Chapter Text
Ink stares at the words written on his scarf, capitalized and underlined multiple times.
STOP CHECKING ON THEM. THEY DON’T MISS YOU .
It used to be one sentence. It used to just be one person.
Stop checking on him, he doesn’t miss you.
He doesn’t know what it meant. Not really. His memory hasn’t been the best for as long as he could remember when he bothered trying to remember, but that had been one of the notes written on the scarf around his neck and it felt important, even as it filled him with some sense of loss.
But that was impossible, right?
Ink is soulless. He can’t feel. No matter what he tries, without his vials he would be nothing but an empty shell. As cold and colorless as he would be logical and methodical, an empty being who cared for no one and nothing. A cheap toy for the amusement of both the Creators and Fate who could and would control him since he would be unable to move on his own.
Things had changed and Ink had been...happy? Something to that extent. He doesn’t know, isn’t sure, because none of it is real. None of it has ever been real. Sure, he feels something for Error, the draw and lure for another being born of the Anti-Void is surely a tawdry likeness, but Ink always thought maybe Error felt the pull too. Or maybe he just had some fragment of hope in whatever emotion he had manufactured.
*Two Years Ago*
Ink felt nothing as the other AUs pulled away from him. In their eyes he was an irredeemable traitor, especially once everyone discussed the X-Event and dealt with the fallout of that particular multiverse war.
It didn’t matter regardless. He was a protector, he hadn’t had friends in a long time, sure it was nice to have people, to be able to talk to someone other than Broomie, but c’est la vie. He did nothing to validate his actions, said nothing as the groups that had formed and the friendships that were fostered fell apart. It meant nothing.
So…why? Why did he feel the echoes of something?
Desperate as he was to believe that maybe he had been close to actually getting a soul...it was useless. Pointless. What good did idle speculation do, when none of it mattered anyway?
He had only told them the truth. The infinite number of them that exist even with only small variations would make it so easy to start anew. An infinite number of them and possibly, somewhere in the void and anti-void there was a possibility that others like him could exist. After all, there were other versions of Error, some crueler give or take the methods of madness and not including the deities, but other versions nonetheless. It stood to reason that other destroyers meant other creators.
Maybe even someone who knew him, who could tell him where he came from.
…
No, that wasn’t a good path to follow. That path had led to being like 404, Fate, Corrupted, Hate, and others being hurt. It’s the same path that led to the X-Event. A path of questions, want… desire because Creator forbid a creation want more than they were given. Ink had a purpose but only in as much as Creator would allow and that too was a slippery slope to tread since Creators always just seem to know .
Sometimes Ink wondered what awaited him that the Creators thought to create a Protector of AUs in a Multiverse. More often than not he felt like it was a question better left unanswered.
Yet…
That was the ever present problem. That there was in fact a ‘yet’ to be considered. What would it mean then, if perhaps Ink had another purpose? What wasn’t he seeing that the Creators could and would?
This Creator likes to whisper snippets of details for the future, promises of what ifs and maybes, of friends and family that all seem to be empty lies.
He has no one.
He has nothing .
Yet still he can hear the whispers telling him to wait…just a little longer.
How long? How much longer will he have to bear the burdens he does? Sure his emotions are fabricated, but he still ‘feels’ thanks to his vials, he still wants, and longs, and hopes…
How much longer until the promise is no longer that?
Two years and Ink is still waiting.
Two years and the promise of friends wane with what little fragile hope he had at the end of the X-event.
Two years since he made the note for himself.
STOP CHECKING ON THEM. THEY DON’T MISS YOU .
He had only checked on any of them once, he thought maybe…maybe the note was wrong, he wasn’t always the most accurate for his notes, like it took him a while to remember who Error was and that he has haphephobia and likes chocolate. It took him a while to remember the Omega timeline that took in others from destroyed timelines in order to try and preserve something from abandoned and forgotten AUs or AUs that were being destroyed due to the corruption.
He had only done it the once.
He honestly wishes he hadn’t.
