Sleepwalking

A Feeling Of Inadequacy

This has not been proof read. I might go back and do that later.

____

It had been a week? Maybe a few more days than a week? He decided keeping track of time was something he'd leave to the adults. It's what he normally did and everything always worked itself out.

White had insisted everything from the downstairs cell be moved upstairs into a vacant room. He wouldn't quit bugging Ink about it, who insisted Sans wouldn't mind. Although, he called him Error, a name that made his spine crawl with an uneasy feeling. Not a terror one, gut renching, or guilty, just... uncomfortable.

It felt like it fit him, but at the same time it didn't. Error sounded like a name you give people with mistakes and wrong physical fixations. He was wrong, he had problems, he wasn't smart like his brother and dad. Should he call himself Error?

"M-my name's E-Error."

He felt chills crawl up his back with a needle like pain. Nope, never mind. He wasn't calling himself that.

He heard knocking before the door opened. Ink was in the doorway with a small smile and a stack of basic colored clothes. "Hey, I brought you some clothes that fit. Classic said you weren't fond of wearing Papyrus' old clothes."

No. He wasn't.

Anything that reminded him of his Papyrus was not something he voluntarily associated with. Ink picked up on that real quick. Classic had tried to use his clothes but his didn't fit.

"Thanks." He muttered folding his hands.

He didn't like being here. He wanted to go home, he needed to go home. He wanted to hear the bickering his brother and dad did on a daily basis (which he absolutely hated unlike right now). He wanted to try the concoctions his brother made that tasted amazing but looked awful. He wanted to hear the debates his dad had with Papyrus about periodic elements. He wanted to hear the half-joked conversations hopping around the dining room while he ate his dads famous quiche. He remembered how it melted on his tastebuds, his nose cavity engulfed in it's aroma. The steam that hit his chin when he held it to his mouth.

He blinked and remembered, he's not in his kitchen. More so, in his universe. He didn't have a home to go back to, it no longer existed. From what he's heard the adults talking about, he shouldn't have existed to begin with. He would have much rather it stayed that way. He wouldn't be feeling this hollow, stickiness in his rib cage.

Yet, he held his emotions high to make it seem as if he were okay. He pretended to act like it didn't bother him. He acted like he didn't notice the constant mumbling Ink did while glancing at him. He pretended to not see the way Classic would study him from the side. They way he worded certain questions and answers. He pretended to not notice the ostentatious statements White made around him with no care for his opinion.

Pretending was something he was really good at.

He took off Classic's brothers clothes (these were not his brothers clothes he reminded himself) and opted to wear the clothes Ink got for him. Correction, created for him. Ink acted more like his Chara did than any adult he'd met.

He pulled the plain grey t-shirt over his head. Pulled the sweatpants on. Tied the knot.

I don't want to be here.

I want my dad. I want my brother.

I want to go home.

Sans wiped his eye sockets. He calmed himself down and sighed shakily.

He had a meeting with a bunch of older lookalikes. He made it very clear that he didn't want to do this. He could put up with the overwhelming fascination they had with his magic presenting itself. He could not keep up the facade if he had to meet people that looked like him only older. That there were different versions of his brother. The thought made him want to hurl.