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Error didn’t belong anywhere.
That was the first truth, the thread that wound through him tighter than any of the strings he worked between his claws. He didn’t belong in the universes he erased, those gaudy knock-offs stuffed full of half-baked heroes and endless loops of hope. He didn’t belong in the quiet hum of the void, even though he’d built it up in his mind as his sanctuary. Not really.
Error didn’t belong anywhere.
But he kept coming back here.
Waterfall hummed in muted tones—soft blues and greens bleeding into each other under the glow of bioluminescent mushrooms. The air clung damp and cool, carrying the faint, rhythmic patter of water dripping from stalactites far above. In the shallows of a distant pond, ripples whispered across the surface, stirred by nothing but the lazy whim of an underground breeze.
Error hated it here.
Too calm. Too still. Too… normal.
And yet, he sat on the edge of a moss-slicked rock, his strings knotting and unknotting between his twitching claws. It wasn’t for anything— he didn't even have his knitting needles. It was just something to do, something to keep his fingers moving so he wouldn’t have to look at him.
“Nice spot, isn’t it?”
Sans’s voice broke the silence, easy and low, carrying just enough weight to tug Error’s attention.
Error glitched faintly, his sockets flicking toward the other skeleton before darting away again. Sans was lounging against a tree, his legs stretched out, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he had nowhere else to be. His grin hadn’t moved—of course it hadn’t—but somehow, it still felt different. Softer.
“w-what’s s-so g-great about it?” Error spat, his voice breaking into uneven glitches. “j-just a b-bunch of w-water and r-rocks. n-nothing s-special.”
Sans didn’t flinch. Didn’t even shrug. Just tilted his head, his grin hanging steady. “Dunno. Sometimes quiet’s good, y’know?”
A low growl rattled in Error’s chest, static hissing along the edges of his form. “t-too q-quiet,” he muttered, pulling a thread so taut it snapped in his grip. The ends disintegrated into the air, vanishing as if they’d never existed.
Sans laughed, low and soft, and Error’s glitches flared sharper, his form flickering. He hated that sound—not because it mocked him, but because it didn’t.
“You’re funny,” Sans said, tilting his head back like he wasn’t watching Error out of the corner of his sockets. “Act like you don’t like it, but you keep showing up anyway. Makes a guy think.”
Error stiffened, his claws twitching. “y-you’re f-full of it,” he spat, but his voice cracked on the last word.
“Maybe,” Sans drawled, his grin edging wider. “But you’re still here, huh?”
The glitches along Error’s body stuttered, sharp bursts of light fraying the edges of his form. The strings in his claws coiled tighter, knotting themselves into a tangled mess. “b-because y-you’re th-the only o-one th-that m-matters,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sans blinked at that, his sockets narrowing faintly. “What was that, buddy?”
Error glared at him, his glitches flaring. “y-you heard m-me,” he growled, his claws trembling. “y-you’re th-the only o-one. th-the original. th-the o-only o-one th-that’s n-not a-a mistake.”
For a moment, Sans didn’t respond. His sockets flickered faintly, catching the edges of Error’s trembling form, but his grin didn’t falter. “Huh,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “Didn’t think you thought about it like that.”
“o-of course i d-do,” Error snapped, his voice rising. “y-you’re th-the only o-one th-that g-got it r-right. th-the only o-one th-that’s n-not—n-not an a-abomination.”
The word hung in the air, heavy and jagged.
Sans leaned forward slightly, his grin shifting into something quieter. “That why you don’t wipe me out?” he asked.
Error flinched, his glitches rattling through the damp air. His claws flexed, the strings snapping one by one. “s-shut up,” he muttered, but it sounded weak even to him.
Sans’s sockets softened, his grin small now but still there. “Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re kinda fond of me, buddy.”
Error froze. His glitches sputtered, his form flickering sharply, and for a moment, he looked like he might fall apart entirely.
“I’m j-just—” he started, but the words tangled in his throat. He glared at Sans instead, his claws trembling. “d-don’t g-get used to it.”
Sans chuckled again, and Error hated how much he liked the sound.
“Sure thing, pal,” Sans said, leaning back against the tree again. “But if it helps, I’m kinda fond of you too.”
Error’s sockets snapped to him, wide and disbelieving. “w-what?”
Sans shrugged, his grin widening slightly. “You’re weird, but you’re honest. Well, mostly. Kinda nice havin’ someone around who doesn’t try to sugarcoat stuff.”
Error’s glitches flared again, but this time, they were softer, more like static than sharp bursts of light. His claws curled around the frayed ends of his strings, his sockets narrowing as he looked away.
“y-you’re r-ridiculous,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it.
The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t heavy this time. Just… quiet.
Error didn’t belong anywhere.
