Paint Is Meant To Fade

Chapter 4: Would You Like Some Pie?

<once again, reminding this is rated mature. Tender souls who can't handle slight trigger, stop reading this story. It's going to be very gruesome in future chapters. Sorry!>

Ink's POV
"Wait!"
Ink jerked his head up. Toriel stood over him, a fearful look in her eyes. He turned his gaze back to the knife's tip which was just brushing the fabric of his clothes. Ink dropped the blade and began to sob uncontrollably. He felt arms wrap over him and hold him as if he were a child crying over a broken toy. They were like that for a while, not moving, except for the shudders Ink's body emanated from time to time as he cried. Then, when the creator had calmed down, and Toriel loosened her grip, was when they began to speak.
"Sans? What's wrong? Why were you... About to..." Ink nodded at her to show he understood what she meant. The goat woman frowned, tightening her grasp on Ink's shoulder. He saw fear in her caring and tender eyes. The skeleton looked down first, terrified of what else he might see through those glassy spheres.
"I made a mistake...." He whispered. A part of him wished she couldn't hear him. The other half urged him to spill his soul out to her. Tell her how he feels. No one ever asks if he's alright. Well, aside from Error. He would listen. Not even Blueberry. Now he'll never have the chance to listen. Error wronged him. He crossed the line. And when he did, Ink didn't quite expect it to hurt so much. He thought it'd be as painful as the time with Error at one other occasion. But that was for another story. ((subtle not so subtle hint there'll be a second book to this))
"Come, