Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quill Booker is a humble man with humble aspirations.

Raised an only child with a single dad, middle-class, in a modest apartment with an aspiration for becoming a paramedic.

He's tall but painfully average, near-sighted and clumsy, with a voice so quiet he usually didn't bother to speak at all.

He liked listening better, anyways.

Quill was a decent person that held a passion for helping others.

Emphasis on 'was', because as he stands now, he isn't sure he can still call himself a 'person'; at least, the human kind.

It started with an average day.

An average breakfast.

An average EMT 101 exam.

It ended with a bad night.

A dark allyway.

A terrified girl.

A hooded mugger.

Quill Booker bled out from multiple stab wounds to the trunk and abdomen, expiring at 11:07pm on a Wednesday a few streets away from his college.

At least, he reasons, the girl got away safely.

All other logic and reasoning, however, were quickly tossed straight out the window when Quill opened his eyes and found himself waking up lying in the snow.

He's surrounded by trees, brain scrambled and vision blurring between reality and first-person memories of committing mass genocide of... Monsters?

One look at the foreign clothes adorning a skeleton body, dust and melted snow mixing to cover them in something like viscous grey mud, quickly lead to a numb understanding.

He was a body snatcher.

He had also just unintentionally body-snatched a murderous living skeleton.

Said living skeleton did something along the lines of 'falling down' if his fractured mind had any credibility.

And now he was stuck.

Quill promptly checked right back out of reality and passed out in the snow.

After regaining consciousness, the next twenty hours were filled with internal crisis, interrupted only by evolving through the seven stages of grief.

Unpracticed and malformed shards of... Glowing bone...? Decorated the churned snow around him, and his (already rusty) non-existent vocal cords were practically shredded from wordless screaming.

Time passed as he slowly picked up the remaining shards of his sanity, reordered his mind and the world as he knew it, and finally came back to himself.

To say Quill's nerves were shot was a complete understatement.

Shaky and extremely low on magic reserves (thanks, murderous memories, for small pearls of wisdom) he haltingy trudged through the magical underground snow, following someone else's hazy memories on autopilot.

Even with a new mind and soul inhabiting it, the body was true to muscle memory and guided him to the front door of a paradoxically familiar and unfamiliar home.

The other's memories pointed to the fact that this was his home.

Quill's exhausted and shock-numbed mind came to the morbid realization that it was technically his, however, nothing but ghosts and dust lived here anymore.

The whole underground was nothing but ghosts and dust, excluding the corpse of a single child demon rotting in a place called the 'Judgement Hall'.

The mesh of old and new thoughts and personalities was making him sick.

Physically shaking himself as if that would get rid of his inner torment, he opened the old creaking door and numbly moved to the bathroom to shower.

The act of cleaning himself had never been so strange and disassociated before, and a lot of warm water was wasted by staring at the dust-turned-sludge that circled down the drain.

A strange quiet voice in his mind was fascinated by how simultaneously similar and different his new body was to the anatomically correct diagrams he studied for coursework as he dried off.

The sad, tired permagrin that stared back at him from the mirror was extremely disconcerting- as were the empty black sockets with trails of dark stains pouring down his cheeks.

Picking up Papyrus's an old toothbrush, Quill pushed aside his skepticism over the 'MTT Brand Bone Whitener' and used it to scrub gratuitously at the marks.

There were faint indents left in the bone from the possibly corrosive substance, but whatever had been there before no longer leaked from his eyes(ockets?) and was no longer a problem.

With the menial tasks done and new clothes found, he instead focused on the many questions about how he somehow managed to blink without eyelids.

Staring into the mirror, Quill would deny ever having spent a solid hour curiously poking, pinching, and generally abusing his own face in the name of science.

He only stopped because of a feeling like something was wrong, the air seemed to buzz and shake while a strange energy tingles up his spine and traveled to the roots of his teeth.

He absentmindedly licked his teeth, ignored the implications of having done that, and quickly exited the bathroom.

Alarm at the strangeness had him hurrying down the stairs, cautiously peeking through the front window.

Squinting in an attempt to focus his poor vision, he saw two blurry figured stepping cautiously through the snow.

Nervous excitement jolted him into action.

Someone was here!

Maybe they could help?

They were walking past the house and away, he had to hurry!

Quill ran to the front door, not bothering to close it behind him, and jogged to catch up.

"- I'm sure I felt that negativity here, what if someone survived? The Sans fell down, we have to check-"

"Someone's here,"

One of them cut the other off, both of the figures ahead halting.

Relieved, he slowed his own pace.

He stumbled to a halt mid-step in shock when they turned to face him, and a strange spike of- something akin to an unspoken foreign language- clearly set off his fight or flight instincts.

Whatever his senses was picking up clearly told him that they were hostile.

"Killer! Why are you here?!"

His eyesight was shit, but for whatever reason, the yellow-dressed person drew a weapon that shone like a crystal-clear beacon.

A glowing magic arrow aimed straight at him.

Acting on a pacifying impulse his hands shot upwards in a gesture of surrender, utterly confused and alarmed by the glowing arrow pointed at his muddled head... Skull.

Right, he was a skeleton now- bony hands and all.

The motion, however, was perhaps misinterpreted; there was no further warnings, no diplomacy, and certainly no time to do much more than react.

The one with the giant brush blurred forward, and it was only by the grace of the previous body's... Er, skillset... That he wasn't snapped in two.

Not that it mattered much anyways in the end.

His body moved into a swift dodge, but his mind and soul were not in synch with the action, the disconnect between mind and body slowing his reaction time.

The weapon connected a glancing blow at his temple instead of being a killshot.

One strike and it was lights out.

Chapter Text

When Quill regained consciousness, it was to the sensation of drums pounding in his skull, timed with throbbing flares of pain radiating from his left temple.

He kept his eyesockets closed, forcibly keeping his breathing deep and even.

The forced calm served to help control the pain and center himself as he entered an almost meditative state.

The buzzing in his chest seemed to calm in place of a heartbeat- with the calm, however, came a rush of information.

Nonexistent muscles rythmetically tensed and relaxed, slowly synching physical reflexes with an untrained mind.

Knowledge and memories belonging to the original skeleton flickered like koi fish, drifting slowly at the surface of his mind in his meditative state.

Unfortunately, with the 'good', came the 'bad'.

Quill flinched at a foreign memory of a well-loved knife handle clenched in his fingers, the feeling of a blade slicing through another person...

Who those people were...

What the LV was...

The deep, aching sense of grief and loneliness, forgotten in an empty underground that would never RESET again...

Quill trembled, but even when violently torn from the meditative state, his mind, body, and soul remained synched.

The memories were his now, something he would have no choice but to deal with for the rest of his life.

"Hey, are you awake yet? I see you moving."

One eye squinted open in surprise- not at the presence of another, but at the unexpected and potent tidal wave of rage and bloodlust that swept through his previously calm state.

Including his rather violent demise, the times he'd been in a fight could be counted on the fingers of one hand with some to spare (not counting his... Inherited memories, of course).

If he had fit any stereotype in his old life, it would have been the clumsy gentle giant.

Thus, the automatic and visceral reaction was unexpected and unhindered.

His wrists bones creaked under the pressure of his restraints, bruising near instantly as his body jerked in an aborted attempt to lunge violently at the voice.

Horrified, Quill froze, head pounding from the sudden light stimulation as his eyes widened.

He's suddenly very, very grateful for the magic chains that bound his hands together and to the floor- even if he was forced to kneel, as they weren't very long.

Even the thought of purposeful violence was difficult for him, much less acting upon those urges like his body's previous occupant and murdering on the regular.

That single and unintended knee-jerk action had him reeling, abhorred by himself.

He let out a strained grunt of surprise and pain as the chains tightened and yanked his hands straight into the floorboards, his knuckles cracking against the wood.

"Sorry Killer, but I know you better than to let you roam free."

He lifted his blurred gaze from his aching hands to the fuzzy face of the skeleton that wielded the giant brush, which was now idle in the other's arms.

This is obviously the guy that directly controlled his restraints.

So this is the one that kidnapped him?

He squinted, attempting to actually see details.

The ever-changing eyelights were clear in his vision, as were other magical things, but it seems his previously bad eyesight transferred with him to the new body; it was hard to tell that the stain on the other's cheek was ink or paint of some kind, and the blurred rainbow strap was in fact a bandolier of colorful vials.

Judging by faint color familiarities, this skeleton was one of the guys that he'd been chasing in the snow.

At least he had a chance of seeing the other now that they were standing closer.

The other tilted his head in mild confusion under his blank-faced, squinted scrutiny.

"What, cat got your tongue? You usually have so much to say!"

Oh, right.

What had the other tried calling him again?

Someone named Killer?

As fitting as that name would have been for the previous owner of his body, he clearly remembered that he had been referred to as 'Sans' in the blurred bits of memories.

Maybe he was being mistaken for someone else.

He hopes he never meets this actual 'Killer', but even if they were some sort of shady person- skeleton- thing, that doesn't excuse kidnapping a stranger and chaining them to the floor of your home after nearly killing them!

With the most unimpressed expression he could muster, Quill forced the aching phalanges of his right hand into a wrist-up fist, and extended his middle finger.

The other skeleton holstered the giant brush on his back, completely unaffected.

"Good to know you can at least hear me well enough. Your 'boss' and gang might not care about you, but I know you'll come around to us! Just imagine- if you give us the location of his hideout AU, you'll never have to worry about them hurting anyone again and the Multiverse will be safe. Just something to consider!"

We?

Wait, where was the skeleton with the glowing arrow thing?

What gang?

Boss??

Multiverse???

Mind teeming with unvoiced questions, Quill watched the other skeleton retreat deeper within the house with increasing confusion.

The silence came back, leaving him alone on the floor with nothing but his thoughts for company.

He couldn't even see his prison aside from the closest floorboards, considering his poor eyesight.

With nothing else to do, he meditated on the new memories, the buzzing soul in his chest (that's what that's called?), and the knowledge that he could now use magic, and not just to make malformed bone attacks like he had during his mental breakdown.

Now he just had to sort through his jumbled mess of his mind to figure out how.

It was dark by the time he'd resurfaced from his mind to the sound of reality warping, and a wave of magic washed through the room.

From a glowing portal, a blurred figure dressed in yellow and teal entered the room.

Perhaps it was a byproduct of never having magic before, but the potent energy from the portal had him feel like his very bones were buzzing and his teeth were on edge again; the same sensation that happened while in the old dusty house.

Absentmindedly, he licked his teeth to try to get rid of the sensation and, again, decided against questioning how skeletons apparently have tongues.

"Oh! Right, you're still here... Did Ink talk to you yet?"

It seems he'd been noticed.

He blinked at the light that flooded through the room when a lamp clicked on, and deadpanned in the direction of the skeleton.

He blinked again- in surprise this time- at the strange pervading feeling that, weirdly enough, almost translated into words.

It was clearer than when they'd first met in the snowy forest.

Tired/Guilt/Wary

It seemed to come from the other skeleton, subconsciously transferring the thoughts- feelings?- from their magic to his.

This, unfortunately, also included unnaturally saccharine feelings that disagreed with how he wanted to feel.

Calm and warmth in a kidnapping situation.

Well, that was uncomfortable.

Frowning in concentration, he took control of the residual magic that almost seemed to surround each person like an aura, and forcefully pulled it away and back into himself.

It seemed to strain and try to slip through like water through cupped hands, so instead of struggling to hold it, he concentrated on redirecting and hardening it into some sort of... Shell, or armor.

The other skeleton jolted as if he'd been slapped, their sockets- fuzzy, but still obvious enough to give a read on the other's expression- widened.

Buttercup-yellow eyelights seemed to bore straight into his own.

Uncertain and probing foreign magic almost seemed to brush across his self-made armor.

In response, Quill vindictively imagined spikes.

They were both equally startled when the yellow skeleton with a sickeningly positive aura hissed in discomfort, magic recoiling away from his own.

The other skeleton- Ink, apparently- bounded back into the room, a fuzzy amalgamation of browns and rainbow colors.

"Dream! You're back! You... Don't look so good."

Quill ignored the interaction of one skeleton fretting over the other, curiosity festering.

Now that his head was clearer and he could properly pick out sensations and magic signatures, he could clearly distinguish the feel of the two captors.

Ink didn't seem to passively translate feelings like Dream did, but that guy had some seriously powerful magic.

He resolutely hardened his newfound defense.

He did not want to feel or communicate anything with his captors, thank you very much, and it was nice to have some sort of defense.

"Huh, that's new. I wonder why he never blocked out magic and intentions before?"

He idly tuned back in as the skeletons moved into the next room, avoiding their curious and wary stares as they passed him.

"Regardless, you can't just forget to take care of someone, Ink. Have either of you eaten yet?"

"... Maybe."

"Really?"

"... No."

With a put upon sigh, they turned the corner, voices no longer distinguishable amidst the sound of cooking.

If he had a stomach, it would be making a racket.

He'd either been too confused, occupied, or otherwise struggling with more pressing issues to take notice, but Quill was starving.

A brief quest into acquired memories told him why; the underground had been emptied out for a long time, and there was only so much food.

The Ghost (as he was dubbing the last bodily occupant) hadn't cared about living a long time and hadn't rationed.

Even if monster food didn't spoil, it was a finite source without other monsters like the vegetoids and parsniks to keep it all running.

The body hadn't eaten more than a scrounged bit of astronaut food in almost a week, and the dubious 'name' of the food didn't leave him confident that it had been very good.

He... Kind of hopes they don't mind giving him even just a small piece of whatever it is that they're cooking.

He's not a voluntary guest, sure, but the memories of dwindling food leaves him oddly anxious- as if he's taking their resources.

Quill, despite the situation, couldn't help but feel a bit bad.

He wasn't this Killer person and he certainly didn't agree with being kidnapped (much less the situation as a whole) but he hadn't meant to hurt the yellow guy or take their food.

He just didn't want to have warm fuzzy feelings forced down his throat.

Chapter Text

It would be gracious to call the bowl of chunky... Something... In front of him stew, but at this point, he was pretty damn far from picky.

It was placed on the floor in front of him and nudged his way as if he was some sort of wild animal that would take off their hands if given the chance.

Dream admonished Ink into extending the chains a little again so that he could properly eat, and that was apparently that.

Still, even if the meal and the delivery left a lot to be desired, Quill lightened up on the invisible armor he'd made from his magic, only for a split second to project his silent but genuine gratitude, and just as swiftly locked it up tightly again.

Two pairs of owlish stares were ignored, as were several outburst questions while he took the bowl into his lap and just about inhaled the contents.

Nothing they said would matter to him until his 'stomach' was full again.

He'd skipped meals here and there before for various reasons, but he had never gone this hungry before in his life.

In retrospect, he would now always hold more appreciation for his dad's attempts in the kitchen; at least he had been fed, even if it was usually burnt and awful-tasting.

The techniques he'd developed for gulping it down with a stone-faced expression before the taste could register was now, also, a very appreciated skill.

Especially considering that after the sensation of swallowing, the food disappeared.

It was an extremely weird experience that he didn't want to let his captors in on, considering they'd been periodically casting glances his way while they also ate.

This was by far the single most awkward meal he'd ever partaken in, and that included first date meals.

Well, at least the headache was a lot better now.

If he happened to squirrel away the spoon and tuck it into his thick jacket sleeve, that was nobody's business but his own; he simply diverted attention by politely nudging the empty bowl out of his own reach before it got to the awkward point where they'd have to ask for it back.

Neither of them noticed the missing spoon when Dream took the dish.

Ink, frustrated with his unanswered questions and bored with him, sighed and turned to move deeper into the house, causing Dream to frown.

"You've been busy a lot lately. Is everything okay?"

The skeleton huffed in response, dramatically tossing his arms into the air.

"Error's been at it again. That guy just won't take a break! It's like I have to help with the creation of two AUs to every one he destroys just to keep up."

The yellow skeleton nodded in sympathy.

"Just make sure you get some rest, I know how easy it is to get absorbed in your work."

Ink groaned in acknowledgement on his walk down... A hallway.

Probably the same one he went down last time.

It was a bit hard to tell the layout of the house at that distance.

In fact, it was difficult to concentrate on much; it felt increasingly like someone had been turning up the thermostat.

Quill shifted uncomfortably, idly listening to the clatter of dishes washing in an attempt at distraction.

Even the ghost's memories of these occurrences were sparse- usually attached to a rise in LV- but the feeling was different, if similar.

It felt like his magic was... Not bloated, but perhaps a little too full after being empty for so long?

It had been a long time since he'd eaten, he reasons, but his understanding based off of second-hand memories is spotty at best.

It felt like the room was warm and he'd chugged a redbull while sitting on an ant's nest.

He fed a little extra into thickening the armor against emotions and... Intents, they called it? Intentions?

He hadn't necessarily been tuned in when they were talking about it and questioning him, and hadn't committed the word to memory.

It was probably right, not that it matters.

The energy dissipated a little once some of his magic was redirected, at least.

His lightless eyes tracked the blob of color as Dream exited the kitchen, seeming to pause for a few moments, before gently grabbing a throw pillow off one of the couches and offering it with a sheepish smile.

Quill took it with a nod, not trusting his suddenly unstable magic to speak with intent again.

"Goodnight,"

The other bid quietly, his smile blurred but clearly awkward, and turned to leave up a set of stairs.

Either that or he just randomly started floating up a pillar for all his vision was able to discern.

Patiently, he waited, legs crossed, as the lights turned off and the house seemed to settle.

There was very faint occasional sounds like papers rustling, but otherwise, there was no sign of other life.

The soup spoon was palmed into his hand.

It was an unassuming stainless steel thing with flower decorations, but anything was better than nothing.

He just hopes that experimenting with it would be a quiet affair.

With a steadying breath, Quill carefully fed a spark of magic into the metal, infused with the intent to Become stronger/Break other objects.

It remained an unassuming spoon.

Frowning, he pushed just a drop more.

Just a spoon.

Patiently, he continued his experiment with slow and careful discipline; he only had one spoon, after all.

Slowly amping up the magic output, he was rewarded by a small green glow emanating from where the handle was pinched between his pointer phalange and thumb.

Sweating from intense concentration, a small triumphant smile widened his permagrin.

Tiny increase after increase, the green glow spread across the spoon, becoming more vivid and intense.

A small whine from stressed metal had him wincing, glancing up to make sure he was still alone.

A faint paper shuffle sounded, and nothing else.

He was in the clear.

Quill focused and pushed and fed his intent into the metal until he was forced to break concentration, panting, with a fierce headache making its return.

The spoon's metal seemed perhaps a touch darker than when he'd started, dully glowing emerald green Lichtenberg figures crackling through it.

Hmm.

Not bad.

Now, for the ultimate test.

Shuffling until the magic chain was more exposed, he positioned the tip of the spoon over one of the links.

Silently, he recounted every borrowed memory he could find about 'shortcuts' just in case things went south; a backup plan was essential.

He let out a steadying breath, mentally preparing himself.

Now or never.

Bracing both hands over the spoon's handle, he raised his arms as far as they could go without moving the targeted chain link, and plunged it down.

ka-chink

The link shattered into particles of magic, and with it, the rest of the chain.

He did it!

"Dream? Was that you?"

Ink's approaching voice called, and his body stiffened in panic.

No time to celebrate.

Trusty spoon in hand, Quill scrambled to his feet as quietly as possible, and darted for the nearest door-like color blob.

Fortunately, it was actually a door.

Unfortunately, once it was open, it became clear that he's not in Kansas anymore.

All he could see was a big blur of off-white and gold, darkened to simulate nighttime.

The sound of footsteps made his next decision for him before he even knew he had a decision to make.

He's grateful he had a back-up plan, even if it was half-baked at best; he was fumbling with the intricacies, magic slow under his uncertain guidance to break the laws of reality.

His magic snapped to attention, redirected from being a shield to opening a rift in space-time, and he turned to see Ink's vague outline round the corner.

Fuck you/This is mine now

He projected.

