up before he was showered in kisses, little butterfly touches brimming with love. He'd never get over Star's enthusiasm about parks, really.

"You're happy today," Sci remarked, capturing the moment in his memory, down to the way sky seemed to frame his lover like a halo. 

"Of course I am," Star breathed, his hands cupping Sci's face. "I'm with you. The whole sky couldn't contain my love for you."

And Sci knew this to be true.

You can hide underneath me  and come out at night.

"Star, it's time to get up," Sci whispered, a hand brushing over the other skeleton's skull. Star gave a pathetic groan that sounded more like a broken off whimper as he buried his face into the pillow. The scientist didn't ignore the dark spots that dotted it, like a written will for Star's peaceful rest. Sci knew Star had already tried to get up. He also knew that last night was not a good night.

"It's too bright today," Star mumbled, something akin to pain in his voice.

"I know, Starshine," Sci replied, still quiet, his hand continuing to work over Star's head. "I know."

Star twitched and Sci sighed, pulling the blanket over the other some more. After another moment, he closed the blinds and curtains and turned off all the lights before returning. Finally, Star stirred, freeing his face from his fabric prison. 

He looked so tired.

But, then again, Star always did. He couldn't get to sleep the way he ought to.

"I'm sorry, Sci. I'm trying."

Sci hated the way Star's voice cracked, absolute misery and self disgusted hemming themselves into every open wound his lover had.

"It's okay, Starshine. I'm so proud of you."

In the dark, it seemed that Star started glowing, just faintly, even as he wept, shying away from anything and everything except for Sci's gentle touch. Sci took this as a small victory.

when I turn jet black and you show off your light.

"It feels like I can't get anything right," Sci hissed, tossing the notebook of equations and notes (and the occasional doodle from mind-wandering adventures) to the dining table. Frustration and withering determination flicked across his face, much to Star's sadness. He never enjoyed when Sci came into these ruts; it became less about being stuck and more about a list of failures Sci seemed to have filed away just for these times.

"You'll figure it out, Sci," Star reassured, not daring reaching out to touch Sci with the other flared up like this.

"I'm holding back the team!"

"No, you're learning. As a scientist should."

Sci shot him a look that Star decided he didn't like. Not one bit. It was a cold flame, bellowing, seething, burning, but chilled, ice licking up bones and settling into Star as though he were the culprit, the fuel, to the blaze.

"Sci, you're work is about the process of failing multiple times before finally getting it right. You're not holding back you're team and you would know that if you talked to them. Take a break and come back to this with a clear mind."

Sci sighed, his shoulders slumping as he did. 

"Alright... Thank you, Star."

"No problem, Scifi. I'll make you some coffee."

I live to let you shine.

"You've got your sunglasses on again," Sans observed, leaning back in his chair. In one hand, he gripped a can of something. Star wasn't sure what exactly it was because he didn't often drink and nor did he care to read the label between the other's fingers.

Before the two, Blue, Stretch, Carmine, Edge, Papyrus, and Sci all sat, each clinging to some kind of drink or meal, chatting and laughing, creating bellows of brilliant sound to fill and merge with the chatter of other patrons in Grillby's. Even with all the commotion, Star was enjoying himself.

Well, particularly because Carmine had challenged Blue to a drinking contest, failed, got super drunk, and was now making a minor fool himself. Blue had, by far, drank more than him and didn't even seem a little tipsy.

He and Papyrus had agreed to be the designated drivers, so his own drink consisted of a milkshake he occasionally sipped on. He really didn't mind it that much.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," replied Star.  

"Why do you wear those, anyway?" Blue piped up, swiveling in his seat to better see Star.

He had a reason, of course. It was much darker in his AU than this one, so he had to wear sunglasses to help manage all of the light. However...

He couldn't pass up this opportunity. 

"I'd lose my eyesight lookin' at Sci," Star replied, nodding towards his boyfriend. Before he could finish the comment (basically just calling his wonderful partner a star), Sci raised a brow and raised a brow.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around, then, Star?" 

An awkward chuckle left the Outertale resident. Oh, right, his name...

"Yer a buncha fuckin' saps," growled out Carmine from his seat, his hand reaching out for his drink. Edge plucked it away from him, eyeing his brother in distain. 

"While I'm inclined to agree, and to say that it is absolutely disgusting, we should probably be leaving here soon."

"Aw, tryin' ta 'scape the love?" Stretch asked with a chuckle, slinging an arm around Edge's shoulders, leaning heavily against the darker skeleton. "Feelin' bonely? Heheh."

"Aaand we're leaving." Edge replied, going deadpan as he stood up and gathered up his brother into his arms. The others at the table chuckled, more so at the reaction than the cause. Even Papyrus, with his disdain for drinking and the behavior associated with it, couldn't help but laugh. 

I live to let you shine.

"I'm so proud of you!" Sci managed to keep the excited words quiet. Star, who normally spent the rough days in bed, was sitting on the couch. The curtains were all drawn, the lights and TV off, even the fan was off.

To make it was quiet and dark as possible. 

Star gave a sheepish, tired smile as he sunk into the cushions. Sci knew this victory left pathetic to his partner, that he felt he should be 'normal' and not getting overwhelmed by normal sounds and lights the way he did. It was a battle, getting used to these things after coming from a quiet AU that spent its time in space. Which, you know, tended to be pretty dark.

Sci plopped down beside his lover, offering his hand to him. Star, after a second, laced his fingers with Sci's. 

"You did it," Sci mumbled as he pressed his teeth to his cheek. "You're incredible."

"I just left the room..."

"When it was hard too! That's amazing."

Star's cheeks flushed and Sci pulled him closer. 

His boyfriend was the most incredible monster in the Multiverse, he decided. No one could convince him otherwise.

...Of course, Star was thinking the exact same thing.