But sitting here, in this stillness, with the one thing that made sense in a universe full of chaos—
It didn’t feel so bad.
The void was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against Error’s skull and made his glitches itch like an unreachable phantom. He sat hunched on the edge of his self-made nothingness, surrounded by his creations—figures made of thread and patches, pieced together with care that belied his jagged movements and snappy voice.
They sat in a loose circle around him, the dolls, each one a representation of someone he would never admit he thought about.
There was the lanky figure of Ink, his colorful scarf draped over his too-small shoulders. Next to him, Dream’s bright, golden paint was slightly faded, like an old memory. Nightmare sat farther out, his dark patches unevenly sewn, an intentional flaw Error didn’t care to explain. The rest filled the space—undersized representations of every alternate version of Sans, every variation he swore he didn’t care about but somehow had crafted with painstaking precision.
And then, at the center, there was the simplest doll. A familiar, lazy grin stitched into its face, its hoodie just a shade too blue, its sockets hollow but knowing.
Classic.
Error glared at the little doll, his claws twisting a string between his fingers until it frayed and snapped. “s-stupid,” he muttered, his voice crackling. “w-why d-did i e-even b-bother m-making you?”
The doll, of course, didn’t answer. It sat there, grinning up at him with that same infuriating calm, as if mocking him.
Error’s glitches flared, sharp bursts of static dancing along his form. He snatched the doll off the ground, holding it up to his face like it had insulted him.
“y-you’re j-just a d-doll,” he snarled, his voice trembling. “y-you d-don’t m-mean anything. j-just l-like th-the rest of them.”
But his claws trembled as he said it, the weight of the little figure pressing against his chest like it carried more than just thread and stuffing.
He tossed it to the ground, his glitches stuttering unevenly as he turned his back on it. He tried to focus on the others instead, picking up the doll of Ink and glaring at its unevenly painted smile.
“y-you’re e-even w-worse,” he growled at it. “a-always s-smiling, a-always p-pretending th-that everything’s f-fine. y-you’re j-just a-a l-lie.”
He dropped it with a hiss, grabbing Dream’s doll next. “a-and y-you,” he snapped. “s-so f-full of h-hope. y-you d-don’t g-get it, d-do you? n-nothing’s p-perfect. i-it’s all j-just b-broken.”
One by one, he moved through the dolls, his voice growing harsher with each one, the static in his words crackling like a broken radio.
But when his claws hovered over the Classic doll again, he froze.
He didn’t want to pick it up. Didn’t want to look at that stupid grin again, the one that felt like it saw straight through him, through the glitches and the chaos and the endless noise in his head.
“w-why d-do you h-have to b-be l-like that?” Error muttered, his voice quieter now, almost too soft to hear. “l-like y-you’re n-not b-bothered. l-like y-you c-care.”
He snatched the doll up suddenly, his claws curling around it, his glitches flickering weakly along his arms. “y-you don’t c-care,” he hissed, but the words felt hollow, even to him. “y-you’re j-just a-a d-doll. y-you d-don’t m-mean anything.”
The void was silent, save for the faint hum of Error’s glitches. He stared at the doll in his claws, his sockets narrowing.
“b-but h-he does, d-doesn’t he?” he muttered, the words dragging out of him like they didn’t want to leave. “h-he c-cares, a-and i d-don’t g-get it. i d-don’t w-want to g-get it.”
The doll didn’t answer, but Error could feel the weight of its stitched grin pressing into him, like a memory he couldn’t shake. He hated how much it reminded him of the real Sans—how it made his chest ache with something he didn’t know how to name.
Error’s glitches flared again, a bright burst of static that made the doll tremble in his grip. For a moment, he thought about tearing it apart, unraveling it into nothing like he’d done with so many other things.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he set the doll down carefully, his claws lingering on its patched hoodie for just a moment too long. He turned away, his glitches quieter now, his form flickering faintly in the dim light of the void.
“s-stupid,” he muttered again, but his voice lacked its usual venom. “e-everything’s j-just s-stupid.”
The clash of paintbrushes and strings echoed through the void, bursts of color colliding with sharp lines of static as Error and Ink fought. The space around them twisted unnaturally, torn between their chaotic energies—threads of reality tangling and fraying with each clash of their powers.
Error’s claws lashed out, strings snapping through the air like whip cracks. Ink dodged, flipping backward with infuriating ease, splattering blobs of glowing paint in his wake. The colors shimmered, momentarily blotting out the darkness, before Error’s glitches consumed them, erasing them from existence.
“c-cut it out, y-you w-walking crayon,” Error growled, his voice sharp and jagged. “y-you’re g-getting on my l-last n-nerve.”
Ink grinned, his paintbrush twirling between his fingers. “Aww, come on, Error,” he teased, his voice too chipper for someone dodging death. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time. Lighten up a little! We’re just having fun, right?”