Spoon still in one hand, Quill flipped off the other skeleton with both hands, and activated his magic for (what he hoped would be) a shortcut.

---

Chapter art by @imaginaryclowns and @earthtigerart on Tumblr!

Chapter Text

Ink's form blurred into motion, phalanges hooking into the front of his jacket a microsecond before they were both swallowed by the void.

Quill had severely miscalculated.

His first attempt at a shortcut was going to be slow and awkward, he knew that; especially considering he was trying to get back to 'his' house, which possibly meant a very draining and inept universe travel.

He didn't factor in the other skeleton, or think about just how fast Ink had been when trying to kill him; otherwise he might have factored in the other's speed and gotten away before he was able to grab him.

He wasn't a genius like the Ghost had been, but it didn't take smarts to know that once the void spat them out, they might both be fucked.

Time-space is a very fickle thing, and travelling through it can be dangerous; it was clear that neither of them had been thinking.

The consequences of their actions became clear when the two skeletons warped into reality swallowed by dense fog and immediately got sucked downwards by gravity.

Quill's throat seized closed in terror, but Ink screamed plenty for both of them when they fell through a cloud and entered a freefall from very, very high in the sky, hurtling down towards a mass of grey blobs interspersed with color.

He was going to die like this!

Ink is a kidnapper with zero memory to even feed his victim, but that doesn't mean he wants him to die either!

His arms snapped out, phalanges curling into a reciprocated deathgrip in the other's shirt with a spoon handle scraping painfully against the metacarpals of his right hand, as his vision desperately fixed on the most obvious piece of colorful ground he could pick out.

He twisted the other shocked skeleton above him.

His magic, running low but primed from adrenaline, snapped them into a second shortcut.

Despite the instinctive actions and desperate calculations, he was unprepared for the pain of smashing back-first into asphalt with the weight of a second body on top of him.

Dark spots danced in his blurred vision as he desperately tried to suck breaths into his winded chest.

This hurts like hell.

He groaned weakly when Ink scrambled up and took him upwards too with their connected deathgrips, forcing his aching limbs to support himself.

Quill stumbled to find balance when one of his legs failed, snatching his hands away from the other skeleton and dazedly scanning their surroundings.

There was a ring of space around them, asphalt littered with papers and signs, with multitudes of surprised people surrounding them.

No More Monsters!

One of them read in bolded letters so big he could read it.

Back to the Underground!

Oh.

He... Was a monster, right?

"It's... It's two of them! They're freaks!"

One voice shouted, kickstarting a round of screaming and jeers that spread through the massive crowd like wildfire.

Quill's eyesockets widened and he stumbled backwards a step when his left leg protested against supporting his weight.

He'd saved them from falling to their deaths, only to teleport them accidentally into the thick crowd of angry protestors.

"N-No, wait! We're not-!"

Ink tried to placate, but his shouts were drowned out by the crowd.

His magic was overwhelmed with vicious intent from the people.

HURT/CHASE/LEAVE/KILL

It hardened into a protective layer, but it was only enough to hide his intent and dull the outside influences; it remained overwhelming.

Someone threw something, and a hiss of pain escaped him when a boot thumped against his bruised ribs.

Some of the others in the crowd, emboldened, started to follow this example.

Quill snatched Ink's sleeve and bodily dragged the other away from another projectile.

The world warped around them again, but this time it wasn't his doing; they were unceremoniously dumped into an abandoned side street echoing with the distant calls of the angry crowd.

Both skeletons spent a few precious moments recovering, the quiet permeated by his heavy panting and Ink using his spare hand to... Sip at one of the colorful vials?

He decided not to question it for now.

Really, at this point, he should just make himself a written list of the questions he has.

He bitterly licked the odd sensation from his teeth and glared at the skeleton that teleported them, still gripping the front of his jacket; it seems that the other had forgotten he was latched on to him.

Let go/Don't touch me

He projected through intent, releasing the other's sleeve.

Ink's head snapped around to look at him.

"No! What was that?! I need answers, Killer!"

Foreign rage and bloodlust bubbled up the same as it did when he first woke up after being kidnapped.

"You don't just get to help protect me from the fall and then turn around and just-!"

Driven by the flare of negative emotion, Quill tightened his fingers around Ol' Trusty and quickly jabbed the tip of the spoon into Ink's shoulder.

The other's fingers slackened with a yelp of surprised pain.

The moment he was released, he took a shortcut into the next (semi-visible) alleyway, resolutely ignoring the sharp guilt at stabbing someone.

Another, to the roof of a nearby shop.

It had been necessary.

Another, to the top of a skyscraper.

He locked down the last dregs of his magic tightly and collapsed against an air vent, gasping from strain and discomfort.

Once the adrenaline dies down, he was in for a world of pain.

At the edge of his senses Ink's magic pulsed and fluttered like a hummingbird on crack, searching for him.

He climbed painfully to his feet; the other was getting closer and it was making him nervous.

He had enough magic for one more shortcut.

At this point, it was best to hunker down in whatever universe he ended up in; food and sleep would be essential to getting enough magic to get the hell out of dodge.

Based off his spotty knowledge, it was only by the grace of his (Mostly) human soul that he had enough magic to teleport to a different universe in the first place and that needed to be replenished before anything else could happen.

The Ghost hadn't possessed the reserves to be able to travel universes, which meant he was stranded in an unknown place for the foreseeable future- which was still preferable to being kidnapped.

His first objective out of this whole mess was to not get caught.

Quill limped to the fence surrounding the roof's edge.

Due to the protests, all of the shops seemed to be closed, and there was no foot traffic.

The building adjacent to this one would do.

Ink was getting closer.

Sucking in one last breath, bracing for magical exhaustion and pain, he activated a shortcut.

His leg buckled underneath him, sending him crashing down into a painful kneel on the floor of a... Restaurant, apparently, based off of the fuzzy table layout.

His vision swam unpleasantly, nausea twisting beneath his damaged ribs.

It took a few moments before he realized that he was not alone.

A blob of flickering purple light- fire?- illuminated a group of blobs looking like a bar counter, and a red-black-white figure sitting on a stool, staring his way.

Ink's magic signature was getting further away, but he wonders what situation he'd found himself stuck in.

How bad was it going to be this time?

"ya look a little rough there, pal."

A deep voice remarked, followed by crackling campfire sounds.

Something about the voice, the place, the purple fire dude- it seemed eerily familiar.

Leaning most of his weight heavily on a nearby booth, Quill shakily got himself upright, sweating from the effort.

The smell of greasy food invaded his senses, and despite the danger, his mouth watered.

He slowly reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out the last bit of the Ghost's stash of coins and placing them on the table.

He slumped gracelessly into the booth seat with a hiss of pain.

"Please,"

He rasped.

"Food,"

His voice was rusty with disuse and no louder than a whisper, as he spoke aloud for the first time since dying, body-snatching a genocidal skeleton, getting kidnapped, travelling across universes, falling from the sky, getting hit with a boot, and stabbing his kidnapper with a spoon.

He was going to have to unpack that later; he'd never imagined himself stabbing anyone before.

He carefully and discretely tucked Ol' Trusty into his hoodie sleeve at the reminder of his inner thoughts.

Just in case.

Chapter Text

??? POV

Someone was going to get really, really hurt- preferably, the colorful idiot that couldn't keep his hands off the AUs for one day.

It didn't seem like all that much to ask, but as the saying goes, there's no rest for the wicked.

The overload of new AUs and copies was frankly overwhelming, and if this kept up, it wouldn't be long before chain reaction implosions started.

The reason for his griping, to be fair, was rather justified; some codes were starting to go a little... Haywire, for lack of better word coming to mind.

It hadn't been too bad until he came across this mess.

A Killertale copy (which, by the way, was dangerously similar to the original Killertale; he's shocked it hadn't imploded yet) with nonsensical code.

Maybe the closeness was what messed up the code of this copy AU so badly.

According to the implosion-reinforced laws of conservation, when the story was done, AUs fell apart and the substance was used to naturally make another AU without Ink's influence or his own.

The code of this AU said that the story was finished.

The Sans had killed off all the monsters, the human was dead, and years after, the Sans had fallen down; the surface hadn't even generated.

By all rights, the story and the AU alongside it was finished.

So here he was left, confused and increasingly frustrated with no answers why, the AU was still going strong long after it should have imploded.

What an abomination.

Well, sometimes these things just couldn't be helped; he'd simply have to take on the extra work and keep a close eye on codes.

His phalanges brushed below his eye, retreating with a multitude of magic-potent strings.

He'd chase after the squid later and beat some answers out of him if that's what was necessary; perhaps he could call in a favor.

At the very least, causing Ink some pain would be very cathartic after cleaning up this mess.

Quill's POV

As it turns out, Quill'd had just enough G in his pocket for a basket of fries.

That suited him plenty fine.

He was just grateful that there was someone in the restaurant, and that they were willing to make food during closing hours.

Wiping drool from his chin, he belied his hunger for the sake of politeness and delicately took one fry from the basket, placing it in his mouth.

Under the curious and wary gazes of the two other occupants, his entire form froze.

Savory, salty, crispy, with a rising bit of kick...

He.

Was in.

Heaven.

He barely withheld a moan of relief at the feel of his injuries fading (and maybe a bit encouraged by the fries of the Gods) and stuffed another small handful in his mouth, too hungry to care anymore about how it looked.

He ignored the blatant Concern that practically rolled from the other two monsters in waves, and the discomfort of disappearing food.

"uh, ya good there?"

The reddish one asked slowly, shuffling off his stool and taking a step in his direction.

He hunched over the half-empty basket of fries, and to everyone's surprise, an honest-to-God growl erupted from his chest, deep and full of bass.

It cut off abruptly in his surprise.

Was the Ghost part alligator?

That's sure what it sounded like!

He didn't even realize it was possible to make a noise like that, much less over a basket of fries.

A basket of fries.

Quill hung his head, cheeks warming.

Another question for later, why were skeletons capable of blushing?

He felt like he was truly starting to lose his marbles.

"whoa, easy there. jus' thought you'd wanna try the ketchup."

The other grumbled, shaking a blurry red cylinder in emphasis despite little red specks that appeared on their skull.

The other skeleton was sweating.

Another two questions for later, then.

Sorry/Grateful/Hungry

He projected sheepishly.

The other just chuckled at him and began to casually approach as if the growl had never happened.

"heh, no prob. here, try this."

A classic diner-style ketchup bottle was placed on the table, and he was finally able to see the other with some careful squinting.

A familiar jacket with unfamiliar dark colors with gold accents and a hood with white fluff, a crimson sweater, untied sneakers... Overall not very stand-out.

What did stand out was, teeth and eyelights aside (Also, what? Skeletons can get false gold teeth?), it was like looking in a mirror.

Their shape and proportions were the same, aside from minor bulk differences; he was built more for speed and agility rather than strength like this guy.

Even Ink and Dream had looked somewhat similar, but not quite to this degree.

Was that just the standard for skeletons?

He'd... Probably been staring too long.

Moving slowly, Quill diverted his attention to the ketchup bottle and poured a small puddle next to his fries.

"ya don't speak much, do ya?"

The other observed bluntly, plopping heavily on the opposite booth seat as he dipped a fry.

A small smile tugged at his permagrin as he shook his head, popping the fry into his mouth.

Somehow, it got even better.

Even the ketchup has some spice!

His vision warbled oddly for a second, and the other skeleton chuckled again.

His focus remained on his food with renewed vigor.

"yeah, grillbz makes the best food,"

The other commented with a knowing tone, elbow on the table and chin perched in hand.

The seconds passed, the fries disappeared, and the ketchup was poured generously.

"so. ya got a name?"

This had him pausing.

He's not necessarily 'Sans' anymore, and it didn't feel right to take someone else's identity.

He was very reluctant to give his name here- or in any universes with skeletons at this point, really- but he gets the feeling that shrugging it off was not in his best interest.

It was much, much worse that he'd have to actually say it, considering that speaking with intent was difficult with specifics.

He'd had a handy little notebook at home before he'd died for days where his voice just didn't want to work, and he was sorely missing it for a few different reasons now.

He would have to get a new one, and a pair of glasses- outlaw style, it seems, with how empty his pockets were.

Moral dilemmas were a problem for future Quill.

Coming back to the question, he heaved a sigh.

"Quill,"

He muttered, hastily stuffing the last of the fries in his mouth to delay any replies.

The other's relaxed expression went confused.

"what, like the feather pen?"

He shrugged, shamelessly wiping up the last dregs of ketchup with a finger and licking it off.

Monster food was amazing, he felt like a million bucks.

He gave his leg a test stretch, sighing in relief at the lack of searing pain.

It restored his magic to half, too; not enough for any reality-breaking portals, but enough to get him by.

"well, i'm all about meetin' new pals. my name's sans. sans the skeleton,"

He jolted upright in disbelief, wide sockets meeting red eyelights as the other offered a hand to shake.

"ya can call me red."

Numbed with absolute shock, he stared at the extended hand like it would bite him.

Which it technically would, based off of the joy buzzer straps.

"heh, you're a smart one, i'll give ya that."

The hand retracted.

Quill was... Done.

He was done with the constant existential crisis, done with the surprises, done with the whole goddamn multiverse.

He's reached his limit.

He was out of his seat before he'd registered moving, pacing determinedly to the front door and flicking the lock open.

A confused and irritated skeleton scrambled to follow his unexpected retreat.

"where ya goin'?"

The other asked, tailing him out to the street.

"Out,"

He muttered irritably and in response, the other grew more irritated as well, intent Suspicious.

"i said, where ya goin'?"

"The store,"

He snapped back, roughened voice quiet but tone full of danger.

He'd feel bad about what he was going to do, but at this point, he was too fed up for guilt to stop him.

If Quill was going to survive with the whole multiverse out to get him, then he was going to need glasses.

It was a lot easier to avoid danger and (apparently) other Sanses- Sansii? -if he could actually see.

He was preoccupied with the situation, the emotions, the rising bloodlust; he missed the key spark of one very tiny but very important sensation.

The sensation of something missing.

Something lost.

---

Chapter art by @capahiyosi on Tumblr! My first ever fanart, and so very special.

Chapter Text

"'m not sure on what you're plannin', bud, but this ain't exactly the monster-friendly part of the neighborhood. it's all closed anyways for the crowd of shit-stirrers."

Red grumbles, kicking at a rather loud piece of abandoned litter from a step behind him and to the left while Quill squinted through the windows of various shops and stores; most of which donned 'No Monsters Allowed' signs.

He drew in a deep breath, trying to keep her nerves steady and push down the uncharacteristic urge to stab something; or rather, someone.

Again.

With a spoon.

The other skeleton had been making grating comments left and right, trying to see what makes him tick or if barbed observations would squeeze a word out of him.

In all fairness he hadn't exactly alluded to what he was doing here, but the other would figure it out shortly.

Once he'd found this 'part of the neighborhood', his only other criteria for his target was a place that sold corrective glasses.

It seems that he'd found something sufficient, despite Red's nitpicking; a chain convenience store with a breaker box panel and a big bolded 'NO MAGIC OR NO SERVICE' sign.

Part of his self-limitations was to do as little damage to as few people as possible; ergo, a badly managed chain store that would likely have insurance anyways.

It made the guilt easier to carry.

The other skeleton straightened in anticipation when he leaned back, satisfied with his findings, and summoned a magic attack on the other side of the locked glass doors.

"pal, what-?"

Maybe it was petty over the other skeleton's comment over his name, but he spent an extra few seconds compressing the attack, shaping it into a dark green feather quill that crackled with magic.

With a little finesse and a lot of fumbling with feeling through the magic attack rather than relying on poor vision, the breaker box snapped open.

From his understanding, green magic was for healing rather than damage; here, that would work in his favor.

Too much of something, like say, electricity, was very bad when applied directly to a power source limiter.

With a small shower of sparks from the breakers, the lights on the cameras fizzled out, as did all other power in the store.

"what in the stars name are ya doing?!"

Red hissed, stepping back into a defensive stance when he reached into his sleeve.

Quill smirked, more amused than he probably should be when the other skeleton blanched at Ol' Trusty.

He watches impassively as the tense and defensive posture seem to fizzle away from the other in lieu of pure and unadulterated disbelief.

"y'know what, sure, why not pull out a spoon. you're breakin' and enterin' and i guess i can get behind stickin' it to some assholes, but what the fuck d'ya need that for?"

Still smirking, he hooked the tip on the soup spoon above the lock, lined up, and smashed it straight into the metal.

It snapped apart with a sharp screech.

The latch received similar treatment.

He couldn't help projecting Smugness through his magic at his suddenly very exhausted-looking tag-along, who ran a skeletal hand over their face.

Quill shoved the doors open, heading straight for what he assumed was the pharmacy counter.

He was lucky; this store dealt in eye care, and there were some common pre-made prescription glasses; his best bet, however, would be from behind the counter.

Ol' Trusty lived up to it's name; the roll-down grate lock stood no chance.

He vaulted over the locked gate and paused on the other side of the counter.

Coordinated movement and reflexes had never come as easy to him before, excluding the moments of life-or-death.

Now, grace came so naturally he hadn't even really thought about his actions until he'd vaulted easily over a gate, a feat of which would probably have broken his nose and an ankle just a few days prior.

He shudders in remembrance of past... Accidents.

"i didn't take ya for the happy pills type,"

Red teased from behind him.

Ignoring the comment, Quill shook off the revelations, tucked his spoon away, and fumbled his way to the section where they prepped custom orders for poorly-sighted clients.

Curious and wary red eyelights followed him past the shelves of medication and to the rows of glasses, some of which were only halfway finished.

Two thirds of the options were unusable, intended for far-sighted problems.

The first one to try was a pair of modest frameless oval glasses.

He turned to look at the other skeleton, who blinked languidly back in response.

"huh. ya know, that explains a lot. eye kept thinkin' ya were just pissed off all the time. it makes more sense that eye just didn't see the problem, heh."

That... Was awful.

And the same pun was used twice in a row.

Still, he couldn't help the subtle widening of his grin as he turned back to the glasses and put the oval ones back.

They weren't quite strong enough for him to see across the store clearly, but if there was nothing better at least he had an option.

Amusement/Exasperation

He heard the shuffle of clothing behind him, alluding to Red's Surprise/Suspicion.

"how do ya do that?"

Quill frowned down at a pair of cat-eye frames, but tried them on anyways.

He absently sent out the equivalent of Clarify? as he tested them, glancing around the store.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on the way you see the situation, he never liked the cat-eye look. Stupid puns, he'd officially spent too much time around Red) they were even less strong than the ovals.

He put them back with bittersweet relief.

"the whole... intent thing. i never met anybody this fluent with it. is it 'cause your, uh... the thing?"

He paused in the act of sliding on the last available pair of glasses.

Red didn't continue.

Quill slid the glasses on the rest of the way and turned to look at the other, brow raised in question.

It felt like he had 4k HD vision, giving him a prime view of a faint crimson blush on a handsome skeleton.

Yes, he was also choosing to ignore part of his inner thoughts in hopes that they would wither away.

He tilted his head when the other remained silent, watching curiously at the red blush darkened and beads of red sweat appeared.

Red scowled.

"what, you're gonna make me spell it out?!"

He blinked slowly in response.

It was a bit fun watching the other squirm over something, but he honestly had no idea what was making the other skeleton get so worked up.

"your soul, dumbass!"

The other gritted out, avoiding his gaze.

Oh, that was all?

Quill glanced down.

Sometime after he's escaped the kidnapping, it seems his jacket zipper had been yanked down halfway; probably during the spoon-stabbing event, if he had to guess; he hadn't thought much about how he'd managed to escape Ink's grip.

It exposed a brilliant bright green cartoon heart hovering over his sweater, surrounded by a target-like ring of similar color.

That was his soul, if he has his information ordered correctly; though it might not conform well to what other monster souls looked like.

He should probably zip his jacket up again.

The other's clearly transmitted MORTIFICATION was rather funny, but he pulled the zip up in a show of mercy, and simply shrugged.

No big deal.

Explaining his extra sensitivity to magic, however, might not go over well; it was easier to let Red think of his own interpretation.

