Chapter Text
Stumbling into Outertale was a chance he’d take again. The first intake of the air was stale; and it felt blessed. The stimulation that rippled from his tongue to the ridges on his throat was tranquil; a calamity that never occurred. Perhaps it had been the frightening normality in it that forced Error to still in his tracks–halfway convinced he had stumbled into Undertale, but that wouldn’t make sense. There was no quiet reverb in his brain; the smell of buttercups was lacking and replaced by the lack of it. This is what caused Error to jerk forward; and then–it was an array before him.
AUs were anomalies. Rewritten, straggling areas of code that had scrambled together. And yet–they all held the same setting; with minor changes. Whether it be the atmosphere, the music which would play behind it; it would change just enough. If not the setting, then the characters themselves. Dampening over the perfection that was the original universe with cheap, unsolicited copies until it flowed over in thick saturation. No matter what; they changed uncomfortably, but not enough to redeem why they should belong–why they should deserve to pollute the multiverse.
In front of him stands an exception.
An array of swirling; magnificent deep blues and vibrant swatches of purples–violets, mulberry, and every other color that could or couldn’t slip out from his tongue. It hangs as a beautiful skyline. But even that–the overhang above him is nothing compared to what splatters across from them. Abstract, and long lines of something more than him. Something he's never seen before in an AU—
The stars.
Small, faraway celestial bodies that were brightly simmering above him. He feels obsolete and miniscule to the point his hands glide up to his scarf, fingers clenching and digging into the riveting blue scarf around his neck. They skim the hems; and then curl into–then press the knuckles and finally pull away. Error is convinced this is intentional. How it lures him in. It's the same pull a siren would have with her conniving lullaby. His feet don’t exactly move on their own; but they slowly drag across the surface below him–what the material is, Error’s unsure of at the moment. What he does know is that he felt weightless. Like his fingers were in the wrong spot, and like his legs were slowly drifting apart–
He feels his mind buzzing slowly come to a heed. It stiffens and stills–and he can’t help but space out. Error knows he should hate the very fabric of this universe; to drift so far–no. Almost mocking the original timeline; a timeline where they stared up at sparkling stones and acted as if they could not reach them–just because the stars were untouchable, but stones were. And they could see the stones and their pearlescent glimmer, but would never see the stars again? For
this universe to be settled in the midst of the space clusters–so far from Earth, and light years from the underground; it should feel insulting. It should feel utterly sinful. He should feel enjoyment at stumbling into this universe–so he could dispose of it wordlessly, and act as if he wasn’t enamored by its beauty. As if he wasn’t held captive by the tranquility of it.
And yet–
He can’t bring himself to do it.
Error is broken out of his trance by his foot catching on something. “Sh-i-i-iit!” His voice crickles, crackles, and glitches. His arms become a whirlwind; and he comes to a starling, chilling realization. He’s not falling. He would’ve felt relief–but he can’t. Because his eyes are trained on the ground, and he should be mere seconds away from crushing his skill against it; but he isn’t. He should be groaning and grumbling in pain, but he isn’t.
Error feels as if he’ll puke.
Why can’t he just fall down and embarrass himself already?!
It’s only now does he remember what being in space means–no gravity. Nothing anchoring down. Something he thought would always be present–just–wasn’t there. He takes sharp inhales. How does he turn himself–how does he stand still?! He can’t swim; why would he be able to float?! How long has he been floating–ebbing further and further away from the safety net of stationary ground.
A voice startles him. It’s calm; and familiar. A Sans–if not a touch quieter than what he’s used too. “First time, buddy?” The Sans purrs, and Error manages to drift his eyes from the ground and to the skeleton. Error doesn’t know what to say; examining the other from the roundness of his skull to the–blue, not pink–slippers. The Sans stares for a moment more, eyes flickering to the side and then back towards Error. “Whoops. Guess it is.”
It was a whistle from a breeze that couldn’t come. One that couldn’t possibly brush against his face, and one that certainly hadn’t carried for miles before–no winds could possibly thrash here. With no trees or bushes to rustle the leaves of; what was the point?
And yet–
His gaze slowly traces the other's face. Round- perfect indents on the side. A smile that reaches just enough to be comfortable–and kind, simple white eye lights. He’s almost perfect.
