Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Error had to escape.

He had no other choice.

He had to escape and he had no other choice. 

Not if he wanted to stay trapped in the Anti-Void for too long. Lost in his blurry, glitchy thoughts, slowly waiting for the whitish place of his madness to fully heal his damaged body. 

It was perfect, it was the worst.

It caused more failures as well as calmed them down.

He still didn't want to go. He needed him, they needed him... Who were they?

He didn't know why he was complicating things.

…The only thing he knew for sure... was that he wanted to hold on to the few fleeting fragments of memory he had in his shattered psyche. 

–He wouldn't keep it if he were to surround himself with the eternal white infinity of his mental torture–.

Small flashes of memories witnessed in dreams forced by exhaustion. This was too important to him, too much. He couldn't understand why, the puzzle was incomplete. Just as his brother would remind him—… 'did Error ever have a brother? Brother? Brothers?'

Something resonated there, strangely enough, his mind drifted to the original Undertale siblings, both figuratively and actually in the present. Not exactly them, no, but a copy of them. Too, too closely resembling the original.

He quickly denied it. 

Narrowly avoiding the bonds of the yellow paintings in his direction.

–They gave him a headache–.

And it was true, Error was fighting with Ink, again. 

Nothing new.

Only Error and the soulless, idiotic monster Ink.

That very, very, very idiot Ink had ingested the red paint again. He didn't care about the repercussions he might have in that state, leaving Error to deal with his own disasters. Because right now, the demon-faced with ink on his cheek couldn't distinguish between allies and enemies. Fabulous, if only he wasn't complicating Error's job by destroying an AU that was close to crashing into the Original.

He had to distract him.

Positivity and Swap were there.

Dream y Blue. 

They shouldn't have cared, but they did anyway.

Going more towards Blue's side, he reminded her of Blueberry, before the error, and that was no surprise.

At some point, within the lifeline of his painless existence, S--- met Blueberry. Then, with a bit of constant but manageable pain, G--- met him again a second time. Finally, in the present of his miserable existence filled with continuous struggle, amidst his grief and accidental wielding of magic, Error met Blueberry again.

He just knew they were the same friendly monster he'd first met, though he didn't quite remember it... 

His SOUL instinctively sensed the dominant magic of Blueberry's blue attack and recognized it as himself. It was pure luck that one of the good voices in the white void reminded him of how he used to call the swap Sans in the past. And Blueberry stayed, and stayed with him in the Anti-void. Until, of course, that wasn't sustainable. Error saw the cracks. He saw the future error. 

He never grew closer to his 'eternal true friend' again, returning him permanently to his almost failed AU. Error fixed it, as best he could without the practice of having done so before in that life . In another life, G--- used to handle glitches and experiment with them until they vanished. It was somewhat helped by his skeletal memory in both arms that he was able to barely handle the glitches of the 'sick' code of that alternate universe.

He disconnected his connection to that universe, and left a footprint, just in case.

A bone thrown at his skull stunned him momentarily, locking his gaze on Blueberr- no , that wasn't Blueberry, that was Blue. Just Blue.

Stars. 

Error must be very tired of that fight if Ink's pawn attacked him for being distracted by his thoughts.

There wasn't much to say about Dream.

The positive guardian was just that, positive.

Their interactions were based on Positivity's desire to win back Negativity, his brother. Dream didn't interact directly with Error, much less to the point of wanting to chat during battle.

Ink's influence on him didn't matter to him, it wasn't his problem.

That was Nightmare's problem.

Error moved away from everyone, as far away as possible, close to the edge of the battlefield. He only took a moment to breathe, out of reflex, and check on Ink.

The red paint should be fading by now.

Ink's tired, nearly empty body should have exhausted that paint. He couldn't keep up as it was. But the dark ink strokes of Ink's brush wouldn't let its wielder give up, letting the sketch continue on its mission to create in order to feel, feel in order to protect, and protect in order to continue feeling.

A continuous cycle of almost reciprocal existence of utility.

–It made him nauseous.–.

They continued to destroy a huge chunk of the Snowdin snowfield. Because yes, it had to be Snowdin.