He turned back around, ignoring the growl of frustration, walking to the closest viewing mirror.

The glasses picked out were half-circle shaped, half-frame on the lower, with thin and simple wire.

Not his first choice, but far better than nothing at all.

A distant siren sounded, quickly grabbing his attention as it slowly drew closer.

He stiffened in sudden panic.

He'd shorted the breaker, sure, and the camera lights went out, but he'd forgotten that some silent alarms had a secondary power source in case of emergency... Which the prescription counter was likely linked to.

Shit!

"uh, i think we should probably get out of here."

What had he been thinking?!

"that's your queue...!"

He'd never knowingly broken the law before in his life, of course he'd make a mistake- this was stupid, and clearly he hadn't been thinking-!

"idiot! hold on tight!"

Quill stiffened in alarm, hissing in discomfort as phalanges closed around his aching wrist in a tight grip.

The feel of a shortcut was familiar, but the vibrating sensation after being so close to someone else's potent magic was severely discomfiting.

The moment they stepped out of the shortcut he ripped his arm back to his chest, eyes narrowed at the other irate skeleton as he licked the buzzing sensation from his teeth.

"what the hell were ya standin' around for!"

The other snapped.

His cheeks warmed without his permission, reflecting a soft green glow across his lenses.

He looked down and to the side, suddenly interested in the maroon carpet of wherever they were.

It was very interesting.

Who chooses maroon as a carpet color?

Red guffaws in exasperation so powerful it looped back into amusement.

"you're fuckin' weird, ya know that? ya show up lookin' like death, flaunt your crossbreed soul around practically on your sleeve, break in to a store with a goddamn spoon, and the cops are what freeze ya up?"

Quill's blush darkened, inwardly vowing to never invoke karma like this again.

He swears on his grave, he won't laugh at the other skeleton's embarrassment again if his blush would just go away.

Chapter Text

"how're ya even real?"

Red groans in dismay, pacing across the room to a couch, where the skeleton promptly collapsed bonelessly.

He puts his hands to his face, scrubbing under his new glasses at the stress between his sockets and the stubborn blush.

Thanks to Red, he couldn't escape the puns even within the confines of his own head.

"take a load off, ya look like you're about to fall over. my bro's not gonna be back 'til late."

Quill... Had no idea what to do with the invite to relax, especially considering that it was the first openly friendly interaction he'd experienced, uninfluenced by money, since he'd woken up as a body-snatcher.

Up until a few days ago, the request before the shitstorm of his new life would have had him hesitantly accepting; as he was now, there was still a small but very compelling instinct to keep his guard up, to not trust the situation.

On the other hand, if he declined, that would make the situation even worse- and that wasn't even taking in to account how uncertain he was about how relaxed he could get here.

What if Ink found him?

What if Red's invitation meant he was only allowed to touch the couch?

What if it was taboo to ask for a shower??

The conflicting impulses and anxieties buzzed and circled, creating a negative feedback loop that left poor awkward Quill stuck.

At this weird little impasse.

With his weird company.

Being the worst weird thing in a room with weird maroon carpet for crying out loud.

Ah, the threatening headache has fully kicked in, and he had no idea if it was related to lack of sleep, stress, or dehydration.

He paused.

Do skeletons even get dehydrated?

Probably, if they could get hungry and needed food.

"whatever, it wasn't an order."

Red huffs.

It dawned on him then that he's accidentally been letting some anxiety slip through.

"Shower,"

Quill squeaked out.

He turned about-face before he lowered his hands in the vain hopes that the intensifying blush was less visible, steps quick.

"first door on the left,"

Red called drowsily after him, flapping a hand in his direction in a clear 'go ahead' gesture.

He snatched the door open and almost slammed it behind himself, fumbling in the dark until the light switch flipped.

It was only after he was alone that he allowed himself to lose the fight against gravity, sagging back into the door frame with a sigh of relief.

It feels like he'd aged a couple years instead of a couple days and it left him actively fighting back a wave of pure exhaustion.

What a day.

At least the crisply-folded towels were in a similar place in the cabinet, just like back home.

Well, Ghost's home, he inwardly corrected himself.

The act of undressing was mechanical at best, but the hot water felt almost like a warm hug and it unwound spots of tension that he didn't even know existed, an act of normalcy in a world of strangeness.

Washing across his wrists revealed two new near-identical cracks at the distal radius bones where his gloves covered; it didn't hurt when he washed over them, but it did explain why it ached when Red grabbed him.

Perhaps it was the skeletal version of scars?

Regardless, he dragged his focus back into washing before his limbs felt any more like loose weights than they already did.

It was all he could do to not fall asleep before he dried off and put his fogged glasses back on, which jostled loosely with a lack of ears to hold them in place.

Quill sighed.

He did have magic now, and it did work with Ol' Trusty...

Glancing at the soup spoon in its place of honor on the vanity next to a crumpled pile of his clothes, he was struck with an idea.

The glass might not be able to take it, but the wire would; with how it spread slowly up the spoon handle from where he grabbed, maybe he could replicate the effect?

Plan in mind, he removed the glasses and held the ends of the wire delicately in his phalanges.

Maybe it was because he had less magic than the first time he'd tried this, but it felt more... Strained, and he swears it's taking longer.

He felt every second dragging out under the iron control he had to keep, one drop of magic at a time, until soft green began to creep up the wire.

His hands shook, but he continued to feed into it a will to be Unbreakable/Stick.

Quill didn't stop until the frames were complete, leaving him a tired, panting mess.

He considered it a hard-earned success when he put them on and they stayed in place, even if he had to spend a minute recovering before dressing himself and cracking the door open to clear out the steam.

He just got the ability to see and he wanted to enjoy it, even if the mirror didn't leave a pleasant view; a foreign tired permagrin and hollow eyesockets, a reminder of his new (And continual) crisis.

These clothes really needed a wash soon, he observes, but for now it would work; he just needed sleep.

He needed a clear head, and the first step was to start getting familiar and ground himself.

He tried to physically shake himself from his exhaustion, and instead was assaulted by the world's strangest full-body idiophone.

What.

Experimentally, he shook again.

The near-musical sound of bones rattling filled the space, made acoustic by the shower.

"Oh, that's weird..."

He whispers to himself, the bridge of his nasal aperture scrunched in his reflection.

His tired curiosity was then quickly absorbed that a nasal aperture could scrunch so expressively- and eye... Brows...? Could wiggle.

He'd explored his face before, but now he had more questions that needed answers and he could actually see what was going on.

It wasn't like he could necessarily blush or sweat at will, but he was so curious- one last answer before he found a spot to crash...

He opened his mouth hesitantly and his reflection followed, his permagrin split to reveal large incisors that interrupted the flat line of surprisingly sharp teeth.

Quill leaned forward in surprise and interest at the glowing green blob that lulled past his lower teeth, revealing a glowing green tongue with a glassy sheen.

His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.

His fingers reached up, gently pinching the end.

The texture was oddly smooth and glossy, but it otherwise felt like a regular tongue; the weird glowing green saliva was seriously off-putting though.

His finger tastes faintly like chalk and ketchup.

A small flicker of movement at the cracked door in the mirror's reflection caught his eye.

He'd never moved so fast in his life to close his mouth and turn to face an equally surprised Red, who immediately stiffened the same as a child would with their hand caught in a cookie jar.

"ya were takin' a while. er. just checkin' on ya, pal,"

The other hedged with a nervous shark-tooth grin and a devil-may-care shrug.

Quill's expression went stony.

The other skeleton began to sweat when his hand reached out, fingers closing around Ol' Trusty.

"i, uh, see that ya want some alone time. couch is yours if ya wanna get some shut-eye. i'm goin' back to grillby's."

Red promptly shortcut away.

His cheeks felt like they were on fire and he felt a strange little flicker of guilty for being defensive, even if he'd been caught in an oddly compromising action.

He gave the mirror one last little glance before he shuffled in the direction of the couch.

He really did blush green, and it glowed too.

Not very convenient.

He muses over his discoveries as he passed the coffee table, but the moment he'd sat down, it felt like he was being hugged by a hundred soft bunnies with angel wings.

Quill couldn't help the quiet noise of appreciation that escaped, but he was too exhausted to care; it felt heavenly.

This was his favorite universe yet.

He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep, he'd passed out so deeply and quickly.

The awakening was rude, but that was nobody's fault but his own; his mind was still determined to think he was in a dangerous new universe and he wasn't inclined to correct that line of thinking just yet.

An instinct screaming that he was vulnerable had him snapping upright in a single instant, stumbling up and off the couch with wide and bleary eyesockets.

Breathing hard and still half-asleep, he scanned the room, blinking the sleep from his vision.

There was nothing in the room, but the light coming through the windows clued him in that it was nearing sunset; he'd slept for half the day.

"are ya up yet?"

Red's voice called from the kitchen moments before he appeared, leaning casually in the doorway with an open bottle of mustard in his hand.

The other skeleton had the nerve to look amused.

"i gotcha a burg from grillbz. it's a bit cold, but oh well; ya still owe me all the same."

Quill narrowed his eyes at the other, slowly regaining his mental faculties.

"You put it on a tab,"

He accused in a sleep-soft voice and without heat, but he started moving to the kitchen anyways.

The other skeleton chuckled.

"ya got me. gotta pay the tab off eventually though, ya know? just pay me back later."

He grimaced in disgust when the other took a large swig of mustard straight from the bottle, beelining past the other with determination to ignore the 'beverage', feet carrying him straight for the paper bag that sat innocently on a small kitchen table.

Regardless of the other's needling, he sent Agreement through his intent while peeling the wrapper away from the burger.

Really, what did he have to lose by paying the other back when he could?

It was common decency, especially considering how... Nice... The other was treating him.

The food looked and smelled mouth-wateringly delicious and spicy.

One bite was all it took.

He'd planned on eating slowly and with politeness, savoring the taste, but all his plans were foiled- again.

If anything, the first bite made him ravenous and his self-control was shot to shreds, along with his warbling vision.

Quill would question it later, but for now, he was finally able to enjoy a full stomach and full magic reserves without the ants-and-redbull sensation.

Chapter Text

Much later on when Quill thinks back to this universe, this day, and all that transpired, he feels a bit like smacking his past self.

Given the awkward situation in Red's living room, it's understandable that he had wished for any sort of distraction to save him from the waves of anxiety over an invitation to relax, of all things.

At the dinner table, having finished a meal with Red seated across from him with a bottle of mustard, the situation was less intense; however, he'd still wished for something to happen, if only to break the stilted silence that settled over the two of them.

He'd still been abashed over it (especially when his thoughts kept circling back to the moment Red caught him poking and pinching at his tongue. For science) but Red seemed as cool as a cucumber, leaving them imbalanced.

He wanted to smack his past self for invoking karma- or was it Murphy's Law?

Either way, he should have guessed that his bad luck would just keep escalating if he gave it even the slightest opportunity.

He had wished for something to interrupt the moment.

Indeed, something happened in the form of a not-so-distant explosion.

Red jolted a little in his seat, lowering his beverage of choice; Quill had almost fallen out of his own seat, but neither skeleton had cared much to focus on the small reactions.

More distant explosions sounded off again, several short times within the span of a couple seconds.

The legs of his chair screeched across the floor with how fast he got to his feet with Red not far behind.

"fuck. what the fuck is that?"

He didn't know the situation, but he remembers Ink's magic signature as well; it was faint and mixed with newer and darker-feeling magic, but to be felt at this far away, he must have been using a lot.

If he still had hair it would be standing on end.

Something was very wrong.

"Ink,"

He supplies the name hoarsely, watching as recognition passed over Red's face, followed by anger.

"i gotta lot of questions for ya later,"

The other's tone was tense and bitten out, words not even finished before he was striding quickly towards the door.

He felt an odd shiver overtake his spine at a particularly strong blast of the darker magic, a lump of fear forming in his throat.

Red's step hesitated.

It was only then that he realized, beneath the odd anger, he could feel the cloying mix of Afraid/Worried.

Quill was afraid, too; very afraid.

Somehow, feeling how someone else was trying so hard to hide it, he was able to push it aside and pluck up enough courage to move his feet and follow the other.

Red paused in the open doorway to glance his way with an unsettled look before seeming to shake himself, scowling resolutely.

It felt like the other had been weighing his worth somehow.

"stick close,"

The other warned, walking out onto a grassy front yard with him in tow.

A couple blocks away, a small plume of smoke illuminated the crimson glowed like a beacon heralding the next explosion; Red shortcut that way, and with trepidation, he followed.

It took two jumps before they were aggressively interrupted.

Quill had only a split second to realize there was something coming at them fast, and his knee-jerk reaction was to shove Red out of its path.

It collided with him instead with the force of a cannonball, forcing the breath out of him at the impact that doubled when he collided with the asphalt again.

"Ack-!"

A groan of pain sounded from the skeleton that had launched at him, rolling off from on top of him.

He blinked up at the twilight sky, breathing through the pain before he was tugged upright.

Red stood by his side with a guarded expression, phalanges digging into his shoulder to steady him for a few seconds until his legs cooperated.

"dream? what's goin' on?!"

The other asked shortly, tone pitched higher with alarm.

The skeleton getting to his feet wore easily-recognizable yellow and teal; it was his other kidnapper that stood across from them looking worse for wear.

The other stiffened once their gazes met, roaming up and down his form before reluctantly turning to Red.

"Call Edge and your friends, get them out of the area. Nightmare was here before Ink called for help, he's being targeted."

"shit. shit! why now?"

The shadows around them slowly darkened during Red's words, an ominous aura flooding the streets, and the yellow skeleton paled.

"Nightmare's coming. Go!"

Quill flinched at the shortcut, too wired to lick away the sensation; the nearby explosion of violent magic mixed with small bursts of yellow lit up the adjacent street they'd just been standing.

The other had pulled out a phone and already had it pressed to his skull.

Red radiated anxiety, which in turn fueled his own dread.

He backed away from the other, colliding with someone else.

With a sensation of non-existent heart in his throat, he slowly turned.

Another skeleton stood clad in what he was learning to be 'Sans-typical' attire, but the hoodie was zipped like his and a non-fluffy grey hood was pulled up, almost completely shadowing their face with the exception of one glowing red eyelight, and one glowing cyan ringed with red.

Their intent was chock-full of something like madness with a small, very small, spark of something curious- and not in a good way.

"Not this time, Dust!"

Was all the warning he got before a blur of motion practically exploded in his face.

He ducked away and backpedaled from the wave of destruction and excess energy created by Ink's attack.

The other skeleton was gone and in his place was a small wall of red bone attacks; the hooded skeleton was now across the street and seemed to be prepping another attack.

Ink lunged again for the other, while Red- phone forgotten or done with- grabbed his arm and turned.

"Nuh-uh, no you're not! This just got exciting! So who's your friend, Red?"

Their way was blocked.

There wasn't much to describe, if only because there were so many similarities between him and the skeleton grinning at them in an extremely unsettling way.

The only immediately apparent differences were the lack of glasses, unzipped jacket, and a very medically-concerning waterfall of black tears that dripped from the other's eyes.

Shock and adrenaline sometimes had an effect, where you have tunnel-vision, but your brain is practically in overdrive; a survival mechanism at its finest.

Quill wished his brain was better with survival mechanisms, because his only discernible thought aside from frantic recollection of how to fight was something along the lines of 'I'm so glad I don't have that problem.'

His distraction almost cost him; he stumbles to the side with Red in tow, narrowly missing a glowing red magic knife attack.

He suddenly felt very naked of defense; Ol' Trusty wasn't much, but it was a comfort when held in his tightly clenched phalanges.

Fortunately, his companion has battle experience and a line of red bones sprung up at the other's feet, cracking the asphalt and forcing the other to dodge with a giggle.

The other lunged, his muscle memory reacted, and suddenly he was parrying a magic knife with a spoon.

What even is this bullshit?!

He felt something like a tingle of magic, a warning, and he ducked.

A knife cut harmlessly through the air where his neck had been a second ago.

In later reflections, Quill would attribute his reaction to pure panic.

He stabbed Ol' Trusty into the other's sneaker and it cut through like butter, grating on something within.

It was almost yanked out of his grasp as the other recoiled with a loud yelp of surprise and pain, but even injured, they expertly dodged a series of red bones fired by Red while Quill scrambled back toward his companion with longer-ranged attacks.

Something nearby them exploded again, drawing his attention for a split second.

"I don't understand! Why this AU?"

Ink was shouting while attacking with paint(?).

The artist was apparently good at fighting and remained uninjured until now, but he couldn't dodge the hits forever; a red bone attack made it past his defense, striking his side.

He stumbled with a hiss, but redoubled his efforts and made a few attacks of his own.

The artist did not get a reply from his opponent.

Quill didn't have the luxury to worry over the skeleton more than that, and the sharp sting of a knife wound on his cheek was a firm reminder that he was having his own problems to deal with.

"I like this one, Dusty! Do ya think he's one of the squid's copies?"

Dodge left- no, right, fuck!

Ow!

A red beam of energy that left a buzzing feeling in his teeth warded off the attacker before a second magic knife could sink into his ribs, which instead sliced off one of his hoodie strings and had him straining to backpedal.

His body's instincts, speed, and agility was good, but even fighting with Red, they were laughably outclassed.

"Oooh, good one! Almost singed a finger!"

His lookalike commented cheerfully as if trying to encourage a kid at peewee baseball.

Red's growl of anger over the comment was justified, but the banter gave him the slightest of breathers; it took a lot to keep up with the fight after being weakened from hunger and untrained, while their enemy was healthy and obviously spent an excessive amount of time with knives.

"Hey, I like this one! Can I keep him? He looks like me, he could be a mascot!"

The other called to his companion, who was still locked in battle with Ink.

Quill tensed, a feeling of icy dread crawling down his spine.

He did not want to end up a mascot.

Fuck you!

The other paused midway through preparing for another assault, empty eyes leaking more of the black liquid at the spike of resentful intent projected so heavily his way.

A slow, sharp, mad grin spread across the other's visage.

"Oh, so my copy wants to play?"

Chapter Text

Quill glared defiantly at the terrifying skeleton- who, may he remind himself, was trying to kill him or at the very least beat him into pulp- but he refused to let his fears show or project.

He wishes he was a coward, at least then he wouldn't have just practically killed himself for the second time.

"damn it, just get out of here!"

Red snapped with intent screaming Protect/Disbelief/Anger, his expression wild as he moved to block their attacker by summoning a weapon the likes he had never seen before, massive floating dragon-like skulls with terrifying visages that fired giant laser beams because why not apparently.

He was frozen for a moment of awe, realizing that he finally knew where the lasers and explosions came from.

He wonders if this is another thing specific to magical skeletons as a whole, or if he could learn it.

He wished he had a magic dragon skulls too, if only to be useful at holding the other at bay- whom somehow flipped perfectly through the beams as if it was simply a learned pattern in the world's deadliest dance routine, sending a volley of knife attacks at them.

Quill's voice was nonfunctioning, mainly from the strangely potent fear that permeated the very air, but a squeak escaped regardless.

It felt somewhat like he became a marionette guided by the invisible strings of adoptive muscle memory, arm robotically lashing out to deflect one, two, three-

A red glowing knife aimed for his sternum slipped past his initial block.

That one was too fast, and if it hit, it was game over again.

He'd already been stabbed to death once; the remembered pain and fear was enough to shut him down.

Sockets wide, his brain went blank.

Oddly enough, with nothing in his mind except for the incoming knife slowed by adrenaline, all that his brain could comprehend was playing darts after he and his classmates finished study group before midnight and shared beer together, joking about hitting up self-defense after one of them got sucker punched.

The secret to an accurate dart was the follow-through, allowing twist but not throwing yourself off-balance while you kept your wrist steady; a similar lesson was taught in baseball back when he still played.

Memories of friendly competition, bad laughs, and even worse food flickered through his overworked lizard brain.

Twist with the hip movement, weight on the balls of your feet, let the energy travel up and follow through.

He'd already been through half the motion, he just needed to lean into it.

