Archive of Our Own ^beta

In a tiny cage
With their fangs out, they can only hurt each other

狭い籠の中
牙を剥き傷つけ合う

"Uh, Error, who is this—?" Swap asked curiously, his gaze fixed on the unfamiliar figure beside Error.

Empty wrappers littered the floor between them, quiet evidence of someone’s patience. Of care, maybe. Error had fed him—gone so far as to unbind him—and that didn’t happen without reason. The stranger sat in the Anti-Void, legs folded beneath him, looking far too settled for someone who should have been a prisoner.

Error lazily tossed the wrappers aside. Swap let his gaze settle on the unfamiliar guest—saturated indigo against the pristine white, their presence bleeding into the emptiness like spilled ink on paper.

There was a resemblance, a hint of familiarity...

"Dream?" Swap mused aloud, the name lingering in the air.

It seemed his words had hit a nerve. The newcomer reacted in an instant, jolting backward as a weapon snapped into his hand, adopting a defensive posture. There was a feral sharpness in his eyes—the cornered look of prey that had learned the rhythm of pursuit well. It sent a cold shiver down Swap’s spine.

The sight of the dark scythe aimed at him was unnerving—its presence sharp and ominous. It was a weapon he had only ever seen in Reaper’s hands.

"O-ø-Œ-oh, great. I just got him to c-ç-C-calm down," Error huffed, clearly displeased  with the stranger’s sudden guard.

"I'm not going back to him," Error's friend spat, voice trembling with defiance and raw desperation. "You can't make me."

Swap’s attempt to intervene was cut short as cyan strings shot out, aiming to ensnare the violet skeleton before him.

"Error?!" Swap exclaimed, taking a concerned step toward the scene.

His new acquaintance showed impressive agility, dodging the threads with acrobatic grace. In any other setting, the stranger might have held his ground against the glitch. Not as effortlessly as Ink or Swap, given their experience, but certainly longer than most.

As he watched the display of skill, Swap couldn't help but wonder how long this friend had known Error—or if he’d simply grown used to facing foes wielding weapons like these. Weapons meant to bind, to capture.

After a tense pause, Error’s friend was caught by the threads, his movements halting abruptly—as though he were a marionette with cut strings. He seemed eerily resigned to his fate, the resistance draining from him, aware of the futility in fighting Error’s power.

Swap's frown deepened at the sight, sharply shifting his attention back to Error. "He didn’t even harm me, Error! Why would you—?"

"He was freaking out. He’s calm now, see?" Error cut in, sounding vexed.

He wasn’t wrong, but Swap could see through the façade. Nox’s body may have stilled, but the tension was thick in the air. His eyes darted around, pupils wild, and his shallow, ragged breaths betrayed the calm Error had so easily claimed. Every slight twitch of his body screamed of a mind still frantic, still clawing beneath the surface.

"Error, we've talked about this! You can't just tie someone up when they annoy you," Swap admonished, his tone firm yet tinged with disquiet.

"No, idiot. I did it to help him. It mellows him out. He's fucking weird like that. Conditioned or some shit, I dunno," Error explained defensively, his frustration reaching its apex.

"If you two are going to talk about me while I'm right in front of you, can I at least get a smoke?" The unexpected voice emanated from Error's captive, raspy from disuse and, evidently, from smoking. It possessed a low, soothing quality that reminded Swap of his brother.

"Smoking’s bad for you, you know," Swap scolded gently, though he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer when Error stubbornly refused to release the skeleton. He sighed in quiet defeat, a hint of pity in his gaze. "Do you keep any on you?"

"Left pocket. Respectfully, I'll be lucky if it’s the smokes that get me," came the grim reply from Error’s captive. Swap didn't respond right away. Instead, he flicked open a battered cigarette case, revealing a disordered mess of mismatched brands and half-smoked stubs.

"Does it matter which one I pick?" Swap inquired.

"Not really," came the reply, accompanied by a stiff, barely-there shrug—limited by the threads binding him.

Swap selected one of the partially smoked cigarettes, earning a disapproving glance from Error's captive. Swap batted his sockets in a show of innocence.

The skeleton took the cigarette with a familiar ease, his mouth opening without prompting to place it between his teeth. Swap didn’t need to help him with the exhale; the smoke drifted from one side of his mouth, a quiet, uneasy testament to his experience with having bound limbs.

Lavender smoke spilled from his mouth, its color a striking contrast to the pale grey of the cigarette’s haze. Error started ranting about pollution in his pristine Anti-Void; Swap’s attention was elsewhere, unfazed.

The newcomer continued to regard him warily, prompting Swap to alleviate the tension. "I'm so sorry for upsetting you! I don't know what I did, but I didn't mean it!" he explained, feeling sheepish. "I'd like to try again, if I could. I'm Swap! I'm a friend of Error's too!"

The dark figure appeared somewhat overwhelmed by Swap—maybe it was his volume or his sheer presence. Yet, fear had faded from his expression; now, he only seemed taken aback and uneasy, caught off guard by the intensity.

Awkward silence followed. 

As the cigarette burned down, the skeleton spat out the filter, prompting Error to fuss and make a scene in the corner, clearing away all the trash left behind in his Anti-Void. Neither Swap nor Error's friend paid much attention to the commotion.

"Sorry, I'm... high-strung. It's not your fault, Mister." The new skeleton apologized, his voice soft and wispy, carrying a delicate quality that lingered in the air like mist. The contrast in their volumes was striking—Swap’s voice rang clear and loud, while their captive murmured gently, almost hesitant. Swap made a mental note to lower his voice around him,not wanting to disturb the fragile calm that surrounded the skeleton.

"My name is Nightmare," he said, his gaze flickering briefly to Error, who bristled with the impatient energy of a child denied attention. Swap felt the tension rising from the glitch, a storm brewing beneath the surface. He knew he should intervene, but—

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"