err0r oneshots

Hug

**Cover your eyes people i willingly forgot to paragraph

Physical contact wasn't Error's thing. Everything and anything that touched his body was usually something that meant to harm. His line of work had him dodging magical and physical attacks, any that hit him would cause his HP to fall. After generations his body and mind began to associate contact with pain. It left him with a lack of physical contact in his life and always being on guard incase of incoming danger. His time with the Moons, Nightmare's gang, was evident enough. They were very physical, Killer and Axe having to use physical attacks due to their past and the trio—Dust, Killer, and Axe—would often fight around and tussle with one another. Nightmare and Cross were the exception but even they were physical when needed. Cross with his guard training and Nightmare with his tentacles. Error never involved himself in any forms of contact or connection with the Moons and they respected his space. Plus, they were fun to be around. When they sparred each other, he was wary of contact, though it was commonly mistaken for dodging. Any attack that hit him wouldn't phase him but outside of battle; Any form of contact would cause glitches to run up his sides and feel like acid was being spread from the point of contact. The glitches would attack his body and overload his system. Or in other terms; he would be overstimulated and it would, unfortunately, hurt. The first and only time he was physically touched around the gang was when he invaded the kitchen in search of Nightmare. He found both the guardian and Axe in the kitchen prepping lunch, Nightmare teaching the latter how to work the stove in order to make a simple stir-fry. He looked to peek at what they were cooking over the oven and Axe pushed him away by his chest. He didn't want to freak anyone out, but he couldn't help but scream. He thought Axe was going to tear out his already sensitive ribs and pull out his soul, devouring it and its magic like a few of his other copies do and have done. He scratched and hugged his chest and backed away from Axe's extended hand. Hyperventilating he tried to keep himself still and calm as he knew they meant no harm, but Nightmare approaching him only made him panic more. So he fled. He was so taken aback by the sudden ̶a̶t̶t̶a̶c̶k̶ contact that he just ran. Ever since that day, and ever since they found him a week later, they haven't enacted or asked for any type of physical contact. Nor have they questioned it.

After the truce, where he rightfully broke down after the literal realization of his life. How he spent it at the feet of a bunch of mortals under a soulless creator, working just so they could thanklessly live in this multiverse that HE took care of. That HE protected, not that dastardly false god. HE was immortal and HE continued to live because of THEM! It was THEIR fault he was here! THEIR fault he was on the ground of this empty universe! THEIR fault he was bleeding to death as his magic was depleted for the first time in decades. THEIR fault his eyes had tears falling down his face as he struggled to breath with a bone stuck through his chest. When they approached, like predators hungry for their prey, to his nearly dead corpse they only then saw the consequences of their actions. How he looked nothing at all like the powerful destroyer they once knew, who stood his ground and stood tall against hundreds, thousands even. Who destroyed universes with a single twitch of his fingers. All they saw, and all they heard, was a crying soul begging for mercy. It sounded hopeless, so empty. Like it knew help would never come, mercy would never be given. It would forever be tortured until it dust. And by the looks of it. It was never going to. With cracks and breaks lining it. It looked dead.
Afterwards, he was treated decently. Like he actually had a soul and a voice. He was respected, not as a god but just as a person. Many have looked uncomfortable with his presence during meetings that he was now invited to. He too was uncomfortable with the amount of people that attended these weekly meetings and usually stood to a corner, keeping his limbs to himself and his back covered as he observed his ex-enemies. Not like they trusted each other, years of war wouldn't just mask them buddy buddy. Things had to be reorganized and written down to be fully understood. He appreciated their kindness, but after so many years, the scars they drew on his body would not just fade away. They would be a constant reminder to him as to why he should never trust anyone, or let anyone close to him. Physically or otherwise. The weekly meetings mostly concerned the balance and a few coding problems that they realized Error could easily fix with his access to the codes. He took time to explain to everyone who was wary and to Ink who wanted to help since "protecting the multiverse from evil doers" was no longer on his job description.