With his brain finally agreeing with skill memory, the motion completed faster; meaning, he intercepted the knife attack and watched with soul humming at critical levels as it sparked at the edge of Ol' Trusty and veered off course, passing two inches from his left eye.

More attacks followed.

With the same eerie motions, he moved into a weave while a distant, smothered part beneath the adrenaline haze screaming for his arm to move faster as it moved to intercept the next attack, strained and twisted for the next, and received to reprieve.

That smothered part of his thoughts needed to shut up he was trying to focus on not dying thanks, his body was pushed to its very limits of speed while his hand whirls and twists.

One was too fast for him to catch no matter how miraculously he was doing at surviving thus far.

He tenses in anticipation of the sharp pain that slices through his unoccupied arm, but can't stop from impulsive twisting with the blow, which brought him out of the way of the main volley of attacks.

He was so desperately clinging to the flow of intuition and automation that he didn't stop the motion when his arm reeled back, or when it snapped back out with a bastardized mix of dart throwing and baseball.

He watched with slowly dawning realization as Ol' Trusty arched straight and true through the air, trailing green magic like sparks, and struck his moving opponent center-shoulder.

Quill's wide lightless eyes met the other's, whose eyes were equally wide in surprise as they stumbled back.

"Did you just throw a knife at me?!"

He returned to himself fully with a wave of horror, his feet automatically moving forward, narrowly dodging the other's swinging knife while their other arm dangled uselessly.

He grabbed that injured arm in a panic, twisting and rolling his shoulders for maximum force, throwing the other to the ground and pouncing on top to secure a pin.

He yanked Ol' Trusty out of the other's shoulder, moving his free hand to put pressure on the wound while his tongue loosened.

Are you okay?

The rational side of him wanted to ask, starting to revert back to his training as an EMT.

I'm sorry!

The empathetic part of him wanted to say, horrified again by his own actions.

He'd just stabbed this guy twice.

Instead of picking one option, his frazzled brain chose a weird mix of both.

"Are you sorry?"

Quill said, quiet voice projected clearly with a weird infusion of confidence and confusion.

His opponent paused in his attempts to buck him off, staring up at him.

He stares back blankly, brain rebooting as he processed what came out of his own mouth.

The skeleton beneath him that he violently skewered twelve seconds ago giggled.

Oh no.

This...

This is exactly why he doesn't like talking.

He was thrown off the other with a grunt of surprise, clawing to find purchase on broken concrete and asphalt, he whirled to face the other as he scrambled to his feet.

His attacker was on all fours, shoulders shaking as he wheezed with the force of his laughter.

"H-heh, heh, hahaha!! Was- was that a fucking- Hah! A fucking spoon? Am I fucking s- hah, sorry after getting stabbed with a spoon?"

The other spoke between fits of giggles, wiping a tarry tear from his eye.

"Oh, that's great."

He then smirked coyly at Quill, licking his teeth.

"Maybe you can make me sorry later, copykitty.~"

He recoiled with a bright flush of green, two seconds away from stabbing the other with a spoon for a third time.

"you'll be very sorry once i'm done with ya, pal."

Red's snarl had him glancing away, shocked, as he realized he'd forgotten the other was there.

The other was covered in nicks, sweating and looking out of breath but prepared to keep fighting.

He was tenacious, but Quill couldn't help the sharp spike of worry for his... Acquaintance? Friend? - which clearly projected to the other based off the quick glance returned his way.

"Hehe, if you say so!"

His lookalike spoke while standing and he tensed in response.

His body ached from strain and intense exercise, but he wasn't out of the woods yet; he shuffled closer to Red under the other's amused gaze.

The standoff was interrupted before it could start up again when Dream warped to their side, panting and with clothes stained and torn.

"You guys need to get out of here. Where's Ink?"

The skeleton gritted out, eyeing their opponent warily.

"he was fightin' dust last i saw,"

Outmatched, the other seemed to relax their lazy stance with a manic grin despite the pain they must be in.

Quill got a strange foreboding feeling.

He was too confident and relaxed, it felt... Predatory and smug.

"We need to find him. Nightmare is-"

His gut feeling was proven right a moment later by the creeping shadows and cold aura.

A figure rose of out of the liquid shadows much like a symbiote from that one superhero spinoff show, writhing tentacles and all.

Two extra figures appeared on each side of the opposing battlefield, and his(?) side was in a defensive panic even with reinforcements.

As distracted and exhausted as he was, he could focus on none of it and their words slipped by without comprehension.

He had a friend, once.

The ex-friend was brash and didn't want to hear anyone talk but himself, which was likely why Quill had been his only friend.

He'd told them once that he doesn't like fish when they took his out to dinner for his birthday; he had been brushed off and brought to a sushi restaurant, where he hated the entire tasting experience.

Right now, faced off with an enemy comic book style, all he could focus on was the skeleton leader's oilslick appearance; specifically, the tentacles.

All he could think about was the vivid memory of a big, slimy, disgusting squid tentacle that had sat on his plate for an hour, dripping with brown sauce much like tar dripped from this skeleton; a memory that never failed to activate his gag reflex.

He could impassively shovel down almost anything except fish, or specifically, tentacles.

Gross.

His repulse at the memory attached to tentacles was strong enough to broadcast through his intent without permission.

The intense queasiness breached during a lull in the tense standoff like a loudspeaker announcement, briefly shifting the focus to him.

"Sorry,"

He muttered into the quiet air, cutting through the tension with the grace of a tack hammer.

All attention was (thankfully) diverted when a black puddle bubbled into existence during the pause, revealing a ruffled Ink glaring at the opposing group and twirling his brush in preparation.

"Found you. Nightmare, why are you here?"

Quill was able to drag his gaze from the tentacles, taking in the menacing grin under a single slit cyan eyelight, the other socket covered in a mini wave of... Tar.

Or oilslick, or whatever that black goop was.

The hooded skeleton was back, as well as a hulking Sans type with a cratered skull and single bloated red eyelight, axe slung on his shoulder.

They were all oddly fixated on Ink.

He was getting that foreboding feeling again, and he didn't need to read intentions to know something was off and the artist was the target.

A long, dark, tentacle-shaped shadow was creeping unnoticed towards the artist.

Quill might be having wild and violent urges, but at his core, he was still the same; he refused to stand by when he could help, even if it's a deeply-rooted characteristic that never failed to get him in trouble.

He didn't have a way to stop Ink from stepping into the trap, so he did the next best thing and took a shortcut.

The surprised skeleton was shoved hastily off-course, over-balancing both of them.

His sneaker landed in the shadow.

Before even so much as a gasp could escape anyone, a thick coil of slimy, writhing muscle constricted around him with crushing pressure.

Chapter Text

Quill froze against his will out of pure self-preservation.

Whatever held him may look like some sort of tentacle and feel like it on the surface, but the entire limb radiated darkness.

It felt like a predator sinking its claws in slowly, or the moment of doom right before you die; it was a conduit for fear and other similar feelings, which was radiated by the dark skeleton whose slit cyan eyelight was trained on him.

Danger, his instincts screamed, his soul in his throat.

He felt like he was dying all over again, like his mortality was put into stark contrast.

He wanted to struggle, to fight, to do something against the unnatural and paralyzing terror.

"quill! let him go ya bastard!"

Red yelled, rough voice pitched with shock, stress, and maybe something like fear.

He looked, sockets wide with his fear, to meet the gaze of the enraged and panicked skeleton with one eyelight flaring bright red.

"Nightmare! You don't have to do this!"

Dream joined in, bow taut with a bright yellow arrow ready to fly.

Gritting his teeth, Quill pulled in all the magic he could manage with shaky concentration, slowly rebuilding his armor.

A physically armored Sans type with blue accents held a large hammer at the ready, gaze flying between him and his lookalike.

They seemed to come to a decision, resolution showing within straightened shoulders and a determined grin.

The other skeleton on their side, void of color aside from a red mark and eyelight, scowled fearlessly at the skeleton that held him.

His armor thickened ever so slowly, encouraged by the skeletons that wanted to help him; their intent aided in grounding him, giving him relief from the all-consuming dread.

He was able to shake off the crippling fear enough to move, aside from the physical restraints of the tentacle.

Nightmare's single eyelight flickered to their intended victim, and Quill shifted his white-knuckled grip on Ol' Trusty; he saved Ink from this and he'd be damned if his efforts went to waste.

Ink dodged out of the way of a second capture attempt, making his own shortcut closer to relative safety.

He was staring at him like he'd grown a second head before looking to his captor, participating in a secondary intense stare-off.

"You wanted me, right? Why?"

The limb around him shifted, effortlessly lifting him and pulling him closer; he was now completely suspended in the slimy appendage.

With the fear manageable, it now took the back seat to queasiness; he could feel the slimy appendage shifting in coils around his arms and ribs.

Don't think about the sushi restaurant,

He inwardly begged himself, swallowing back against the rising nausea.

Don't think about squid.

"Pity, I almost had you if not for the fool."

Nightmare returned, dancing around the question with an audible grin.

"I designed my trap for you with an underlying goal, a potent terror to keep you more docile while it crushed your vials. What a brave one, sacrificing himself to my most potent negativity for the likes of you, but a fool all the same. He lacks the natural fear of me, but I could feel it on your behalf despite the delicious grudge. Tell me, what did you do to him to garner such a reaction from a Kind soul?"

Ink seemed to harden, scowling.

"Regardless of what happened, you wanted me and you have no use for him. Let him go."

The tentacle came to a stop once he was between his lookalike, who hosted a crazed grin, and the smirking dark skeleton; a second tentacle moved to make sure he was incapacitated while the zing of foreign magic assaulted his senses; there was a strong portal forming.

The sensations were too much, and Quill lost the fight.

He dry heaved, struggling to hold down his lunch while the three skeletons surrounding him and his captor disappeared behind them into the new portal.

"stop!"

Red shouted, stepping forward with a forming dragon skull attack.

Nightmare backed away, ignoring the outburst and Quill's second round of dry heaving as he was dragged closer to the dark portal.

"I'll send your regards to Error. He seemed keen on... Contacting you."

Ink's sockets widened.

"Brother, don't do this!"

Dream called out desperately, unable to attack without the possibility of him being harmed in the crossfire.

The armored blue one blurred forward, arm extended and reaching out for him.

"I GOT HIM!"

He had the sense to struggle and kick weakly to try reaching back, but his arms were bound tightly; he only captured one last look at their faces before he was dragged through time and space again.

This journey was by far the most unpleasant that he'd taken part in.

Quill was too dizzy and nauseated to process much of the journey through the void, severely disoriented by the overwhelming 'negativity' surrounding him.

He'd had enough.

He's quite literally sick and tired of this, his desperation was at a peak.

As his dad used to say, he feels like a sack of smashed assholes; he wants off the crazy train before it crashes.

The world around him seemed to still as his mind cleared, indicating the portal experience was over, and he wanted out.

He grasped every shred of free magic he could, poured it into the armor, and made it sharp.

The tentacles recoiled from him immediately, leaving him to drop like said sack of smashed assholes onto a hard stone floor injured arm first.

A hiss of pain escaped before he could stifle it.

"He's a runner!"

Killer shouted excitedly, magic sparking through the air like electricity.

"He will not get far, you can back down Killer."

Quill ignores the comments and rolls clumsily, avoiding the head of a rusted axe that smashed into the stone floor where he's been lying a split second ago, showering him in chips of flagstone.

They are fast.

If he wanted to get away, he needed to give it all he's got.

He pushed off the floor, staggering back and away from both a red bone attack and reaching tentacle; one was deflected in a shower of green sparks at the edge of Ol' Trusty, the other was dodged as he broke into a sprint.

His split second of awareness at his surroundings showed a large, dark, and winding hall next to a grand staircase.

He darted towards the hall.

The suits of armor were intimidating (Suits of armor? Where the hell was he?!), but they proved to be good obstacles for the giant Sans, who smashes through the metal in an attempt to grab him.

"Dust, Horror, that's enough."

Nightmare's words fell on deaf ears.

The hooded Sans (Dusty?) shortcut in his path, glowing bone attack in hand.

Shit!

With the other skeletons being stronger and faster, his very life depended on being creative enough to get away; his brain was in overdrive.

He mimicked the motion Red did to call on the dragon skull attack, arm out and lunging at the other in a desperate gamble.

Dusty's stance widened in anticipation, mirroring his motion while aggressive magic crackled and coalesced.

Not what he wanted, but it would do!

He faked the other out and reeled his arm back, stabbing Ol' Trusty into the bone attack as hard as he could, cracking the attack and forcing the other to shortcut out of the way of his mad rush.

Quill's sneakers scraped and skidded frantically against the rugs and flagstone, but he caught his balance and barreled forward with full momentum.

A dragon skull fizzed into existence far, far too close.

His arms pinwheeled in a bid to catch up with his feet and change direction, core aching with the effort to correct mid-motion and avoid the (Massive, holy shit-!) red laser beams that fired in all directions.

The stone scraped painfully against his patellas as he frantically ducked under one, heat licking at his skull from inches away.

He crashed straight into a set of legs.

Quill fell backwards, momentum lost, with wide sockets travelling up... And up...

To look into the wide grin full of sharp teeth and the big, crazed eyelight of the hulking Sans.

An axe was hefted into the air.

His soul dropped faster than a boulder.

"Enough!"

A thick black tentacle ensnared the large Sans, and another looped tightly over him.

Nightmare loomed close, cyan eyelight glowing furiously.

Dusty was already ensnared in a third tentacle, hefted into the air like a misbehaving cat, while the fourth unoccupied one lashed angrily... Also like a cat.

Quill recognized faintly that he urgently needed a breather to reset his fried psyche before he got a (Soul?)heartattack.

Pieces of broken decor slowly clattered to a stop in the wake of destruction.

In the momentary silence, he absently registers the singed tapestries that almost seemed to snow.

Ashes.

It was ashes.

He... Really, really wishes right now that he could summon those powerful dragon skull attacks, even if only to give him a fighting chance while he waited for certain death.

He wonders if Ink, somewhere distant and far from here, would truly have wanted to... Visit... And take his place in the insanity.

"Oooh, someone's in trouble,~"

Killer commented in childish sing-song.

Quill shudders.

This sucked, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant everyone else (Including Ink) was safe.

He briefly bemoaned his own lack of self-preservation.

"heh... sorry, boss... was just havin' fun..."

The big one grumbled slowly under the leader's intimidating glare, his deep voice suited to his appearance, unsettling permagrin seeming almost... Innocent, while the axe lowered.

The eyelight turned to the other ensnared skeleton, who remained silent.

"Dust. Go tend your wounds, then go to your quarters. Killer,"

His lookalike straightened despite the relaxed demeanor at the call, grinning beatifically.

"Accompany him until the flare-up passes, then do your rounds in the dungeon. I'll be having a discussion with our... Guest."

Killer saluted while Dust was released.

"You got it, Boss!"

They both shortcut away.

Quill was jealous.

"i'll... prepare dinner..."

The giant rumbled, allowing the tentacle to fall away before moving.

He was unprepared for the tentacle holding him to shift, lifting him from the floor, and thus, did not have time or warning to prepare.

He very unattractively dry heaved at his (Very) intimidating captor.

Chapter Text

Red's POV

A lot of Red's life could be considered predictable.

Frisk would fall, monsters would die; Frisk would fall, monsters would breach the barrier.

The world would RESET.

The X event had flipped the universe (Almost quite literally) on its head; it had been a harsh awakening to his place in the multiverse, a daunting experience at the least.

Still, Red's life settled somewhat back into being predictable; monsters reached the surface and Frisk didn't RESET.

Predictably, humans were assholes, Grillby's was delicious, and Cross could kick rocks.

He had no warning and no idea what sort of storm was on the horizon; he had just wanted Grillby's spicy mustard badly enough to bug the fiery-tempered bartender during the closing hours due to the 'peaceful protesting' arranged by petition.

He'd been drinking, Grillbz was taking inventory behind the bar, and without fanfare a half-dead monster warped into existence by the Drunk Bun's booth.

Red barely noticed if not for the sound of a shortcut, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground, but even that was enough to clue him in; there was an alternate here.

He turned in his seat, rigid with tension, as he knew better than to trust his alternates to be peaceful.

At first, he thought it was him; one of the murderous ones working for Nightmare.

Primed to call on his Gaster Blasters at a moment's notice, he carefully eyed the room's new addition as they recovered, glancing around the restaurant with creepily empty sockets in a harsh squint.

He realized quickly that his assumption was wrong through small inconsistencies.

It was hard to explain, but although looking like hell, this skeleton didn't feel like the dubbed 'Bad Sanses'.

That was his introduction to Quill.

At first, he'd gotten the impression that the other was a bit of a bastard with food issues.

Red knew Grillby's was good, but this guy took it to a whole new level; the apologetic intent though, which was oddly fluent and strong when not invisible, explained that the other was practically starving.

Kind of weird, but whatever; he'd probably growl too if someone came near his fries while he was that hungry.

Combined with high LV equivalent to genociding the entire underground, Red couldn't bring himself to just leave the issue be and let the stranger go free; especially with the other squinting in a pissed off way most of the time.

The nonchalantly exposed soul, green and upside down like a human's, was definitely adding a few layers to the oddity.

He wonders idly what the other did that made him separate his soul from his body as a survival mechanism, much less how the other got a crossbreed soul in the first place.

That was all fine; he could deal with all that.

He didn't realize that he just couldn't see until they broke into a store with the scariest near-exploding bone attack Red had ever been near- and a goddamn spoon of all things.

The Boss had tried making attacks like that once when he was still after the captain position, and there's a very good reason why he never tried that technique again.

This stranger either had the most amazing luck or his magic control was no joke, probably a blend of both.

Adverse to his expectations, the other didn't bother with any medications, though Red supposes he couldn't complain about the extra money in his pocket.

The glasses that the other decided on was... Weirdly endearing, not that he'd ever admit that aloud.

Questioning the other's weird soul yielded nothing but a zipped jacket and an unfair amount of flustering on his end while the jackass had the audacity to look not even a bit bothered.

Any nonchalance from the other was quickly dashed by the idiot freezing at the sound of cops, and Red had to save his panicking ass, which also froze at the simplest invite to just relax.

He was left exhausted at the sudden and unexpected whirlwind of events.

The sound of rattling did not help matters, but he was too curious to let it go and just had to look.

He was met with Quill making faces in the mirror like a babybones before getting threatened by a spoon; he beat a hasty retreat just to process what the fuck was that oddly cute sight.

For being a guy with serious LV, the other certainly didn't act like it; every assumption he seemed to make was very quickly crumbling, leaving him floundering and trying to figure out the enigma dropped in his lap.

Of course the peace couldn't last for a few goddamn hours for him to figure it out.

The other sensed and recognized Ink's magic signature with an oddly... Anxious? Afraid? Some kind of negative look on his face, and that was all he needed to know to realize that the threat was serious- though he questions how the other knew Ink or why he grimaced at the name.

Even while clearly feeling the same negativity magic that he did in the form of terror, Quill followed him to the source; having someone at his shoulder was a great relief, not that he'd ever admit that aloud, either.

Red could dodge as well at any Sans, but being at the receiving end of Killer's attacks- who was clearly far different from Quill despite the physical resemblances- was not a cakewalk, and the other had dragged him out of the way initially.

He had shaken off the near-miss and fired off a strong attack to gain space, but Killer only used that to launch himself at his companion.

Red felt like his soul was in his throat, watching incredulously as the other parried Killer to a stalemate with a fucking kitchen utensil before stabbing the other Sans in the foot with it (What the hell) and dodging for his life.

He grit his teeth, throwing everything he could once he found an opening- any opening- to help the other and keep Killer away from them both.

Something exploded nearby, Quill was distracted, and he couldn't shout in time before the other was sliced.

Soul pounding, he scrambled to launch his own assault, but they were too close and any move he could make risked impaling Quill amidst the other's frantic ducking and dodging.

Red tensed as Killer went for a devastating blow, shoving aside his inhibitions and firing off a Gaster Blaster in a desperate bid to keep the other alive.