The rain of magical arrows accentuated the mess in the background, tearing some of Error's vagrant clothing as he tried to dodge as many arrows as possible. He'll have to patch that up later. 

It was three against one, and that wasn't right.

"Error~, my friend." A demonic grin of simmering anger followed. Ink's eye sockets narrowed in concentration as he watched Error. "We're not done playing yet." He didn't growl when referring in the plural.

…oh, Ink has already started to recognize his allies..., good.

He had to go, but he had to go now.

Cornered in his corner of the fighting scene, Error did the only thing he instinctively knew how to do well: Glitch. He emerged, fading into glitches, glitching the fighting mechanics to teleport away from everything. With nowhere else to go.

Unknown to the system, unknown to everyone in it.

He gave one last nostalgic look at the alternate monster brothers and completely left that existence. With a single transport lock, he was unable to enter the Anti-Void.

–He would have to delete them later–.

And just like that, he left several monsters in the Underground confused by his departure.

Blue and Dream sighed in relief that the fight was over.

Ink looked at the emptiness of space Error left behind and felt dissatisfaction, a mild annoyance. But now, with a clearer mind, he tolerated the presence of his group.

Error crashed heavily and bone-weary against what he felt was a tree. He felt the bark with his right hand and relaxed when he saw no one around.

Only the flora of the place reigned over the ruins of what seemed to be a shattered kingdom on the Surface. Destroyed house structures, with nature somehow thriving on the walls and throughout the place. The route seemed friendly, if not for the lack of inhabitants. Strange... 

Error didn't know where the teleportation had taken him. But he could tell the place looked like Error's half-finished business, so ruined it was. He would go explore.

He took a step, only to shudder with the effort and nearly fall face first onto the ground. He reasserted his place in the tree behind him. 

He would go once he regained his body's strength.

He let out a tired sigh.

He was so exhausted, both physically and mentally. So exhausted that he could have slept off his exhaustion, leaning against that tree behind him. And that's exactly what he would do.

Error slid down, glued to the tree, his back to the ground, into the lush green grass on the ground. Later, he'd take a look at his current situation and possibly eliminate the place without a problem. Meanwhile, Error was resting, leaning against this comfortable, curvy tree, closing his eyes to feel something, something of the place.

Feel... the familiar ambient magic?

Still no monsters, humans, or standard souls around. Well, no one could hurt him if he got some rest, right?

This time, he mentally prepared himself and repeated the safety tests he felt like a mantra so he could get some rest.

He fell asleep shortly after.

Really exhausted.

Enough so that he couldn't sense an unusual, much younger SOUL in the same place as him. Perhaps out of familiarity or because of the fragile magical reserves he couldn't sense from the child.

It was a mystery that he didn't know what he would face hours later.

.

.

.

 
…

 
.

 
. 

.

He sniffed the changing breezes of the air, they were changing, he knew.

Ambient magic was an example, one that he also knew would run out, although he don't know why he know that.

Sweetness with hints of security, calm, and the tranquility of dawning rest captured his senses. Something... familiar. Like... like chocolate melting on his tongue. He didn't know how he recognized that either. Still, he pulled the tongue out of his space, to capture it. He caught the sensations, almost becoming overwhelmed by them.

He slowly approached the origin of the place his senses had captured. Attracted by the chocolate-like feeling of security that the weak but existent bond on the other side seemed to offer.

His SOUL sang 'Father' without knowing the definition of one, but certain of knowing the feeling it should provide him.

Security.

Sure, like the ambient magic that fueled it in the solitude of the place from which it was created.

His lonely birthplace.

With all his inexperienced and underdeveloped ink body, he managed to move closer and closer to 'father'. Curious, his star-like SOUL vibrating from the proximity.

It was when he saw the sleeping monster leaning against tree number forty-four that he stopped, looking at... his father.

And he knew it.

That was his father.

It's his father.

The father of–

… 

He went blank for a moment.

He returned to the present.

Well, it didn't matter, Father could give him a name.

Whatever it is, he would like it.

His ink side knew it.

Meanwhile, he sits groping on the grass, holding the small blue threads with his lil hands, absentmindedly waiting for his father to wake up.