“f-fun?” Error hissed, his glitches flaring. “i-i’ll sh-show you f-fun, y-you s-smug paint bucket!” His strings surged forward, tearing through the void, aiming straight for Ink’s center.
Ink narrowly avoided them, landing in a crouch as Dream and Blue watched from the sidelines. Dream’s brows furrowed with concern, his golden light dim as he clutched his staff. Blue was bouncing on his heels, caught between cheering for Ink and looking like he wanted to step in and help.
“Wow, you’re really going all out today,” Ink said, brushing a stray splatter of paint off his sleeve. His grin widened, his eyes half-lidded as he added, “What’s got you so worked up, Error? Oh, wait—don’t tell me. Is it about him?”
Error froze mid-attack, his glitches spiking violently. His sockets narrowed, his claws twitching, but he didn’t speak.
Ink’s grin turned sharper, more calculated. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Classic, right? You’ve been hanging around him a lot lately. Surprised nothing... bad has happened to him yet. Would be a shame if he got hurt because of you!"
The words hung in the air, heavier than any of the attacks they’d traded.
Dream and Blue exchanged wide-eyed glances, their postures stiffening. Blue, who had been midway through a cheer for Ink, froze with his mouth open, his expression twisting into confusion. “Uh… Ink? Buddy? What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
Dream frowned, his golden glow flickering uneasily. “Ink, that’s not like you. Why would you say something like—”
Before either of them could finish their thought, Error moved.
There was no hesitation, no warning. His strings shot out in a blur, wrapping around Ink’s wrist and yanking him forward with enough force to snap his paintbrush from his grip. The weapon tumbled into the void, forgotten, as Error’s clawed fist drove into Ink’s face with a resounding crack.
Ink went flying, paint splattering in every direction as he tumbled through the void like a broken marionette. He crashed into the fractured remnants of a nearby reality, splinters of color scattering like shattered glass.
Dream gasped, rushing forward instinctively. “Ink!”
Blue stood frozen, his sockets wide and his hands clutching his scarf. “Wha—what just happened? Error, what did—”
“s-shut up,” Error snarled, his voice low and trembling with barely-contained static. He stalked toward where Ink had landed, his claws flexing. “d-don’t you d-dare bring h-him into this.”
Ink groaned, pushing himself up with one shaky arm. A streak of blue paint dripped from the corner of his mouth, but he was still grinning, albeit weaker now. “Yikes, okay,” he said, his voice rough. “Touched a nerve there, huh?”
Error didn’t respond. He was on him in an instant, strings wrapping around Ink’s throat and pinning him to the ground. His glitches flared violently, his sockets narrowing into sharp, flickering slits.
“y-you d-don’t g-get to t-talk about him,” Error hissed, his voice cracking. “y-you d-don’t g-get to t-threaten him.”
Ink’s grin faltered for the first time, his pupils shrinking as he raised his hands in a half-hearted attempt to pry the strings away. “Whoa, hey, Error—chill out. I wasn’t—”
“d-don’t,” Error snapped, his claws tightening. His form flickered, glitching in and out of existence, as if the sheer force of his rage was tearing him apart. “h-he’s m-mine to d-deal with. n-not y-yours.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Dream stepped forward cautiously, his staff glowing faintly. “Error, let him go,” he said softly. “He wasn’t serious. Ink… sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks.”
“Yeah!” Blue piped up, though his voice wavered. “Ink’s just… uh, dumb sometimes! He didn’t mean it, right, Ink?”
Ink coughed weakly, his grin slipping back into place as he nodded. “Y-yeah, totally,” he wheezed. “No hard feelings, right, buddy?”
Error’s sockets flicked toward Dream and Blue, then back to Ink. For a moment, his grip tightened, his glitches crackling like distant thunder. Then, with a sharp motion, he released the strings, letting Ink slump to the ground.
“s-stay away f-from him,” Error said, his voice low and dangerous. “i-if you d-don’t, i-i’ll erase y-you.”
Ink didn’t respond. He just sat there, wiping paint from his face as Dream helped him to his feet.
Error turned away sharply, his claws curling into fists. His glitches flickered erratically as he stepped back into the void, his form disappearing into the darkness without another word.
Blue watched him go, then turned to Ink with a bewildered expression. “Okay, seriously—what the heck was that about? Who even says something like that?”
Dream sighed, shaking his head. “Ink, you need to be more careful. You know how Error is.”
Ink shrugged, his grin half-hearted. “What can I say? I like pushing buttons.”
But as Dream and Blue argued, Ink’s grin faltered, and he glanced toward the void where Error had disappeared.
“...Still,” he muttered under his breath, “guess I was right.”