It worked, if barely, despite a sacrificed hoodie string.

He nearly shivered at the close call.

"Oooh, good one! Almost singed a finger!"

He snarled.

The enemy was treating this like a game, treating their lives like toys, and he'd nearly lost his (Friend) companion to it.

"Hey, I like this one! Can we keep him? He looks like me, he could be a mascot!"

Killer then seemed to freeze, fixating on Quill at the defiant wave of intent.

Fuck.

"Oh, so my copy wants to play?"

You idiot!

Nothing good could come out of that.

"damn it, just get out of here!"

He yelled at the other with increasing fear for the other's life, summoning an array of Gaster Blasters to keep Killer at bay.

The situation was fucked and they were nearly outmatched by the other Sans despite working together.

True to his last thought, the enemy dodged with freakish acrobatics, forcing Red to abandon his Blasters and focus everything he had on dodging.

Fuck!

Where was Quill?

Could the other survive that?!

Even with his best focus, he hissed as the nicks accumulated, bringing his HP into decimals.

The attacks dropped off, allowing him time to desperately regain his breath.

"Did you just throw a knife at me?!"

He looked up, tensed, just in time to see Quill alive (He resolutely ignored the rush of relief) and flipping the enemy to the ground with a pin, having thrown the fucking spoon to stab them.

Red didn't know whether to laugh or scream in frustration at the ensuing encounter as his companion ripped the spoon out of Killer's shoulder.

"Are you sorry?"

What the fuck is this guy made of holy shit.

Not even Killer seemed to know what to make of it; and he was a weird creep.

A creep that was laughing his non-existent ass off after throwing Quill.

"H-heh, heh, hahaha!! Was- was that a fucking- Hah! A fucking spoon? Am I fucking s- hah, sorry after getting stabbed with a spoon? Oh, that's great."

To Red's disbelief the enemy then smirked maliciously at Quill while licking his teeth like a damn pervert.

"Maybe you can make me sorry later, copykitty.~"

An odd spark of rage and something else too foreign to process during a fight gave Red the strength to push past his exhaustion and step forward with a snarl.

"you'll be very sorry once i'm done with ya, pal."

Red seethed.

A foreign spark of worry cut easily through his anger.

Quill was looking at him, face carefully neutral despite the palpable worry on his behalf.

Keep your sockets on the enemy.

"Hehe, if you say so!"

He didn't miss the way Quill moved closer to him, and a flare of protectiveness began to burn.

Dream appeared shortly, forcing the creep to back off, though he looked to be in rough shape.

"You guys need to get out of here. Where's Ink?"

He looked alarmed, a particularly bad sign.

"he was fightin' dust last i saw,"

He answered, picking up on the urgency in Dream.

"We need to find him. Nightmare is-"

Dream cut off, and Red would have too if he had been speaking; the air felt heavy with potent negativity, shadows and cold coalescing in one of the enemies he'd never want to face.

They were staring down Nightmare as the Guardian moved out of the shadows with a sharp, menacing grin that had his breath catching in his throat.

Dream moved quickly, opening a portal that brought through Cross and Blue, looking ready for a fight; he couldn't even feel the usual intense anger at seeing the almost colorless skeleton, they needed the extra numbers as Horror and Dust appeared on the opposing side.

This was bad, it was so absolutely fucked.

Why now, why in his-?

Red's thoughts and the palpable fear was jarringly cut through with a powerful wave of Aversion/Nausea, cutting through the tension clumsily and leaving both sides processing what happened.

"Sorry,"

Quill muttered.

He wished he could be surprised, but honestly the guy was a total goddamn wildcard.

Red tensed, seeing the ground bubble as Ink made his appearance, Dream's cut-off warning coming to the front of his mind with a foreign pang of dread.

Broomie twirled through the air.

"Found you. Nightmare, why are you here?"

Chapter Text

It felt like everyone zeroed in on Ink, Red included; hardly anybody had time to even change their expression in reaction.

Between one blink and the next there was a disconcerting emptiness at his side where Quill had been, and Ink was shoved.

The artist went stumbling one way, Quill in the other, and Red hardly had the time to process; a dark shape instantly ensnared the other skeleton, leading to Nightmare.

Red's soul dropped.

"quill!"

He barely registered that the panicked yell came from himself.

"let him go you bastard!"

He snarled, rage feeding and growing within to the point it felt like he might be consumed, his eye flaring in response.

He hardly noticed the others shouting as well, his mind churned for a solution as he squared off against Nightmare.

Impossible odds, but he had to do something to save his friend.

He tensed, watching for an opening while Ink dodged a second capture attempt, forewarned by Quill's moronic self-sacrifice.

"You wanted me, right? Why?"

Ink questioned, blunt and stiff, but Red hardly noticed.

The captured skeleton was shifted and dragged towards the lead enemy like a ragdoll, unnaturally limp in a way that had his soul pounding.

Something wasn't right, his instincts were warning him of danger, to control his anger.

"Pity, I almost had you if not for the fool."

Nightmare answered, capturing more of Red's attention.

"I designed my trap for you with an underlying goal, a potent terror to keep you more docile while it crushed your vials. What a brave one, sacrificing himself to my most potent negativity for the likes of you, but a fool all the same. He lacks the natural fear of me, but I could feel it on your behalf despite the delicious grudge. Tell me, what did you do to him to garner such a reaction from a Kind soul?"

Quill has a grudge?

What were they rambling about, they should be doing something!

Red stepped forward, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed, but Ink interrupted the searing words at the tip of his tongue.

"Regardless of what happened, you wanted me and you have no use for him. Let him go."

A second tentacle wrapped around the other, and to his growing anger and concern, the other let out a strangled gag.

A black portal opened behind the enemy, quickly swallowing Horror and Dust.

Killer zeroed him out specifically with a low, dark smirk before following the other Bad Sanses.

His sockets widened.

They were leaving, he realized, and they were leaving with Quill.

"stop!"

Red screamed in desperate panic while his body moved into an attack stance, Blaster charging.

Nightmare moved gracefully out of the way, Quill letting out a horrible sound and he burned with-

"I'll send your regards to Error. He seemed keen on... Contacting you."

Fuck! Quill!

The other was kicking and struggling now, in pain or panicking, he couldn't tell, but that expression would be sticking with him for a long time.

"Brother, don't do this!"

Dream yelled, Red finally lunged forward, but Blue was faster; he watched from both too close and too far away as gloved phalanges reached to brush Quill's.

"I GOT HIM!"

The last Red saw was the portal closing on Quill's panicked and sickened expression before it closed up, leaving the view of an abandoned and wrecked street.

"quill!"

Both Blue and Red stumbled to a halt in the sudden and dizzying silence, disbelieving.

Blue mumbled something as he looked at his gloved hands like they betrayed him, but he didn't notice.

He just... Stared.

It was (Perhaps unsurprisingly) Ink who approached him first, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"They're gone."

Red gritted his teeth in irritation, wrestling with his sudden sense of helplessness.

"damn it."

He swore, clenching his fists.

"why're ya so calm?! they're gone!"

He snapped.

Something niggled in the back of his mind, something that he felt was important to stop for a moment and analyze it, anger sharpening into calculation.

Something about Quill's face when the other said Ink's name, the way Nightmare mentioned a grudge while goading Ink.

His sockets narrowed.

"wait. ya..."

He turned to fully face Ink, expression sharp and scrutinizing.

"what do ya know that i don't? how's it involve quill?"

Ink looked taken aback.

"That guy? The one that pushed me, right?"

Red was starting to get frustrated with the other's nonchalant approach despite knowing of his soulless condition.

He didn't expect understanding, but that was his friend that got taken dammit, why is no one panicking-

"yeah, the one nightmare took. how and why did he know ya?"

The other stared blankly for a long moment at his sharp words before seeming to remember, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, yeah, Quinn! We thought he was Killer when Dream and I followed a trail of dense negativity to his AU. We had to keep him for a while. He got out of his chains, very impressively, I must admit... That's why we ended up here!"

Red's brow furrowed as he slowly began to parse what Ink told him.

"chains? what the hell?"

His sockets narrowed after a moment.

"ya chained him up... because he looked like killer? do ya have any fucking idea what that sounds like?"

Sure the other was a loose cannon, but he damn well didn't deserve that.

Ink seemed to fidget before plucking up a green vial while Red took a deep breath, trying to control the worsening anger.

"... so he managed to escape. how long did ya keep him chained?"

Ink seemed to pause, thinking intensely.

"About a day, I think. I kept trying to ask him questions and he didn't talk at all, though now we know for sure that he's not Killer."

His anger surged, directionless, at the remembrance of how injured and starved Quill was when they met in Grillby's.

"he was beat to hell and starvin', how the hell didja not notice that?!"

Ink blinked in surprise.

"We fed him!"

The other began hastily.

Red grit his teeth.

He vividly remembers Quill's intent, how deeply the hunger went.

The mention of a grudge made a lot more damn sense, now.

"clearly not enough!"

He snapped.

"That's kind of out of our hands now."

His anger flared at the dismissal of the situation, boiling over.

"what do ya mean it's out of your hands now?! nightmare has him and now he's possibly bein' tortured or worse! ya almost weren't any better!"

Ink took a step back, confused.

"Whoa, I didn't think you knew him long enough for this. In my defense, I thought he was Nightmare's Killer. He's a Killer Sans type, there's not many but they're a messed up bunch and I couldn't just let him roam."

Red took an aggressive step forward.

"it doesn't matter how long i knew him, what matters is that ya treated him like crap! in the short time i did know him i actually bothered to talk to him, and pal let me tell ya, he's not just some throwaway killer variant! now ya owe him better than this!"

Ink, about to say something, seemed to cut himself off with another question.

"Wait, he can talk?"

His rage flared again.

Seriously, that is what the other is focusing on?!

"of course he talks, didja even fucking try?! didja just shackle him and expect him to talk to ya? of course he's not gonna say anythin' ya idiot!"

Ink remembered the vial he was holding and took a sip of green paint before rubbing at his vertebrae in a guilty fashion.

"Uh, no. We thought he was Killer when I knocked him out in his AU. Though I do think it's weird he didn't dodge the first attack."

Red snarled quietly.

"so he looked like killer, ya knocked him out, then just immediately chained him? didja even give him time to explain himself or say anythin'?"

A growl escaped at Ink's guilty head shake.

"ya fuckin' owe him one then! we gotta find him and get him back- we can't just sit around and do nothin'!"

Ink sighed as if he were a troublesome toddler yelling at him.

"As I've been trying to say, the hungry part is out of our hands, of course we'll rescue anyone who needs it! I'll even apologize after we get Quinn."

Still searing with unresolved anger, Red grit his teeth.

"his name is quill and ya will say it. he's not dead yet so there's a chance we can get him back. at least we need to try."

He was so focused on Ink that he'd forgotten there was an audience at all until Dream spoke up.

"My brother's AU is protected by wards that hide and move their base. Not even Cross could get back, it's probably moved several times since then."

Red's face darkened in worry and irritation.

"damn it..."

"Wait,"

Ink interjected again.

"Nightmare did mention Error was looking for me and they do have a temporary alliance."

Red paused, the beginnings of a plan clicking together.

"ya think error can get us into nightmare's au?"

His voice was bitter with skepticism and hope.

"It's worth a shot!"

The other God was a dick at best, convincing him wouldn't be easy; especially with just Ink.

"I'll go with,"

Dream stepped forward beside Ink, whom withdrew Broomie again to paint a portal.

"Yeah! Let's start with the Anti-Void."

The two Star Sanses vanished, leaving Red and Blue.

Cross at least knew to get the hell out of his AU.

"Sorry, Red. I Tried To Grab Him And I Missed."

Red sighed, running a hand down his face; Blue was the least deserving of his ire.

"it's fine. i know ya tried."

Blue frowned.

"It Was Brave, What Your Friend Did Even If He Didn't Like Ink."

He nodded.

"it was brave. and stupid,"

He added with disapproval and tiredness.

"He's A Kindness Soul, I Suppose It Makes Sense That He Tried, Even If It Meant He'd Get Hurt. Even Then He Certainly Didn't Give Up Without A Fight."

Red's eyelights hardened.

"we'll find him. you're right, he's strong, even if he's a reckless idiot."

Blue smiled knowingly this time.

"You Sure Did Get Attached Quickly,"

He observed.

Red tensed in embarrassment and defensiveness.

"what? no i didn't."

He retorted.

"i just- i just don't want him to get hurt or anythin', that's all."

Chapter Text

Quill really would have felt bad about causing so much destruction in one fell swoop, but as it stood, the majority of his focus was on keeping the contents of his non-existent stomach where that belonged under the very unimpressed scowl of his captor.

It was rather difficult when he acutely felt every shift, wriggle, and jostle in the most unpleasant of ways.

"Enough,"

The dark skeleton's baritone was low and faintly disgusted, slit cyan eyelight narrowed and emanating Annoyance/Intrigue.

"You're going to make yourself sick."

He really couldn't blame Nightmare; no one really expected a stranger to be nauseated at first meeting, but he couldn't really focus much on being apologetic to the guy holding him up with a dripping black tentacle.

Much less that their first impressions of each other had more or less been on the opposite ends of a battlefield, and that was a substantial and complex thought to unpack.

Quill didn't have the willpower to so much as protest when his captor turned on his heel, stalking to an unknown destination, footsteps crackling on the charred carpet and hauling him behind with a tentacle like a misbehaving child.

Trepidation churned in his queasy stomach when a set of double-doors were pushed open.

The office space was surprisingly tidy and normal-looking, adorned with a dark rug, a couch against the wall by some bookshelves, and two chairs arranged around a tidy but crowded desk.

It was all he could take in before Nightmare pointedly pulled out one of the chairs and unceremoniously dumped him into the seat.

There was a small mercy in the way the dark coiling tentacle loosened rather than dragging away from him, but even the slithering motion had him releasing a quiet groan and hold back another gag.

Good Lord, he'd never be able to look at tentacles the same way again.

Don't think about sushi.

"Sit."

The dark skeleton commanded, not unkindly, but without room for protest as he moved to the other side of the desk and took a seat in his own chair with phalanges steepled, cyan eyelight fixed on Quill with unreadable focus.

Quill stared back, not at all prepared to go from battlefield to being dangled from a tentacle and sat at an approximation of an interrogation table.

He blinked, stiffening when the silence of their impromptu staring contest was broken.

"You look too similar to Killer to be anything less than a Killertale variant,"

The other spoke his observation aloud, tentacles coiling and shifting.

He tried desperately not to stare at them and work himself into another fit of dry-heaving.

"Who are you?"

'Lost' would be an understatement; he had no idea how to even begin when that first sentence hardly made any sense.

It was only floundering guesswork, but Quill had a feeling it had something to do with the similarities between himself as he currently was and all the skeletons he'd met so far.

There were only so many conclusions you could make when the Ghost's name was Sans, Red's actual name was Sans, and likely so were all the others.

All the funky names and universe-bending portals made a little more sense... It was all variants of the same world, spread across the Multiverse.

Another existential crisis he'd have to work through later, based on the Impatience he felt from Nightmare.

Who was probably also 'Sans'.

"Quill,"

He responded quietly, swallowing thickly against the nausea and unease.

He'd done well with school and EMT work, but pressure was never his strong suit, and the familiar creeping awkwardness was very unwelcome.

He almost cringed as the visible irritation; he didn't even need to try sensing it as his captor's eye narrowed.

It felt a little like being a bug under a microscope, picked apart and analyzed.

"I felt your grudge. Your caution. Despite having an apparent... Unpleasant history with Ink, you still saved him from my trap and took his place."

Finally, the irritation began to show in the aggravation of the tentacles in a display that unnerved Quill a lot more than he was willing to admit.

"You ruined a lot of careful planning, you know."

His thoughts came to a screeching halt at the most inconvenient time, leaving his mind blank when he needed to speak the most.

He didn't regret his choice, that was certain; he couldn't leave someone in need like that, even if the consequences fell on him.

A small part of him wondered how different all of this would be if he was selfish, or even had a bit more self-preservation; maybe he wouldn't have died and ended up body-snatching a magical (And apparently homicidal) skeleton in the first place, passed between alternate worlds and skeletons like unwanted candy.

Regardless, the bigger part of him would never regret it.

Because of his actions, that girl was alive, and Ink was free- even if he didn't like the guy.

He'd do it again in a heartbeat, even if it meant pissing off the powers of a different reality.

Resolve/Unrepentant

He loosened his shields enough to translate in his stead.

The sudden mental communication visibly surprised the composed dark skeleton across from him; he'd taken the other off-guard for a brief moment.

He couldn't help but wince at the wave of Displeasure from Nightmare, even if nothing showed under the unreadable veneer of calm.

He was being heavily scrutinized for his silent answer.

Still, he refused to backpedal or placate; he was how he would remain, for better or for worse.

"Not many would... Communicate such a thing to the King of Negativity, I'll give you that, but I advise you tread carefully. My patience is not endless, you would be wise to speak clearly and provide answers when I see fit to ask you a question."

Nightmare's tentacles writhed in agitation, and Quill had to fix his gaze on the desk.

Message received.

"I'm more worried about not heaving on your floor than anything,"

He muttered, the nausea returning with a vengeance.

He didn't want to end up a dark smear on the carpet because he vomited on it first or put his foot in his mouth again.

If he had no choice but to speak, all he could do was try and filter as much as he could with a hope and a prayer.

He was overwhelmed and out of his depth, with his mind unhelpfully blank and his stomach turning, so he tried the first thing he could think of; revisiting the basics.

"What are you going to do?"

It was a soft-spoken question, one he didn't expect to be answered.

Essentially, he'd become a loose end.

No one ever wanted to be a loose end.

Nightmare's eye narrowed, but the potent Displeasure had subsided some; though Quill noticed it was hard to read anything at all from the dark skeleton that smoothly stood again.

"Follow,"

Nightmare spoke firmly, walking back around the desk and the chairs where he sat.

"Or I will have no choice but to carry you again."

Quill stiffened despite his best brave face.

The words themselves were ominous, but the threat of being dragged to the inevitable by tentacles wouldn't help any.

He wasn't even sure Ol' Trusty would be able to do much against Nightmare.

He stood before he would be at risk of annoying Nightmare again, wobbling lightly.

He hadn't realized how tired and sore he'd been after the fight and subsequent chase, but his body was quick to remind him that he'd pushed himself and squeaked by under the heavy influence of adrenaline without nearly enough food, rest, or even treating the minor stinging scratches.

He pushed aside the sensation of sore muscles, numb to the oddities and unwilling to add another pressing question to the list.

If he survived whatever lay ahead, he would gladly stab someone with a spoon to have a notebook again.

Memory wasn't his best attribute, but following doggedly after Nightmare, he had to admit the dark stone walls looked different than before when they'd entered the office.

He couldn't say for certain, but the unease of it was plenty of warning to stay close without Nightmare having to say as much.

The dark stone stairs were ominous enough, the air chilly and uninviting, but reaching the bottom had Quill's soul sinking in his chest.

Rows of cells lay ahead, dark and oppressive, in a very classical dungeon setup.

It wasn't unexpected, but it was certainly not something Quill had thought he'd ever need to be afraid of in his lifetime.

Nightmare predictably opened the iron-barred door of one of the closer cells, and he, predictably, followed with heavy steps under the scrutiny of the sharp cyan eyelight.

It was at least a decent size, as far as he'd imagined dungeon cells, and well-maintained aside from some cobwebs clinging to the corners.

The cot in the corner was the only true feature within the cell, which was walled with thick iron bars against solid flagstone.

Quill, with trepidation, watched the door creak shut behind him, locking with the rattle of key rings in Nightmare's hand.

"I have plans to remake, and certain mistakes to fix. I cannot allow you to wander my castle."

Nightmare saw his trepidation easily enough, it seems.

"Rest assured, you will not be harmed, and Horror will ensure you have sustenance... However, you're a true rogue and I cannot afford any more issues. For now, this is where you'll stay until I have an understanding of what to do with a free agent like you."

It was... Nice, in a way, to have an understanding of where Nightmare was coming from, but that didn't assuage his sour mood.

The dark being turned to leave the way he came; however, being left behind in an honest to God dungeon cell, Quill couldn't help but stick his bright green tongue out at Nightmare's retreating back.

What was it with these skeletons and imprisoning him?

It may as well be a traditional greeting at this point.

He didn't expect the loud clang the next cell over, his soul leaping to his throat.

"Jesus Christ!"

---

Chapter art by @taterthepotato on Tumblr!

Chapter Text

Quill's soul pounded in his chest, and he put a hand over his ribs to soothe the sudden flutter and leftover adrenaline.

He hadn't looked closely enough; the neighboring cell was also occupied...

And, of course, the first human he sees in this crazy fever dream aside from an angry mob...

Is this guy.

Shaggy unkempt hair in a deep side-part the color of bleached bone, long enough to reach a jaw with stubble the same color, and lightly chapped lips pulled in a tired and lazy smile, pale skin, and half-lidded blue eyes.

Quill didn't know much, but he had enough knowledge of 'Sanses'- the coloring, the expression, the lazy clothes (And all of them have some version of a scarf, jacket, or hoodie, himself included)- to recognize one when he saw one; even if it was a human version.

If this weird series of connected parallel universes had a god, he was certain they were laughing sadistically at the pure irony.

His sanity was worn dangerously thin.

It was perhaps the most bittersweet feeling, to see the version of Sans with more humanity than he currently possessed.

The look he must have given was complex, decipherable only by the freely transmitted Exasperation/Resignation based on the almost sympathetic grin he received.

He bowed his skull and pinched the space between his sockets, pushing his glasses up as he massaged his tired sockets.

"'sup."

Quill sullenly took a seat at the edge of the provided cot to do some much-needed thinking on his life choices; all he could offer was a small wave while he quietly readjusted his glasses and studied his new (And hopefully temporary) abode more closely, calming the sudden and unexpected sense of disquiet.

The flagstone and iron bars were illuminated by flickering ghostly torchlight that gave off an energy that made him fairly certain that the lighting wasn't actually fire.

The steady drip of water in another cell filled the awkward silence between him and human-Sans.

If there were other prisoners, they would be out of hearing range; and the nearly imperceptible buzz Quill could feel tingling at the roots of his teeth when he got close to the bars indicated some sort of ward or barrier to prevent magic use.

He wondered briefly if it would hold against Ol' Trusty.

The human Sans interrupted his thoughts by shifting in his seat on the flagstone to lean against the bars between their cells, curiosity in the curl of his smile and in his gaze.

It looked tired.

Quill empathized, up until the blue eyes drifted down to the green glow over his front rib cage; he got an odd urge to cross his arms.

"excuse me, i don't mean to be rude, but your soul is pretty unique."

He didn't know why he glanced down, too; he knew what it looked like, the oddly cartoonish green heart with a target ring hovering just over his chest.

He glanced back up, raising a nonplussed brow.

The human Sans was undeterred, though they did make eye contact again.

He got the feeling the other had been here for a while, and a lot of boredom was surfacing into curious scrutiny.

"those marks... killer variants have those marks. are you like him?"

Quill tensed at the observation out of unease, the tips of his phalanges brushing lightly over the slightly worn marks where corrosive tears had made permanent lines in the bone.

It was true, they had identical clothing and physical appearances; though their souls were very different, it would be easy enough to mistake them.

His glasses and the lack of gross tears were rather minor, and he wondered if that made the other guy paranoid.

He didn't even know if he technically counted as a Killer variant anymore.

He hadn't noticed the Unease/Enmity spoke for him on his feelings about being compared to Killer, until a small chuckle broke the quiet.

"well, fair enough. you can call me sans... or over, i'm not picky. who are you and what brings you here, pal?"

Ah, he'd called it.

The question, though, was more complicated than he cared to explain.

"Sorry... I'm Quill,"

He muttered quietly, uncaring whether the other knew the artist or not; or if the summary was lacking.

"Nightmare wanted Ink, I got in the way. Got grabbed."

The look of surprise and renewed interest was telling; apparently Ink was a fairly well-known name.

"quill, then..."

The other tested his name.

"i guess i owe an apology. i'll be honest though, pal, if you're telling the truth, i'm not sure if you're extremely brave or extremely stupid."

Nightmare had said something vaguely similar, he was sure; if not, it had been heavily implied.

Regardless, Quill was entirely unapologetic.

"Probably both,"

He admitted quietly, shifting back on the cot to lean against the flagstone wall.

"But I won't stand by and do nothing. Ink doesn't deserve this..."

He glanced sideways at Over with a small frown.

"You probably don't, either."

Over's smile seemed a little more tired and forced, and he was getting the sensation that he was putting his foot in his mouth again- if not for the sigh and the sense of Weary/Empathy that came from Over.

"heh. well, i'm guessing you're not the popular type either."

Ouch.

"i get it. us outsiders gotta stick together."

Quill wouldn't have found it all that odd, if not for the wink given at the end; he can't remember the last time he'd seen someone wink.

Much less audibly say 'wink.' as they did so.

The silence that settled again, interspersed by the faint sound of dripping water was- oddly enough- more comfortable than he'd expected.

"hey, pal... i got a question,"

Quill hummed, glancing sideways at his companion.

Over seemed to be thinking deeply, blue eyes fixed solely on him.

"you got a sweetheart waiting for you? a special sansone?"

It took a moment for the pun to hit- it was a stretch to say the least- and the implications came so far out of the left field that he was completely out of his depth.

"sans anyone to kiss 'n tell?"

To say Quill was dumbfounded was a complete understatement.

Skeletons could do that?

Wait.

Weren't Sanses different versions of the same guy across different universes?

His sheer incredulity coaxed a low chuckle from Over, who cocked a bone-white brow.

"what? you're a skeleton but you can still get bonely, ya know?"

...

... Quill was as dense as a brick, but he was fairly certain this was an attempt at flirting, and his confusion was palpable.

Either this reality had an entirely different meaning for self-love, or this is the strangest case of Alabama he's ever known.

That split moment where he'd thought Red had looked nice crossed his mind, and he swiftly pushed that thought away with a faint dusting of emerald-green all but professing how his cheekbones heated up.

Over's smug grin and quiet chuckling was completely ignored in favor of propping his elbow on his knees, placing his heated face in the palm of his gloved hand.

Why is this his life now?

His list of questions continued to grow, and now he was contemplating the nuances of a different version of the same guy liking another version of himself.

(And, perhaps, how he fell into this same category by technicality.)

Over's amused grin went a little sympathetic.

"it looks like you already got someone in mind there, pal. i'm not gonna judge if someone wants to jump your bones."

Quill lifted his skull from his hand, and the glance he gave Over was almost pained, his cheekbones heated and soul fluttering oddly.

Anything he could have responded with, however, abruptly fled his mind.

It felt like the very air shifted, like a component of the air itself was withdrawn, coalescing into something beyond the reach of what he could clearly feel; but it made that buzzing sensation in his teeth, one that had very quickly become familiar.

His soul was pounding, and this time it had nothing to do with Over's previous words.

Quill cautiously pushed back to his feet, alert; and Over instantly took notice.

The human Sans pushed to his feet as well, his expression more serious.

"what? did you hear somethin'?"

Quill's brow furrowed as he licked nervously over his permagrin.

"It's... The magic is changing."

He replied quietly, anxious as he concentrated on tracking the ominous change in aura, surprised Over couldn't feel the shift.

It felt like a defense of some kind.

But... What would someone like Nightmare have to defend against?

"that's... not good,"

Over replied warily, straightening from his lean on the cell bars.

He would have agreed aloud, but the rumble of a distant explosion swelled like a small earthquake.

Rock dust fell from the flagstone above them; it was natural to step closer and a little in front of Over at the surging spike of aggressive magic that set his teeth on edge.

Ol' Trusty was palmed into his hand within a split second when the heavy wood door at the top of the dungeon stairs splintered apart with a loud Crack, aggressive magic filling the dungeon and twin snarls ringing out.

---

Chapter art by @yet-another-reason on Tumblr!

Chapter Text

??? POV

The lull that had fallen over the anti-void was precarious at best, the oppressive blank white space splotched with paint, yellow arrows, and strings that had descended from both above where a myriad of souls and dolls hung, and from Error himself.

The initial fight could have been seconds or hours as time dilated and contracted in the blank space between AUs.

Those mismatched eyelights were narrowed with rage, strings like webs connecting between them and vivid phalanges.

Dream and Ink were on the other side; the artist was equally tensed, Broomie in hand, but it was Dream that had held up his hands to prolong the temporary quiet with a tentative olive branch.

He was the first to signal for peace without an arrow aimed for the glitching Sans.

"Error, please... We aren't here to fight you, we just need to talk to you."

Error's permagrin pulled into a snarling smile, his glitched voice venomous; but Dream had at least caught his attention.

"I have no interest in you, abomination. It's him."

There was anger in the sharp jab aimed at Ink, whose sockets widened in surprise mirrored by the changing eyelights.

"Me? What did I do?"

Ink was already reaching for his scarf to check notes, but Dream halted his hand, his own sockets narrowed as his mind raced.

"The one time I cache in a favor, and of course that corrupt abomination failed. How you got away from Nightmare is beyond me, but you screwed up this time, and I'm the one that has to fix your mistakes! I'd kill you if I could just stay still-"

Dream stepped forward to stop the brewing tension before it snapped again, bringing the increasingly aggravated and confused focuses to him.

"Wait, wait! I really doubt Ink has made a mistake big enough. I know that there's been some new creations, but... What happened?"

Something was off- especially if Error had been the one to use a favor from Nightmare of everyone to get Ink.

Something larger was at play.

Error's glitches increased with his aggravation, hands clenching.

"Do you think I didn't notice? There's been AU copies, so close to the originals I'm shocked it didn't break the code of an entire branch of AUs. One of which persisted long after the story was finished and everyone in it was dead."

Error took a step forward, anger in every line of his body.

"What have you been doing?!"

Ink didn't seem to register the implied threats and insults, expression blank.

It was only by the grace of knowing the artist for as long as he had that Dream recognized how deeply in thought he was.

"But... I didn't do that. Each AU is unique and special..."

Error's look of disgust was completely ignored, and Dream interjected again.

"Copies? That doesn't seem right."

Dream wasn't connected to the code of the AUs like Error, or the creative process like Ink, but he knew of the balance between creation and destruction; he was very cautious about balances in general, considering how major his own was.

This information, on many levels, was alarming.

"Copy AUs? That's not possible, is it? To create a perfect copy? Each timeline and AU deviated, even just a little..."

He questioned warily.

Error crossed his arms, pissed off and close to snapping at Ink for the possibility of lying.

"It shouldn't be,"

He growled, glitched voice low and angry.

"It's manageable... For now. I've had to destroy and fix a lot, but this is a new low; if it continues, who knows how much will collapse. I found a near-perfect copy of Killertale, I'm shocked it didn't destroy itself before I got there. If you are responsible-"

Another multi-colored phalanx jabbed towards Ink.

"- I will find a way to make you suffer."

... Something about that stuck with Dream, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that weren't quite put together yet.

Killertale...

Ink held up his hands, exasperation and defensiveness in the artist's gesture.

"Okay, I realize you're not a big fan, but I can't just completely stop the creation process, that's not what I- look, this sounds fishy. I don't remember everything, sure, but I know AUs. I don't just create copies, that's so... So lazy and uninspired!"

Error, if anything, seemed angrier.

"Yeah? Then why is the code still breaking, huh? What are you hiding? It's like a persistent little bug, a glitch that won't hold still long enough for me to pin it down. It flexes the code around it like it's nothing to break reality."

Killertale... A copy glitch that didn't quite fit in, one that moved...

Dream hardly noticed that he impolitely interrupted before Error and Ink's tempers snapped.

"Wait, Ink... The origin was from Killertale copy. A story that finished, but didn't end... A moving, unique piece of code."

He glanced to the artist, troubled, and met the gazes of both the Creator and Destroyer, golden eyelights sharp with the realization of his theory.

"What if it's alive? What if... We came here for information about that other Sans that was with Red, right? The one we found and captured? What if it's him?"

That Sans had looked the part of Killertale; aside from very small deviations, as far as he could tell.

The strong intent that had rivaled Dream's sensitivity to emotions, the odd interactions and reactions...

Ink blinked, eyelights changing and expression alight with the same realization.

"Oh yeah- Quain! The guy that... Shoved me out of Nightmare's grasp..."

The words died on his tongue.

If he'd originated as a copy, that meant that somewhere along the line close to when they'd first found him, he'd deviated- a new and unique Sans that bent the code of the world around him, leaving more questions than answers.

Error's sockets narrowed, and he gave a glitched scoff.

"You mean to tell me it's alive? That's impossible. The code of that copy said that everyone in it was dead. That AU was useless, so I deleted it before it could do more damage than it already did."

Dream shook his head.

It seems the jigsaw puzzle was far more complex than originally thought, even with some of the pieces connected.

"What if that Sans somehow persisted? I'm sure we met him, but... That means that my brother has him."

Ink looked very uncomfortable, but Error was now deep in thought and very irritated.

"Impossible. It should be impossible... Yet the abomination is somehow bending code."

... And that meant that, if the code around him could be bent and changed, he could still be alive- and now, without an AU.

A free glitch that had started out as a copy and, unknowingly, been turned into an Outcode.

Dream nearly flinched at the outburst of sudden and heartfelt swearing from Error while glitches flared and flickered.

"I'm paying Nightmare a visit,"

He growled lowly.

Ink was the one to step forward this time, holstering Broomie and latching onto Dream's arm to drag the Guardian forward with him, determined.

"We're coming with! I, uh, apparently owe the guy."

... Dream had a small feeling, aside from the alarm and anticipation of finding his brother and the AU his base was in, that Ink was also a little intimidated by Red's reaction if they were to go back to Underfell without information or Quill himself.

Error hardly had the chance to protest before he was forced to backpedal or risk Ink latching onto him as well.

"C'mon, get the portal going- let's go get him!"

Time contracted and dilated in the space between AUs.

Dream wasn't sure if that Sans was on borrowed time, and with any hope, time was on their side and he hadn't been in his brother's grasp for too long...

Chapter Text

There was very, very little warning before someone was thrown down the stairs like a bad slapstick comedy.

Quill flinched back on reflex, wincing at the crack of bone meeting flagstone and the subtle noise of pain that followed.

It was the yellow guy- it took him a longer moment to remember the name- that rolled with the momentum into a fighting stance, twin daggers in hand connected by some sort of string.

He had barely blinked before he felt the rather twisted sense of Excitement/Aggression that followed.

"Move!"

He yelled louder than he'd dared since the battle in Red's universe, unconsciously throwing himself forward and grabbing onto the iron bars with a white-knuckled grip.

His teeth clenched in both frustration and to ward off the tingling feel of magic while Dream (Right, that was his name) glanced his way rather than moving, and a streak of blue, white, and red lunged down the steps to clash with the startled skeleton in a series of sparks.

Killer's sharp and wide grin glinted behind the opposing blade.

He heard the straining grunt, a snarl, a laugh, and a multitude of clashes- how fast were they going?!- but his brain, his instincts, his very soul was stuck in one word like a chant that pounded in his skull like a drum, exhaustion chased away by the flow of adrenaline.

He was starting to wear down, but he could push just a little more still- the urge to move, to help, to do something- was undeniable, and the iron bars were in the way.

Help.

Over had backed away from the front of his own cell, unable to do much more than warily step back from the fight beyond the warded bars, while Dream was locked in a fast-paced clash at a defensive disadvantage.

The odd spike of bloodlust from both Killer and himself was concerning in and of itself, but the fight was way too close to Over's cell for his liking and the clash heightened the effects of adrenaline.

Even if he had technically been kidnapped by both skeletons, he didn't want them to be hurt either.

It wasn't a perfect world.

Unless he did something, someone was going to end up hurt or killed.

He reeled back, throwing his weight into the jab of Ol' Trusty against the lock on his cell door.

It sparked green against the ward with a sharp screech, the impact ineffectively jarring his bones up to his shoulder.

They need help.

He had nothing to pick the lock, and trying the same trick as he did in the store in Red's universe would take too long- Dream was trying to keep up with Killer alone, and aggressive magic flared deeper within the castle above.

He remembered the principles of green magic, though; and the rising tidal wave of bloodlust mixed with dark feelings surged beneath the surface, lending a spike in his own magic that had his hands shaking.

Don't just stand there! Go help!

The adrenaline, the magic, the bloodlust, his pounding soul- all of it lead to a climax where it felt as if the world had quieted, and time stood still.

Quill closed his eyesockets under the sensations and inputs, it felt as if his racing soul shivered.

It wasn't a physical feeling at all, but if he could compare it to anything, it was like taking a river and redirecting it; or perhaps concentrating the flow like one would sunlight through a magnifying glass.

The magic he felt from himself was almost foreign, surging to fill the dungeon with the promise of Violence, tempered by the juxtaposed urge to Give/Help/Rescue, focused and condensed to a single point.

The whine and spark of stressed metal had him opening his sockets again, his cell, the surrounding bars, and Over- eyes wide with shock and backing up in a haste- bathed in vivid emerald green light.

A small part of his working brain thought that it looked and felt a little like he was holding a tiny star.

He disregarded the errant awed thought while the unstable magic churned beneath his control like a pot boiling over.

If he couldn't find a way out, he'd make a way out, but this needed to stop.

Quill crouched before surging forward, arm holding Ol' Trusty cocked back, his entire weight behind the strike.

The shock wave of his magic clashing with the ward was brutal, spots dancing in his vision from the flood of green light as the two forces collided.

The ward shattered with a thunderous sound, overloaded by his own green magic boosting it at a rapid cancerous rate.

His teeth ached from the sensation and how hard they'd been clenched, and it felt a little like he'd been physically hit by a truck; but everything behind that surge remained, a heady and disorienting mix of emotion and intent while he was left physically reeling.

The edges of the iron bars appeared half-shattered and peeled outwards in a way that reminded him of a banana, and one dug into his back from where he'd been pushed by the force of the shock wave- but he was still standing, breathing through the pain and the odd buzzing sensation of wild magic.

His body was tired and beat up, his mind overworked, so emotion and drive took the front seat.

Quill lived by a simple principle, the driving force that made him want to be a paramedic in his last lifetime since medical school was too expensive to help at a higher tier.

If he could still stand, he could still help and make a difference.

Over uncovered his head at the far end of his cell, blue eyes wide; Killer was on his back, propping himself up in a slight daze; and Dream was sprawled at the opposite end of the hall, sitting up with a groan.

He wasn't sure where the well of willpower came from to keep him semi-steady and balanced enough to push off the remnants of his cell door, but he used it for all it was worth.

He stepped into the dungeon pathway between Killer and Dream, Ol' Trusty shining a bright green in his hand; he only had to push himself to appear on steadier footing than he actually was and ignore the part of him that was beginning to panic because what am I doing?

Breaking out of a dungeon run by murderers, only to step between one of said murderers and one of the Multiverse police force that had arrested him once already?

Psychopathic hints aside, he didn't dislike Killer or the rest of them; for all that both he and Dream had practically attacked him upon first meeting, he didn't want to see anyone hurt.

Especially considering Over was right there, and he didn't trust either of them to have restraint with a total of three magic knives involved in a deathmatch.

Killer climbed to his feet, staring at him from one side as if he were a rabid dog; and Dream on the other, still trying to get his bearings and process that the cell failed to hold Quill.

He still felt that odd surge of bloodlust that hazed his vision with a red tint he hadn't noticed before, and it took considerable effort not to act on the foreign drive that he'd never experienced until a few days ago.

It wasn't like him at all, it wasn't anything he'd really had to control in his life, but the potency behind it was useful; had stunned the adversary long enough for him to grab the front of Killer's collar and pin the other to the front of an empty cell.