Chapter Text

Error woke up.

That feeling of being clinically observed by a gaze that seemed to match Ink's was... equally very strange to ignore, it woke him up. It disturbed his strange dream of memories in which G— held something very precious in his arms ... He could already imagine what it was... But that wasn't the point.

The point was that something or someone had woken him up —he realized very belatedly that he'd only slept a few hours—. Enough to keep him tense and quickly paranoid, since there was no one there, not since he'd done a quick scan of the terrain. His threads hadn't detected anything remotely dangerous around or near his location. 

Maybe he was wrong, he couldn't know for sure. 

Error internally cursed his myopia. ‘Why do even the dead retain the myopia?’ His scientific self hated it in the depths of his young mind, which he no longer maintained. Error wasn't old enough to ponder that. Why not, He'd leave that old-fashioned stuff to Nightmare.

He rubbed his eye sockets to clear the remnants of sleepiness from his person, he shouldn't be doing this —a small voice similar to Sci Sans was telling him, but that wasn't Sci — But he still ignores and loves his past too much to stop. If even that miserable action gave him crumbs of something, he— He stops dead in his tracks as a sudden dark blur assaults his vision.

" What-at -Ssta-Aars? "

He still couldn't see anything clearly. 

But the moment Error felt lil sticky fingers grab his hand—his clean, dry right hand—he jumped. He linked his strands with the sturdy branches of the tree behind him and let himself climb up, quickly getting away from that thing. Whatever that thing had done left him with an unpleasant feeling. It felt wrong, like the paitings of the shoddy Painter. It burned his touch. 

—If the guys would look at it... they would point at Error just to make fun of him and compare it to an angry cat's reaction when it sees a cucumber on the ground—.

Up in his safe tree, Error squinted and strained his magic to see what the stranger had done to him. His bony right hand bore no visible wounds, much less the burning sensation he felt when it was placed on top of his own. Just a tingling sensation from being touched without his consent. It was... normal.

This only confused Error.

The sensations of a wound arising and the normal physical reaction of your uninjured hand. 

… 

'Haphephobia?' a curious, glitchy voice inquires in his mind. Probably D–.

Very confused, he only managed to see the dark stain on the ground again. Seeing Error's reaction, it remained dangerously still on the ground, not looking up... Good, much less trouble for Error. Still meant calm, especially from a distance and without being able to touch it. At this point, if someone were to see Error from the outside, they'd wonder, "Why doesn't Error attack the poor guy who touched him?" Yes, Error wanted to know the answer to that too.

Because he could have done many things to try to push the blurry, dark blob away from him. From kicking it, yelling at it, throwing a portal at it, bone attacking it, going all out with the heavy weapons, and more... But he didn't. His actions were always his own, they are his own, but this time he feels like something was different about this whole situation.

Different, too different for your taste.

Even the nascent thought of wanting to attack and immobilize the aggressor below with his paralyzing threads, for watching. To examine the strangeness. It makes Error's system and SOUL want to kick Nightmare's brother first before even beginning to think about touching anything of the spotted being below.

He did a double take, because, a... A tiny being?  

Eye strain was something.

A lot.

Observing the being again didn't tell him anything and was beginning to worry him.

Quiet, very quiet.

With Error now calm and the glitches subdued, the stillness began to transform into anxiety. And before the panic could return, by Asgoro knows who, Error climbed down from the safety of his tree to confront the little guy with the strange anxieties.

He didn't beat around the bush, he clicked on the 'Check' box .

And Error, the Destroyer of Au's, enemy of the Creator, nearly fainted when he saw the information inside the box. It was too easy for him to open it; he didn't even have to force it out. It shouldn't be. No, especially since the boy was barely six years old and looked too small for his age.

Little boy, who, of course, remained motionless except looking at the floor and Error's feet.

That wasn't right.

–Not well–.

It shouldn't be too easy for Error, a stranger, to open a small child's mailbox so easily. That ease should and should belong to the parents, the infant's parents. Of course, Error could have forced him to reveal himself. But he didn't, and that's the problem.

As far as Error can remember, he did not voluntarily participate in the creation of an offspring.