It wasn’t peaceful by any means, but he had thought perhaps to content himself with the knowledge they were okay rather than find himself faced with such a severe longing for…company? Friendship?
Understanding, Ink thought to himself. I wanted someone who could understand.
They never had to like him or enjoy his company, but he wanted someone he could talk to, someone that would understand his role. For that’s truly all he is, in this Multiverse and probably several others. A role, a being that exists for the purpose of others and not even truly capable of choosing oneself.
Time was that maybe he had thought that Error would understand, the Creators chose him for balance, to destroy where Creation over reached and left gaps and unfulfilled worlds. A balance that Creators would taunt Ink with, using knowledge he didn’t have of his past that they did possess. Whether any believed it or not…Ink did, does , care. He cares about the balance and the AUs, sure maybe he wasn’t always the best with the people, but as long as something remained of an AU…a Creator could continue, could fix the timeline, bring them back either with memories or without but still, something would survive.
Of course, Ink had been wrong, Error wanted nothing to do with him. Error cared less about his being and feelings than any of the others despite both being outcodes, despite being moved at the whims of Creators, despite everything they should have shared in common. Somehow Error did not understand Ink and didn’t care too.
When Ink met Dream he thought that this time for sure a Sans AU would understand. Another balance role, another being responsible for something in the multiverse that existed for the sake of a Creator’s desire to require both the positive and negatives in life. Another near immortal being that might share in his burden in protecting the Creator’s AUs.
He had never been more wrong. What was obvious, what he should have seen, was that for all Dream was another balance role, he was still young. A child compared to Ink’s time spent in a hollowed out infinity passed around by one creator to another as he loses himself to unknown amounts of time. A child that wanted nothing more than family, peace, safety…all things Ink himself had long given up on having, though that doesn’t mean he didn’t wish it for Dream anyway. How could he not? After all, he thought that maybe there was a time that was all he wanted as well.
…maybe Ink still wants that.
He wants it all to stop. The fighting, the endless, pointless war.
Sometimes all he wants is to stop taking his vials, return to the void, and maybe just cease to exist. It wouldn’t stop someone from creating others like him, it wouldn’t stop the war or end the violence in the multiverse, but at least he himself would no longer be part of the equation.
It’s time .
Ink flinched. The ringing drone of whatever this Creator intends…it’s finally time. For what he doesn’t know but he’s being pulled, led to a new area in the Multiverse, so far removed from the primary AUs and their copies it’s almost like it exists just for him.
It does.
Oh. There’s amusement in the Creator’s tone. A ringing joy. An excitement that makes Ink want to take more yellow and blue. He has so many questions, not that Creator’s answer often, but he wants to ask, he can feel them bubbling up to the surface like he’s actually unable to hold back.
What?
Ink. The Creator’s laugh is beautiful, the first sound of joy Ink has heard from someone, anyone, since the separation from the others. The first sound of life…and to Ink, it’s so beautiful.
“Why…why do this for me? What is this place?” Ink can’t help but ask. There’s hesitance and uncertainty, but this Creator feels so warm, and Ink knows whatever vials he could get from this Creator would probably be different to the ones he is familiar with. It’s such a foreign warmth.
You’ve been so patient for me Ink, you’ve waited so long as I took my time to plan out this story for you…you deserve this. Any happiness this place brings you, you deserve, because this place truly is yours.
“I understand that you’ve…made this place for me but what is -”
“Help! Please, somebody, anyone…help…”
Ink’s words are broken off by the plea. He looks around. Where is this cry coming from? Why can Ink hear it here in this place the Creator says is for him?
Silly, it is for you. This is a place of safety. I thought, maybe if you didn’t want to be alone anymore, there are other places you might want to help. Places not in your multiverse are suffering too, you know. This place exists outside of the multiverse. You can bring anyone you like here, create things however you like, and make it home. For you and others if you so choose.
Ink reels at the thought…but he wants it. He wants that more than anything.
“How do I help them?”