The tip of Ol' Trusty glowed a bright and shining green, ripping through the blue hoodie sleeve like a hot knife through butter between the ulna and radius before Killer's knife hand could move.

The other froze, wide empty sockets staring into his own and free hand latching onto Quill's own near his throat.

When he spoke next, voice low and eerily calm even by his standards, it was to Dream.

"Get the keys."

He wasn't sure he could pull the exploding houdini trick a second time, and Over still needed to be freed.

"A-ah, right,"

Dream was oddly quiet, but to his credit, he was quick on the uptake once he got to his feet despite the leer Killer gave once he'd recovered.

He resolutely ignored the Peace/Comfort that seemed to radiate from the guy that was lifting the dungeon keys from one of Killer's pockets after some searching, though it seemed to dull the sharpest edge from the bloodlust.

"Ooh! Gettin' frisky there, Dreamboat?"

Quill couldn't stop his expression from falling into a deadpan if he tried, and he didn't blame Dream for the buttercup-yellow flush that graced his cheekbones...

... Or Over's stifled huff of shocked laughter behind him.

Unimpressed.

Killer snickered at their reactions, smile sharp.

"Can't blame you, I'd cop a feel of me too."

The look he gave Quill went entirely ignored while Dream pulled back to pick through the ring for the key to Over's cell.

"uh... not to interrupt, but what the fuck just happened?"

Over finally spoke up, the shuffle of footsteps moving to the front of the cell behind him.

Quill had no time to respond.

Killer jerked forward at the distraction, hand pulling.

His grip tightened, forearm pinning Killer's throat and shoulders at the aborted attempt to throw him off, Ol' Trusty keeping one arm pinned.

It was only because Dream paused in searching through keys to pin Killer's other arm that he was able to hold the other at all.

Quill glared.

"You need new hobbies."

Killer gave a very unrepentant eyebrow flash- ignoring the fact that skeletons don't have eyebrows.

"My new hobby could be you~"

... No.

Nope, he was not dealing with more of this.

Quill wasn't a fan of the new trend of being hit on(?) either, and his scrambled mind was in no state to even try processing it.

"Sorry in advance,"

He strained out, nearly interrupting Killer, before he did the first thing he could think of- which, admittedly, was not the smartest move.

The front of his skull met Killer's with the crack of bone on bone, stars sparking through his darkened and dazed vision.

Killer went limp, leaned against the bars of that empty cell, and he himself stumbled back with a new migraine pounding through his skull and Ol' Trusty grasped loosely in his hand.

"what the hell?!"

Over called from his cell over Dream's shocked noise.

Quill leaned back against the bars next to Killer, trying to get his bearings and wait for the ache to pass.

"It was all I could think to do,"

He mumbled dazedly in response, wincing at the spike in the new headache when Dream hesitantly began the search for the correct key again.

There was the grinding click of metal and a quiet incredulous laugh following the screech of a metal door.

Shuffling footsteps approached before Quill was unceremoniously yanked forward, pulled into a solid chest.

He hadn't realized before how much taller Over was, stiff and awkward in the hold he was dragged into.

It took longer than Quill was willing to admit to realize he'd been dragged into an oddly soft hug.

The human qualities of it were soothingly familiar in a way he didn't expect, banishing the last dregs of the darker foreign emotion while his face was mushed into the human Sans's shoulder.

... That hoodie needed a wash.

Actually, all of Over needed to be washed, but he wasn't about to say anything once he had processed the action and found himself leaning into it.

"you're batshit insane."

It was slow, he hadn't realized how much he'd unconsciously relaxed until Over was pulling away with a tired and incredulous grin.

Dream sheepishly cleared his throat, drawing both of their attention to the other skeleton.

"Sorry, but we need to get moving; Ink might need the backup."

Quill... Had many questions.

This was a prison break of some kind, he could tell; but knowing Ink and Dream were the ones orchestrating it was entirely unexpected.

Judging by the look Over was giving, the poor human Sans wasn't even the focus and had even less of an idea for the intentions behind it than he did.

He could only grimace, storing those questions away for later, and keep to his priorities; ensuring Killer was breathing steadily (He had no idea how to check a skeleton's pulse- if that was even possible?) and assess for anything deeper than a bruise, and then getting the hell out of dodge.

Killer was knocked out cold, but he was fine as far as Quill could tell- so he straightened, pushed aside the subsiding headache, and nodded.

Any other destination was likely better than here if it meant stopping the raging fight he could feel.

---

Art by @yet-another-reason on Tumblr!!

Chapter Text

It was very safe to say that Quill knew very little about actually being stealthy, and he'd bet his left shoe that it wasn't anything like Hollywood made it out to be.

Crouching and walking with exaggerated leg movements and arms out for balance hardly seemed like a good way to actually get around the castle unnoticed, so it was the Ghost's memories he relied on for help as Dream took the lead, with Over behind him.

"Ink's fighting to stall right now,"

Dream muttered quietly, an attempt to give helpful details with every portion they cleared and moved through.

They traversed Nightmare's castle with a mix of fast-paced and light-footed movement that relied on quick and efficient scanning that Quill was trying to mimic, and Over seemed to just... Shuffle along through after them.

"We need to act fast... Error's helping, but they're outnumbered, and there's no telling what schemes Nightmare is coming up with..."

Quill, admittedly, had begun to tune out that last part- if only because the hallways still had that strange feel, as if the path could vanish or change if someone wasn't paying attention.

Some parts of the grand halls were damaged, both from his mad scramble to run and evade when he'd first arrived, or (Oddly enough) decorated with eerie vivid blue strings like spiderwebs that had crumbled even the flagstone, and then the grand hallways would abruptly appear untouched in the next segment.

He'd been right; and the pathway looked nothing like it did when he'd been taken to the dungeon, and the blue strings were a very alarming new addition.

"Wait,"

He hissed quietly, interrupting Dream and the returning throb of the earlier headache.

No matter how much he didn't feel like speaking, communicating clearly here and now was important.

"That way goes in the wrong direction."

That caught the attention of both his companions, a pair of startled golden eyelights and confused blue eyes fixing on him.

Shit.

He hated pressure.

Dream shifted, glancing over the empty grand hallway at a left or right split.

"I was sure I'd taken a right here before,"

The skeleton's brow furrowed, tension clear even without reading his intent.

It was, surprisingly, Over that laid a slightly larger hand on the yellow guy's shoulder.

"no, wait,"

The human Sans interjected in a hushed voice, much to his own relief and anxiety.

"quill was the first one to sense somethin' was goin' on, when you first arrived. he's... i dunno, sensitive to this stuff? should probably consider it, anyway."

Quill wasn't the type to understand social queues easily, but whatever passed between them, Dream's permagrin thinned and Over's comment had been taken seriously.

The distant aggressive magic was making his anxiety spike, the drive to go help urging him on- and he let those feelings freely transmit.

He didn't need Dream to say it, he knew they were on a time limit, and he was just as worried.

"Listen. Please. They're that way,"

He implored, tipping his skull to the right.

It was with hesitation that Dream nodded, taking the lead again with tentative trust.

"Stars, I hope you're right..."

Dream murmured, briefly closing his eyesockets before going the direction he'd indicated.

Quill briefly sympathized with the Conflict/Uncertainty, but the way he was listened to- trusted- was an odd experience that gave him pause, especially under the pressure of the rather dire and precarious situation.

Over's elbow gently nudging his side startled him out of the surprise of being trusted, and the human Sans's grin was...

Well, for all that it was companionable, the amount of relief and comfort of have someone on his side was novel and starkly appreciated.

It was easier to pluck up his courage and follow again, with the human behind him.

They rushed through the castle, and Quill was given a glance at each split in the path; although the yellow guy took the lead, he became their guide.

The pressure and rising anxiety made each second slow, each action second-guessed in his own mind.

For all he knew, his own senses could be lying, or the strange and ever-changing castle could be playing another trick- and now there were potentially four people depending on his every action guided by a sensitivity he didn't quite know how to explain.

There was no time for further self-doubt when the rumble of a much closer heavy attack shook the castle, the sounds of fighting and raised voices echoing through the halls.

"Ink and Error should be able to hold Nightmare and the others off for a little while, but we need to hurry,"

Dream urged again, stealth abandoned in favor of being faster; but Quill's mind had used the tense silence to turn over the situation while he and Over had picked up their pace to follow.

Getting everyone separated and sent home to stop the fight was the best and quickest method to put a stop to it, but that depended on being able to gather everyone and make a portal in the first place; nevermind the destination.

This 'Error' guy was a complete wildcard, and no one was taking the lead for planning, if there even was a plan.

He decided to take the step, no matter how much he hated it.

"Dream,"

Quill called first, taking a leap of faith and hoping to God his slight good luck would last.

"Once we're there, get to your friend first."

Dream and Ink knew each other for sure, so that was one assured group that could be counted on.

"Over, stay back from the fight, be ready to run. When you do, aim for Ink and Dream. If you can't get to them, come to me or Error. Stay unseen, and don't call out or draw attention unless there's a true emergency."

Keep the bystander out of the fight, with instruction for an escape route, in order of immediate protection or trust.

Hopefully, Error was actually on their side.

"Try converging once someone can make a portal; stay separate until then. If either of you gets the chance, grab Error. If you can't, I will."

Don't paint a large target in one convenient place until absolutely necessary.

"Wait- wait!"

Dream interrupted through quickened breaths while they ran, none of them able to stop this close to the battle.

"What about you?"

Quill winced.

Well, he wasn't perfect, and he wasn't exactly trained in strategy, but even just a few paltry minutes to make a semi-stable plan that was least likely to end with someone dying or getting hurt could mean the difference between success and failure.

He chose the most difficult role, and he'd saved that mention for last- after all, nothing was more predictable in a hero-type like Dream than a savior complex.

He knew that from experience.

"I'll do what I do best,"

He breathed, the end of the hall opening into some sort of grand room, splotched with paints and tangible negative emotion that choked the air like miasma- exploded with destructive red beams of energy, and blue strings that moved as if they were alive-

"Be a sledgehammer. Brace yourselves,"

It was all the warning he could squeeze out.

"Hey, no, wait-!"

Over, wide-eyed, started to reach for him and missed by an inch.

Before either of them could make the protest they'd been trying to interject with, he broke away, pushing into a dead sprint, soul pounding like war drums in his ribcage.

Ink and Horror were the first two he saw, and the artist looked battered with his giant brush raised, painting a wall to fend off a blow from a large axe that he was unfortunately familiar with.

The more effective of a distraction he became, the better.

It didn't take a genius to realize that when he let loose, his intentions hit hard, and his magic even harder.

This time, it was a little easier- Quill didn't aim to use it as a weapon, but a distraction that would make the opposing side focus on him and give the others time.

Much less finesse, less control, less fumbling.

That feeling from earlier, like trying to channel an ocean, no longer needed to be forced into a fine point; the raw power would make enough of a wrecking ball effect.

His armor, the overflowing bottle of emotions, each remembered moment his instincts and logic had been sent into a panic...

He let it all go, and for a short moment, it felt like he was free- like a suspension of zero gravity, or as if the simple laws of reality just didn't apply.

The lid on his over-worked magic and inherited memories was finally opened.

A sound came like a clap of thunder, a ripple of distortion much like a heatwave, an excess of raw magic that crackled and popped around him in arcs of visible power that left streaks of neon green in his wake.

Quill had never felt extraordinary in his life, as if he'd been supercharged; not like this, like his wounds had vanished and he had enough energy to run around the world twice over.

It showed in the near slow-motion way Ink blinked, eyelights changing and expression shifting into shock, the slowed flicker of the larger Sans's bloated red eyelight shifting to him, a hesitation in the motion picture swing of his axe.

There was no way to predict how he streaked into combat like a neon green comet, bringing shockwaves and the physical pressure of magic and intent with him.

There were obstacles between him and Ink, and it felt like he was in overdrive.

He kicked out at the nearest dragon skull attack with a smaller shockwave and arcs of green, watching the way cracks spread across the bone of the huge creature with too many red-blue eyes, the way it started to disintegrate into dust- but not fast enough to stop it from colliding with Horror in its momentum.

Unfortunately, that was as far as he'd properly planned.

Moving faster than everything else made it very hard to calculate the effects; the momentum sent him off in another direction, briefly flailing to change direction just enough to target the next dragon skull attack in line, sending the red beam of building energy careening into the others and forcing Dust to dodge.

His body was pushed to the extremity by what felt like an endless well of energy.

Overexertion and impacts healed as quickly as the issue was created, allowing Quill to briefly adjust into becoming the world's most chaotic living pinball under the synchronicity of the Ghost's muscle memory and battle knowledge, rapidly choosing his next target.

The lull created by the creeping pace of time allowed him to focus on the two last figures, sneakers not yet touching the crumbled and scorched flagstone.

Nightmare was mid-motion turning to face him, cyan eyelight contracted into a slit, permagrin turned into a malleable maw of darkness simulating sharp teeth and splatters of black goop drifting down from monstrously mutating tendrils slicing at a crawling pace through blue strings.

The skeleton wielding those strings had them looped around multi-colored phalanges fit for a Reese's Pieces commercial, dressed in a cacophony of black, blue, red, and yellow to match their bones.

Eyelights, one white and the other yellow-ringed blue set in red sockets, flickered and slowly contracted, just as Nightmare's did, to track him.

That yellow permagrin finished twisting into a fierce scowl of rage just as Quill touched down.

Irritation/Rage/Annoyance clashed with his own Determination/Panic/Help/PROTECT

Oh,

He thought, wincing prematurely.

That must be Error...

... And it seems the half-baked stunt he'd pulling is going to get much, much more risky- but he'd already been reaching out.

His phalanges grabbed on to the recoiling severed strings, smack-dab in the middle of the two fighting powerhouses, twisting and heaving, watching the strings whip and pull taut to bodily sling this apparent 'Error' guy towards Ink like a string-pull top.

And then...

It was just him, his already queasy stomach, and a very angry Nightmare.

Chapter Text

Quill was sure his eyesockets were as wide as dinner plates.

He probably wouldn't have even noticed the sheer anger in that single slit cyan eyelight if the tunnel vision of adrenaline hadn't made everything sharp, every detail rendered in clarity of the goopy black tendrils lashing out at him.

He twisted his body to the side with hastened steps and a stumble from the momentum he was still adjusting to, watching from his peripheral vision as they obliterated the flagstone in a straight line of crumbling and annihilated stone where he'd been standing.

It seemed to hardly matter that everything else appeared in slow motion; Nightmare's attacks were fast.

He ducked, the tread of his sneakers grinding and slipping on the stone floors, a clumsy lunge to the side before a third dark tendril could impale his skull.

The air movement of the close call sparked over his nerves like pins and needles, with an uncomfortable spike of nerves from how closely he was (Almost literally) dancing with death.

He nearly missed the fourth tentacle, backpedaling in a crackle of green; a shower of dust and broken stone followed in the wake, and it was automatic to wave away the pieces before they got near his sockets.

Briefly, a small thought fed by slight hysteria and overwhelming energy wondered if stuff like that was harmful if skeletons technically didn't have lungs or eyes.

He wasn't looking forward to the nausea and panic attack if he made it through this in one piece.

Pondering would have to wait; the cloud of dust shifted, swirling with the air displaced by the speed of Nightmare's own lunge, black phalanges extended in a slow-motion grab with tentacles(Urgh-) coiled for another strike.

Quill's mind was rebooting when he forced himself to focus at least enough to survive, his soul thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird, body straining to meet his demand.

He wasn't exactly proud of the panic-induced grab that failed and missed spectacularly.

The back of his own hand impacted where he hadn't been aiming, striking Nightmare's wrist in a crack of bone-on-bone and throwing the grab off-course.

Apparently, Nightmare didn't expect the technique of hysterical panic either, if the cold Anger/Surprise said anything, but it gave Quill the split second he needed to get his logic working again; the hit stung the backs of his metacarpus, even with the minor protection of the fingerless gloves.

There wasn't much he could do against the black tentacle unfurling, the devastating strike swift even in slow motion, so without time to think, he cocked his other fist back and met it head-on.

The sharpened tip sliced straight through his glove with an extremely unpleasant sensation of his index and middle finger bones being almost forced apart, the sharpened end of the tentacle deflecting off the handle of Ol' Trusty his hand was clenched around.

Apparently, pain was slower to set in, too- even if dulled by adrenaline.

He recoiled with a hiss at the intense and tearing ache, but the shockwave caused by the forced colliding his nullified Nightmare's attack, buying precious split seconds of time.

Green arcs like lightning was already dancing around his hand in a concentration of magic to heal the wound, but it came with a numb ache and he couldn't stop from fumbling his grip in a desperate attempt to push through the pain hold on to Ol' Trusty and move to brace while Nightmare's next attack came in a flurry of sharpened tendrils.

Neither of them expected the sharp twang of blue strings that pierced through the air and into the flagstone between them, five in total that pulled tight-

And, never before, had his eyes been cursed like this.

Quill, very unfortunately, watched in slow motion as one string pierced through one of the four tentacles inches away from stabbing into his arm, pulling taut and severing through the sludgy black and wriggling appendage with the single worst shlck- noise he'd ever heard in either lifetime.

... And then the severed part continued wriggling on the floor until it melted into tarry black goop.

Oh sweet Jesus Holy Mary mother of God-

NAUSEA

He had no control over the rampant feeling of vertigo, or how it transmitted through the grand space like a tidal wave; his only saving grace is that he was pushing so much magic that he had none to expel from his metaphysical stomach, leaving him lurching away awkwardly at high speed to convulse involuntarily over the edge of the second story railing in a dry heave.

Nightmare wasn't so fortunate.

The dark skeleton reeled back in a near mirror motion of Quill, injured tentacles coiling around him in instinctive defensiveness, partially hunched and cyan eyelight wild with the sudden and visceral disorientation.

"WhAt haVe You doNe?!"

The glitched screeching, distorted further by how quickly he processed time, instantly cut through the involuntary lull in the fight, the multicolored skeleton backing away and staring at him as if he were Pestilence itself.

... Quill had forgotten how freakishly good all the skeletons seemed to be at fighting, and how accustomed to it they were, because Error's attempt to rejoin the fray was faster than he'd thought.

It had been severely botched... Until a hand went up to the other's eye, coming away from the blue streaks with a new series of strings, and he blanched in understanding.

They were shot his way, and not at Nightmare and his (Somehow?) regenerated tentacle, careless of the (Disgusting oh sweet Jesus-) collateral damage.

Oh shit.

He had no idea who this guy was, but considering he was there for the jailbreak, he had assumed that this guy was at least neutral.

He'd been right about the wildcard thing, but he hadn't been expecting an enemy that clearly didn't side with Nightmare either.

However, the expression of disgust and rage behind weaponized laser death strings of magic made it pretty clear that this was attempted homicide.

He stumbled back from his position at the railing, teeth chattering minutely from the potent magic in the air and the still overwhelming surge of nausea, a new wave of panic taking over because Nightmare and this Error guy were not something he could take on by himself-!

"This is not what we planned! You're not supposed to kill him!"

In a whirl of brown and rainbow, pronounced by a wet splatting noise, Ink's giant brush splattered some kind of paint over Error's side, turning the multicolored skeleton's attention with a snarl and locking the other two skeletons into their own combat.

His kidnappers, jailors, attempted murderers, cellmate, and him, all locked in a jealbreak-turned-deathmatch.

Quill feinted to dodge the strings with Ink's intervention, backpedaling to put distance between himself and Nightmare, scrambling frantically to think of what to do.

What's next.

How this could possibly end without major injury or death.

How he was just trying to help, and somehow, it was all falling apart around him.

Ink's voice cut through the glitched cursing, a thick and dark puddle of paint beneath the two fighters.

"I got him! I'll catch up with you guys later- get Dream and go!"

He could only stare as Ink and Error (Unwillingly) fell through the substance that he remembered and realized.

A portal.

Ink had given him a small window by eliminating the other jailbreak accomplice and threat.