Much less does he believe himself capable in his right mind of leaving it as it is.

That kid is missing a lot of calcium and parental magic.

He is malnourished.

It's not like Error in that sense.

Hunger doesn't affect big errores that much.

But the little ones... They are another version, not the same.

They need to eat, to feed themselves.

And this, this, this baby bones are not right.

It's not right.

And it is of Error.

It's somehow Error's, and Error didn't know it.

The paint stains he'd previously ignored in favor of his own chaos in that disastrous place... confirmed to him what he didn't want to know. He needed to know.

This child, this baby bones, formed of threads and ink.

A creation that was created by magic in the midst of Creation and Destruction.

Without the intention of the parents, it is alive.

It's not funny, it's a joke that someone should find funny. 

Enemies being... parents. Opposites being a couple, a cliché too worn out. 

Makes Error want to scream until he fails.

"Sweet Goddess Life" . ' Why him?'

… 

Ink wouldn't be a good father. 

Much less is he Error's first choice of partner.

Why did it have to be Ink? Why did it have to be Error?

Error cannot conceive such a conclusion.

He's not ready to be a father either, protecting someone is –Something he did at some point and doesn't remember–. Something that could jeopardize his forced labor.

Something that–

A small, hesitant movement forces him to look down, his soul thumping painfully in his chest. Error stares. Straight into a tiny face he can finally see, brought closer by the unconscious steps he's taken. The lights in his eyes can only focus on the baby bones, working with every detail he can muster with his limited participation. Deep pink eyes enveloping the yellow lanterns, plus a familiar starry light of positive emotion in the child. Colorful cheeks reminiscent of someone. Dressed in only a scarf taken from somewhere unknown, with nothing else to hide his small presence. The slight tremors of dark, ink-stained bones—because, it had to be ink... 

It was too much, and Error didn't know what to feel... He tightens the threads on his hands, the pressure exerted relieves the burden a little but it's not enough.

The baby, because he is very small and cannot reach Error's breast, mirrors Error's hands, giving a slight, almost unexplored smile across his face. 

Genuine joy.

It was that precise moment when he knew.

Error knew it.

That baby was his.

That baby is his.

He had to take care of him.

It was also the warm feeling in his SOUL that drove away the cold of numbness that made him know that... that was the right choice.

… 

Now, if only his haphephobia wasn't a hindrance... Error could provide him with some food magic to feed his malnourished offspring. He frowns. Well, he could think of another way to do it.

An experimental tug on his strings by the little one gives him an idea.

He gently guides the threads toward a small hand and hooks them without completely squeezing the chosen one. He crouches down for a better view, and can't help but let a lazy smile of excitement spread across his almost stoic face. For the magic he will teach now is something he used to share with someone close to him.

Drops and drops of magic flow from its wearer through the threads, softly glowing blue with a fleck of healing green. Forming the link for a calm river of abundant, protective magic, to a baby bone amazed by the sight of something new. 

It's when the magical channel of food threads fulfills its function that the paternal connection between parent and firstborn is activated. They branch out until they become firmly established between the two. The connection is definitively established and momentarily disconcerts both of them. It's something new, something familiar.

It makes both of them cry for different reasons.

The baby, because he can already feel the bond that connects him to his father.

Immense happiness.

And Error, because the connection formed by the baby and him is too much, so much so that it reminds him of someone else. Important, he doesn't remember. But he is Error and only Error now, so he has to focus on their bond. 

Yearning.

A bond he treasures with gentle strength, while ignoring the other weak and broken ties from his past that he can't remember and that hurt to touch. 

Bittersweet melancholy.

It's a Error.

It's a Error and now he have a baby to take care of.

Chapter Text

"Ah!" Small arms made of ink rose in his direction; a small, happy smile appeared on his son's determined face. At the same time, another image was superimposed on this same action. "Ah!" A small baby was asking to be picked up; the absence of color was noticeable, except for a familiar red scarf that wrapped the baby's whiteness.

Overlapping images, one and the same action.