“Here. I’ll help y-” The Sans reached slightly forward; one hand outstretched as if he would grab Error. Error twisted his body awkwardly; motion sick as he spun in a circle for a solid moment. He heard soft, awkwardly placed giggles from in front of him. Error spluttered–messily, and almost drunkenly.
“Don’t t–tou–ouch–me!” He spat, finally coming to a resolve with his inertia. His body spurred and glitched. He heard the small chuckles die and fade away; exploding into a thousand fireworks and then sizzling down to nothing but filler in an ashtray.
“I–er–I'm sorry. Here..uhm..” Sans trailed away as if he didn’t know how to respond to such a creature like Error. A monstrous, wiry beast that took the odd, omnipresent form of a ruined Sans. Error was no Monster–but the thickest pages of a cautionary tale; the still wet ink on warning pages even decades as he continued to purge and roam. The quick slip of the tongue that had mothers pulling frail infants and curious toddlers to the hip of herself; like that could save them all.
Error jolted.
His gaze slowly traveled down to his summoned SOUL. Errors hands spazzed and his fingers clenched around nothingness. He turned and shouted-–spit flying out in his abhorrent rage. “Wha-a-a-a-t the fuck-fuck-are you doing!?” He growled. It wasn’t dissimilar to that of a dog whose had a chain around his neck since he could breathe.
“Calm down, calm down!” The Sans yelped but didn’t pull back his magic. Something spurred in Error's gut. “I’m just setting you upright.“ The Sans earnestly said–and Error turned his eyes back down to his SOUL. His eyes turned in scrutiny, but he didn’t muster up the words to speak against him.
No–all he could see was carefree and thoughtless similarities. The ones that mattered most. All he could fixate on was the dastardly close similarities to this sans—and the one he craved. With a smug, all-tooth grin, and kind eyes he couldn’t exactly place. He didn’t acknowledge the simple, dozens of stars freckled and speckled against the other's face and cheek; even the bridge of his nose. The subtle differences in the hoodie didn’t matter either.
Error's feet meet rocky soil; soles pressing against it through his slippers.
The other doesn’t hold out his hands–as if remembering mere minutes ago. He smiles kindly and stuffs his hands in his hoodie's main pocket. “Well–I’m Sans– Sans the Skeleton—you look like me, though. Whazzat about?”
“Your name's not Sans.” Error's voice glides over; standing upright. The other stared at him as if he was crazy–but Error knows he is far from. He is the pinnacle of sanity when it is not expected of him at all.
“Wh–aaat?” Sa–Outer–gulped.
“Th–there's millions of you; and only one of you deserves the na–ame.” Error roughly said. Outer stared there in baffled shock–and it made something primal abrupt in his chest that seized over. The strangest of affections; the longest of lines to wait in like he was a guest to the most mournful of funerals.
Error turned around on the hardy terrain. a pebble--of some kind---rolling and tumbling away." The silence stretched; quiet. Then–a small, helpless laugh from someone familiar; but changed. He tilts his head and stares at Outer. “So–what is my name,” He hummed, hands balling up together. “And who are...you” Outer nervously and cheekily added on, phalanges twiddling with each other.
Error stares–and then; easily. He reveals. “Your name is Outer; and I--”
“I-i am-Error.”
A significant pause that hangs like an anchor. "Error?” Outer questioned as a puzzled look slowly oozed onto his expression. An array of them--confusion, befuddlement, and the nerve-wracking need to linger and be curious.
“Error.” Error confirmed cooly, turning away so his scarf swished and trailed endlessly behind him like the ocean. Even as they sauntered and ran away; tearing open a hole in the beautiful and entrancing view of the sky; wanting to cusp and tug it in his hands and play with it between his fingers so incredibly calloused; and yet–sweetly.
As he leaves the word of stars; his mind is filled to one step closer to watch he craves–what his mouth froths and foams for, what his tongue glides over his teeth for; what he swallows his own spit for—
He can’t risk having Classic–or, well, Sans. It would be too obvious and too detrimental anyways. and for so long--he was content to watch--to spy and linger and want.
But the stars are at the cusps of his palm–and all he has to do is ignore the dotted freckles upon his face to pretend he has what he wants–no. Deserves and fiends for. The stars are closer than ever. And all he has to do?
Is take it for himself.