He didn't need to search, driven now by a hint of hope that this might end up okay; the golden arrows holding Nightmare back from immediately trying to skewer him again were a clear trace back to Dream on the first floor, on a vantage point not far away from where Horror was cleaving everything in his path with his axe except for Over; who held a tight grin as he dodged the debilitating strikes freakishly fast, over and over, past Dust's unconscious prone form with tiny little blips of text stating 'Miss!'.

Quill didn't question it.

He vaulted over the railing in vibrant streaks of green crackling over his bones, strained with magic concentration.

"Dream! Portal!"

He yelled out, nearly taken aback by the slowed feel of metaphysical vocal chords straining with volume- but the urgency translated, in the way the other's eyesockets widened, and a hand shifted away from the bow, opening to gather magic.

Just a little longer,

He urged himself, catching himself in an awkward and unpracticed roll that jarred his knee and shoulder, pushing himself up.

Just a little more-

He cocked his arm back, bracing and lunging forward, his hand snapping out in a bastardized mix of dart throwing and baseball that was becoming increasingly familiar.

Ol' Trusty left his aching hand, zipping through the air in a flash of viridian green arcing with visible crackles of magic.

Horror's bloated red eyelight slid to the corner of his socket, maneuvering his axe to block.

The spoon splintered through the handle with a small shock, carving a tear in the side of his stained hoodie, giving Quill just enough time to latch onto Over's larger and softer hand and yank the human Sans into the mad whirlwind of movement towards the golden shimmer of a portal opening next to a panicking Dream.

He barely needed the shift of expression showing panic into horror and the switch of the yellow guy's open hand back to the bow for Quill to realize what was behind him.

He was already pushing his very limits, but the sharp surge of MALICE getting closer was a swift crash straight towards dread.

He could feel it, how his bones were starting to strain, how his magic was becoming more erratic as it ran low, how it was sluggish to his call, and his every thought was overtaxed and felt like his skull was filled with mud.

All of it culminated into a single objective that held true since the beginning; Help.

Without thinking, he reached out, tensing to physically haul Over up and in front of him as they barreled straight into Dream, shoving the other skeleton through the portal the split second it opened.

The loss of momentum left them dead in the water.

Time remained slow, and Quill found himself looking back at a pair of startled, pained, and confused blue eyes when the final two sensations before the darkness of unconsciousness took hold.

The detailed feel of something sharp slicing through the back of his hoodie, his turtleneck tanktop, and finally puncturing into and through bone in an instant sear of pain and a strangled gasp forced from his chest.

And the feel of his low reserves depleting, already primed from the fight, to snap him and Over into a shortcut to the quickest and closest AU away from Nightmare's Castle.

Chapter Text

It started with an abstract change at the edge of his senses; an abstract feel, a memory of something intangible.

The familiar smell of burning eggs.

He tried to get a feel for what was around him, but the world felt distorted and abstract.

Regardless, he felt comfortable... It didn't set off any gut feeling of danger, even when a room seemed to fade into semi-clarity around him, even with a pervading feeling like he should be in pain, a zip of agony like sparks at the edge of his consciousness.

He was familiar with this room, despite not remembering how he was standing inside of it; it made him feel warmer, more relaxed...

... Oddly sad, for a reason just beyond the grasp of his weak and diluted understanding.

The objects and corners fuzzed around him, he couldn't see it clearly; but he knew that if he looked, he'd find two stuffed-full bookshelves by a twin bed, a messy and equally crowded desk, a disorganized medical bag sitting by the door, waiting patiently for him to return to work.

He missed his(Old? Where did that thought come from?) coworkers.

He should go see them.

The sensation of walking didn't happen, but he moved towards the door anyways; his hand just as fuzzed over as his surroundings, almost painful to try looking at when he pushed open the door of his room.

It was so familiar; the instant spike of joy and calm that followed was expected.

The equally instant lance of agony through his(Soul? Heart?) was not as expected, nearly crippling in the bittersweet surge of emotion he didn't know how to name.

He could see, almost feel, everything clear as day for the first time since he'd arrived here.

His dad stood at the kitchen stove, already wafting with the smoke of burnt and too-salty cooking.

The man didn't look behind him, but Quill heard his voice anyways as he moved without conscious thought or feeling to suddenly be sitting patiently at the table.

"How'd your day go?"

A question he'd heard thousands of times.

He opened his mouth to answer.

'Good' came to mind, as always; a short and simple response as rehearsed over the years as it had been since his first day of school, often followed by the little highlights that made it interesting; but for whatever reason, the word just wouldn't pass.

... That wasn't true... Was it?

He was distracted by a flicker of yellow at the edge of his vision, and he turned a little.

A skeleton with almost cartoonish features looking like a yellow-teal superhero stared back, seated across the table from him, an empty space one moment and filled the next.

The yellow guy with golden eyelights set in their flexible and expressive eyesockets looked at him with an expression of confusion and loss, an odd spot of clarity in a distorted world.

His dad didn't react, and the skeleton seemed oddly familiar.

This was fine, probably.

So Quill went back to watching his dad burn eggs again.

"I'm... Sorry, I'm not supposed to be here. I think I'm at the wrong place."

The skeleton gently but awkwardly excused, as equally as confused as he was when their gazes met again.

"Why?"

He asked, pleasantly surprised by his(Old... Why did he consider it old?) voice, shy and quiet.

He knew something wasn't right in this paradoxical room, this familiar and distorted setting, the fractured thoughts and feelings, but he couldn't quite figure out what.

"It's fine, Dream... If he lets you stay, you're welcome here."

He mumbled, thinking abstractly over his dad's complete non-reaction to the strangely skeletal guest in their modest and messy little apartment.

The skeleton startled at the name.

Quill was equally startled by knowing that name, but the knee-jerk and muted spark of it evaporated as quickly as he came.

He decided not to question it, instead returning to basking in the familiar and bittersweet feel of home; he had an odd feeling that it would end too soon, and he wanted to hold on to it, to stay, just for a little longer.

His chest ached.

"... Quill...?"

Dream ventured hesitantly, still surprised and confused, misplaced in his clarity, leaning forward in the fuzzy diningroom chair that shifted different shades of brown when he wasn't looking.

Weird.

A walking and talking skeleton knew his name, that's certainly new...

... Isn't it?

He offered a shy and awkward little smile, one that his friends often teased him about; they said it made his freckles stand out and his appearance more boyish with his dorky glasses.

The shocked stare he received in turn was completely lost on him and his fractured thought process, and he looked away to avoid the instant judgment.

He knew he'd already made it awkward, but the feeling of the end was looming again, and it finally prompted him to break the silence before time was up.

"That's me..."

He confirmed quietly, using his height to slump tiredly in his own chair and simply just... Watch the back of his dad's tacky sweater.

He didn't mean to ignore the yellow guy he distantly recognized, but he had a priority.

How long did eggs take to burn, anyways...?

"Sorry... Just let me have this for a little bit. I've missed it."

It seems the overcooked breakfast was done.

His dad turned around, carrying a plate of amorphous color, to put at the table next to his hand.

"B-but... Y-you're...?"

Not even Dream's alarmed and baffled question could break him from a small and sudden little onset of clarity.

The end was here, and he didn't have time to explain himself to the stuttered half-question; he wasn't sure if he was going to get another chance like this.

With an almost desperate intensity he focused on his dad standing at his side and nothing else, piecing together thousands of memories to try and see that familiar smile with just a little more clarity before it was gone, the phantom feel of a gentle hand that ruffled his untamed and too-long blond hair into his eyes.

"Eat up, Quill. I love you."

Dream seemed to sense something that was lost on him, because the next words spoken were softer and thick with sympathy, even if the situation and its details were confusing to all parties.

"Oh no... Quill..."

...

...

He felt like crying.

The words felt paltry, in the face of all the things he wanted to say; but he didn't have time.

"I love you too, dad... I'm sorry I left. I miss you."

... If only it were a piece of reality, and not just a dream that faded like wisps of smoke.

...

...

...

To call what he'd done 'waking up' would be a poor and pale descriptor.

He wasn't sure what year it was, or if his brain was possibly still attached, because nothing was making sense.

A blurred and fuzzed sterile white color took up the majority of his poor vision, further worsened by the slow and mis-remembered green tear tracks that ran down over his cheekbones.

He felt like heartache, even if he didn't remember why.

He felt like he'd been run over by a bus, but the reason for that was just as lost to him in the disorientation, as if the world was whirling madly in place.

His upper back hurt with actual pain, now that he'd acknowledged and noticed it; the deep ache and itch of a healing wound; and the feel of hospital-grade painkillers was unfortunately familiar from the past curse of klutziness.

The smell of lemon-scented disinfectant was equally unpleasant and familiar.

"You're awake!"

Someone was speaking at him, and he'd caught almost half of it, raising his skull drunkenly from his face-down prone on an uncomfortable cot.

The blurred face of a Sans ducked into his field of poor vision, eyesockets obscured by equally fuzzy red-rimmed glasses, just close enough that Quill could squint and see the pinch of nervousness at the corner of the stranger's permagrin.

"Uh... How are you feeling?"

Quill had already used most of his immediate descriptors in his thoughts.

His brain-to-mouth filter was just as nonfunctional as the rest of his usually overactive brain, rendered silent except for the fading cobwebs of a forgotten dream and the dulled feel of pain.

"Like a sack of smashed assholes."

He slurred groggily.

It was his dad's favorite descriptor before coffee, and it was(Weirdly and unfortunately) the only thing that came to mind.

... He should probably just lay back down and accept death before the mortification kills him first.

Chapter Text

Updated 4/8/2025

The fic has been fully updated with art rearranged, and the latest Chapter has undergone some little edits (sleep deprivation is not my friend) so hopefully it reads a little better.

From the Author -

This story is for fun, it's supposed to make you, as readers, happy. I want the best experience for you- and that means that I will be doing my best to be interactive and open to suggestions and criticism. I'm untrained and this story is freeform, which means that you can very well have a hand in what happens; both for fixes, and what happens next with Quill. If you see an inconsistency or plothole, let me know- I can fix it or explain it! I'm learning and growing as a writer as well.

Thus being said, I might not have the ability to interact with every comment; it sometimes takes hours to respond to everyone. This is,, so amazing and wonderful- I appreciate every single comment, every encouraging response, every artwork- I appreciate you. I never thought I would get this far, much less with so much positive feedback. I might not respond to everything, but I promise, I read them all and it truly makes a difference. You can see the proof; this is now my longest, and longest-running, piece of writing!

Any art to go with this story, with the creator's permission, will be put up in the next written chapter with the desired credits! I'm absolutely STOKED and just in general blown away that wonderful artists have made fan art for this. If you have a spare moment, please give them a visit to show some love and support them... It truly means the world to me to receive such wonderful gifts, and it's tough to be an artist! I may have cried happy tears on several occasions now. @capahiyosi holds a special place in my heart for gifting me my first-ever fanart, and I will treasure it always.

Some artwork is depicting specific moments within the story, and I have moved artwork to the correct chapters and lines. This A/N and a FanArt chapter have been to the end so that it isn't interrupting you while you are trying to read.

A lot of this will be based on questions from comments, which has pointed out details in the story that won't be expanded on- as the story is written almost exclusively from Quill's point of view.

Comment below or join me on my Tumblr if you have any questions that I didn't answer here, and I will update the AN!

TLDR for common questions-

- Quill has a green kindness soul, which is linked to his magic. It's a cartoonish green upright heart, with one target ring around it- a mix between a Green Human soul and Killer's target soul.

- He can speak, but he doesn't like to and prefers to communicate through intent.

- He has zero prior knowledge of UTMV as a whole. He has some memories from Ghost Killer, and retains all memories of his life before dying.

- Quill does not/will not have hate tears, but typically doesn't show eyelights unless using magic.

- He has magic reserves from having spent an entire lifetime without using even a drop. He is also sensitive to it, having never felt/been around magic before.

- His main weapon is, and will remain, a modified soup spoon.

- All AUs and characters, aside from Quill, do not belong to me, and are used in creative expression. Some details may vary, but all credits go to their proper creators! "Killertale" is being used as a placeholder in this fic rather than "Something New" for ease of writing/how the characters think of it as its own AU.

- This fic doesn't currently have romance, but M/M is hinted.

- Characters may be a mix of Canon/Fanon; otherwise it would be too much of a stress. Their reactions will vary between depending on what I feel is the best/most in-character/most realistic reaction.

Lore -

This should not contain any major spoilers; however, some of these details will be brought to light later on.

The original "Killer" (original owner of the body, or, "Ghost") finished the story and fell down once the food ran out, which happened over the course of a few years without rationing. Due to falling down, the body lasted only a split moment longer than the mind/soul, which allowed Quill to reincarnate within the 'empty' body via his own soul. His soul was forced to change to survive, which means it mimicked Ghost's as it shattered. Due to perfect timing, an imprint of Ghost's memories, including day-to-day basic knowledge, passed down. This knowledge includes soul/magic knowledge, colors and what they mean, how to navigate the underground, muscle memory(including how to fight), encounters, and some basic memories on who Papyrus and the "main cast" is. More complex memories such as Gaster Blasters, inventories, quantum mechanics, Gaster in general, and resets didn't pass down. Shortcuts were an exception due to how frequently Ghost used them. Essentially, Quill only has a vague concept of who "Sans" is, and he has no prior knowledge of Undertale.

After dying and reincarnation, being transmigrated and being forced to change to survive effected his soul. Going to a new Omniverse from a place where magic absolutely never existed, he got access to a lifetime's worth of grown magic reserves from never using it, not even passively or unconsciously. This made his MP very large, but also made him very sensitive to magic in general; much like gaining a new limb, every sensation in highly noticeable. Mages absolutely did not exist in his world, whereas humans in Undertale had simply forgot their magic over the generations. Chapter 2 expanded a little on how he got the hang of all the hows of the equation; once he'd sorted through memories, his body, mind, and soul are now in synch with knowledge and muscle memory. He won't be a proficient fighter until he truly trains to match his muscle memory, but the know-how is there. Chapter 16 begins to break down how this affects the AUs around him.

Details/Notes -

Character Development:

• Quill's personality is showing through, but as the story progresses, he will change a little. My reasoning is that people change depending on the situations that they're currently experiencing. Thus far, he's been in a nearly constant state of emergency, and this is not sustainable. His personality will get more rounded out as we progress.
• Quill is still trying to figure out who the heck he is now; there's a lot to unpack, so it's likely to come out in bursts during his 'downtime'; once he gets any, that is.
• He was (and some part still is) a very quiet and shy guy; awkward but well-intended and kind with antisocial tendencies. The disparity in his personality and some of his actions is because he wants to act and feel differently than his first instinct, and is capable of acting on that. He was an aspiring EMT, and to do that he had to be able to communicate clearly and assert himself; Quill can do this, but he's naturally not talkative at all. That's starting to change, and I've been doing my best to make him expressive without words.
• He experiences semi-frequent LV flareups, but he's a kind person by nature and that helps to stifle it. However, we can't forget that he does have the LV from the body killing his entire underground! This, in turn, does effect his personality a little.
• Error unknowingly destroyed Quill's AU, a near-perfect copy of Killertale until he transmigrated. Quill doesn't know this yet and doesn't know what being an Outcode means, or how it affects him.

Storyline:

• As a variant/copy of Killertale, "true" Killer does exist and is currently part of Nightmare's gang. Quill is definitely a lot more logic-inclined than Killer, however, that doesn't mean they're not capable of sharing similarities.
• The X event did technically happen, but this story will likely deviate!
• He does not know of Gaster Blasters, or have memory on how to use them; however, he is technically able to summon them and might do so further in the story, as well as access his inventory. An ability like Undyne's in the original timeline may manifest later on.
• I added "conservation laws". This means that matter from a destroyed AU is used in the making of a new one! Balance.
• Overtale Sans and Science!Sans will play into the plot later on.
• Quill is an official Outcode, and his AU was destroyed by Error. How this progresses is yet to be seen.

Current Equipment/Deviations:

• Everything Quill wears is identical to canon Killer. His appearance differs in four major aspects; magic color, lack of (but scars from) hate tears, soul color/appearance, and of course, his new glasses. His main trait in Kindness, and he is thus incapable of hate tears.
• Quill is completely capable of manifesting and changing his eyelights; he just has no idea how... Or that he can. The head canon is that unless the soul is tampered with, Killer variants aren't used to manifesting eyelights, which is conflicting with a skeleton's natural state of being; which is to have eyelights manifested unless consciously willed otherwise. Quill's unconscious compromise is that his eyelights manifest just the faintest amount when he's actively using and/or manipulating magic. They appeared in Underfell Grillby's because he was technically manipulating magic, subconsciously trying to show his happiness... In the form of star eyelights.
• Canon Killer is not capable of making cross-AU portals. Due to the human/monster mix his soul became, new magic and abilities became possible. I won't expand on this yet(as it will give spoilers for the storyline) but who knows what Quill is fully capable of yet!
• Ah, Ol' Trusty. Quill's faithful companion is not going anywhere. He will be acquiring new items along the way, but his weapon of choice is extremely unlikely to change. This was completely unplanned, and has become the most compelling staple of the story... Somehow. I am still very confused over this, in a good way.

Magic:

• Quill has green magic abilities such as healing, and I'm planning on exploring more and paving the way for a new direction- especially with his creativity with the 'quill attack'. It was effective at shutting off the power because he extracted the 'healing', or rather, 'fixing' portion of his magic and made it go into overdrive, producing too much electricity. I plan on expanding this, so if in example he used it on Ink, it could 'heal' the first thing it picks up as off (like his paints) and cause him to overdose on paints on the spot. Too much of a good thing can be bad! He may also, in the future, develop green magic similar to Undyne.
• He is fully capable of manipulating and shaping magic attacks. This is a unique ability- it requires amazing sensitivity and MP, which he has in spades.
• Quill's magic is based on Kindness and healing- and, shown in Chapter 17, this means he can 'Supercharge' himself! Imagine magic-backed Hysterical Strength, which is unlimited by injury due to rapid healing. The consequences will be made clear later. ;)
• His magic has also developed! It takes a form like electricity, and much like it, his magic is more conductive with metals (Ol' Trusty, his glasses frames, dungeon iron bars) though he has yet to test it on much else. He doesn't want to create an explosion of epic proportions yet.

Other:

• There is no relation between Quill and Delta Sans, who I previously did not know existed. Coincidental likeness aside, I apologize if I tread on any toes!
• A lot of stories featuring the problem of being human/reincarnation often end up writing the main character trusting and blurting 'the secret' way too quickly, I think, to be a natural progression. It's absolutely not healthy to keep a secret of that magnitude, but people are often capable of ignoring what's healthy for the sake of protecting themselves, and Quill is no exception; thus, if he does entrust this information to someone, it'll be a while and on his terms. I swear he just writes himself most of the time and I'm just along for the ride.

Credits:

Undertale/Sans AUs:

Undertale by Toby Fox

Something New (Killer, Killertale) by Rahafwabas

___tale (Ink, Inktale/Doodlesphere) by Comyet

Dreamtale (Dream and Nightmare) by Jokublog

Underswap (Blue) by Popcornpr1nce

Errortale (Error, Anti-Void) by LoverofPiggies/CrayonQueen

Dusttale (Dust) by ask-Dusttale/Osteophile/Calvateyla

Horrortale (Horror) by SourAppleStudios

Underfell (Red) by victhefella

Overtale (Over) by Adam Chapman  (Loosely, there's lots of versions?)

KM2 STO (Quill) by Embrace_the_Deep/DefinitelyNotABee  (That's me!)

Art (Tumblr, Discord):

CapaHiyosi

Imaginaryclowns

TaterthePotato

Yet-another-reason

Mimic (Discord)

Unamzi

Aero-bourne

EarthTigerArt

DisguisedBee

Chapter Text

By @CapaHiyosi

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By @TaterthePotato

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By @Imaginaryclowns

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By @yet-another-reason

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By @Unamzi

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By @aero-bourne

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By @EarthTigerArt

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By @DisguisedBee

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Special mention to @Mimic on Discord! We're working out the link issues to put the art here.