The glitch took a few minutes to grasp the message the baby bone was sending him, distracted by the similarity between memories. It didn't take long for him to return to the present, as his son's little arms were slowly beginning to lower. Uncertainty crossed his face. The infant was asking to be held. And Error... Error, in good conscience, couldn't do it without being affected more than usual by his haphephobia. He would crash. He would end up scaring them both if he did it.

He looked down at his son. The children's eyes had changed shape, his left eye a rhombus: confusion.

His little son wanted to be carried... This... was a dilemma.

If he touches him, he gets a crash. If he doesn't...

No, he refuses; either way, he has to think of a way to take him to other places if he stays with Error. Having a child was a big responsibility. Error had already connected with the baby bone; they formed a soul bond.

... What other options does Error have for this situation?

He doesn't tolerate being touched. It's always Error who initiates contact on his own... His baby is made of threads and ink.

His body had already associated inks, paints, and any other attacks Creator made with negative things. Attacks, simply attacks, that he couldn't bear to touch for long... This was a disaster. If they were in the heat of battle, Error would tolerate the attacks, and if not... No, this wasn't the time for self-examination. Second by second, happiness was falling, crumbling from her son's face. That was wrong... Error wouldn't know what to do if her son started crying. —Error would end up crying with them—

Quickly, he moved his hands in front of his firstborn's face, pretending to play with the remaining threads he had on hand, pulling and loosening them. Then he toyed with the idea of ​​crocheting. Creating, in full view of his amused son, a star-shaped fabric, expanding parts of it. With that idea in mind, he placed the crocheted star near the baby's chest bone, while with other threads he measured and calculated how it would fit, transforming that fabric into a full-body garment, like a full-body baby onesie. A baby onesie. Made of his magical threads, for comfort and familiarity. Surely his son would feel more comfortable with it.

It didn't take long to finish it; in a matter of minutes, he had the onesie made. The garment was blue; while that was the default color, Error could change it with the codes if he wanted. Or he could steal some baby and toddler clothes; either way, it would work for both.

He gently guided the woven fabric to fit each end of the baby's bone, praising his son every time he saw the little one's willingness to enter the warm garment. Finally, he double-checked before giving the go-ahead to pick up his son. Covered from head to toe in his threads.

Now... Error could carry him!

He sighed audibly, first preparing himself to touch him, to touch the fabric of threads formed into a garment, with his son inside them. A minor but considerable weight for a tiny being... he had seen monsters carry their young before. He hadn't necessarily practiced. It was the haphephobia speaking.

He felt his forehead sweat, and nervousness had entered his body. The blackish glitches that accompanied his body in a random dance of errors across its shape reacted to his feelings. Error could do it. He couldn't do it.

"Ah!" And like a repeated action, Error visualized both babies begging for his attention. And in both cases, all he could feel was love, genuine and unfiltered by the bond. It was too pure for a glitch like him.

He gathered his courage and picked up his baby; they were both picked up. Automatically, his body adjusted. And as if through muscle memory, he rearranged his tiny bundle against his chest, letting its head rest near his neck. He held its tiny legs with one arm and with the other, towards the top of the tiny body.

Now... Now he felt comfortable carrying it.

His reward? A little noise of joy and positive emotions fueled by their bond. The infant was experimenting with parental connections. His little eyes formed stars: happy, excited.

Error breathed a sigh of relief.

Despite the strangeness of his body, he managed to lift it successfully.

He relaxed his body, and the bodily glitches returned to their usual disorder along with ERROR's words. He had done it and didn't crash. He felt proud of himself.

"This calls for celebratory chocolate, Underfell's inviting."

A motherly smile crossed his face, and he knew it. He didn't care. Someone had pointed this out to him before; he couldn't quite remember who, except for the darkness and feelings of death associated with it. Absently, while he continued feeding the little one, because the closeness helped, Error observed the starry landscape of that half-destroyed universe. It was strangely comforting to see the stars. Accompanied by the disaster in the building structure, plus the hint of vegetation... On the other hand, her instincts screamed, "Destroy, destroy, destroy!" Error pushed them away in favor of continuing to indulge in the hurricane of feelings her firstborn provoked in him.

His...

His thoughts paused for a moment.

His son still didn't have a name...

He had to have one.

That was the requirement for his formation as an individual being at birth. Parents named their children. Error had to name him.

Yes, he had to.

His father would be disappointed or sad if Error didn't name his son. Hell, even Error would feel like a bad father if his son didn't have a name.

He paused to think of one.

Meanwhile, he revisited the place where his offspring had been created. Noticing the light brown scarf lying on the floor, he picked it up and tied the baby's oversized scarf around him, simulating a makeshift baby carrier.

"There are plenty of names, but for you..."

What distinguished his son from others? Practically his entire being and circumstances spoke for themselves.

Error rocked them in place. He hummed for the baby bone in accompaniment; he had to get plenty of sleep at this stage, especially if he was recovering.

"Infants can be named by a combination of both parents' names," G___ pointed out. That, that had been done with G___'s first baby. Even thinking of a couple's name, it didn't sit well with the Destroyer. He wasn't good at naming things. That was more a part of the Creator.

Just look at it; from the start, Error had named the Sans by numbers, adding the word "abomination" for their existences. Simple back then. It wouldn't be much use here.

Who else could he turn to for that? ... The Anti-Void was available; he knew that.

He didn't want to go there.

But... what if it came down to the Anti-Void or Ink?

If he put it in this new light...

Yeah, it wasn't hard to know which choice Error would make.

Error opened a portal.

Even if he doesn't want to, Error will turn to the Anti-Void.

Rather dead than easy with Ink.

"Paper Jam?"

The voices had told him so.

The infant in his arms reacted to Error's voice, heard the name, and, curious, looked at his father.

Why Paper Jam?

Error looked at his firstborn nestled in his arms, already awake. He looked at him closely, more than before.

Small and with blackish bones, an ink skeleton, a skel-ink-ton. Magenta, cyan, and yellow eyes. The paint stains on his cheeks were the same colors: MCY. Part of the infant's upper skull was in constant motion, flowing under its own law of gravity.

Error had found him with only a pastel brown scarf covering his modesty. He hadn't been present when it was created; he was only part of participating in it. The mess left behind spoke volumes about them.

"Paper Jam." He said it again.

The baby became attentive again. "Per!" He tried to repeat it; it was adorable. "Pap!" He seemed to like the name. A tiny, fabric-covered hand groped Error's scarf, trying to get his attention. And the hourglass of thought emerged.

He looked at him again, this time with a different intention. Determined little eyes, despite the clock face, quickly changed when the baby uttered, "Pa-pah!" Along with a heart depicting the emotion: platonic love. He knew it.

In that instant, Error almost crashed.

He knew it.

He agreed to be the father of... "Paper Jam."

Still, he was surprised; it was unexpected for his weak mind.

He took a deep breath and gently held his little Paper Jam to his chest. His soul, filled with ERRORS everywhere, beat in its own lullaby for a baby he never fathered but who is his by right and claim. Paper Jam is his.

"It will be Paper Jam."

His baby now had a name.

Error returned unconditional love to the invisible bond of souls that united them. That bond wouldn't be broken even if others wanted it to be; Error would make sure of it.

For a moment, Error relished the feeling of fatherhood. Because Error was a father, Paper Jam had called him "Dad" in his own way, but he called him. He felt fulfilled. Of course, until the reality of the Multiverse knocked on his door.

And the Anti-Void screamed again.

Well, at least it was kind of them to let them have a father-son moment with PJ.

Error had to get back to work. The anomalies wouldn't destroy themselves, and if they did... it would be a disaster for everyone and the balance. He knew that all too well. That's why he didn't like going to the Anti-Void. Error wasn't forgetful like Ink, but they screamed at him anyway. More specifically, much of the cacophony of howling voices came from Fate. Error hates Fate. He got used to it, in part. But that didn't make him any less upset over time.

Paper Jam, his until-then-calm baby, reacted to the involuntary trembling that Error's body hadn't suppressed in time. He looked at Error in confusion before starting to tremble as well. It was as if he were empathizing with Error's grief. And before it escalated to anything bigger, like getting scared and crying, Error opened a portal, taking them out of the Anti-Void.

The Anti-Void was no place for children.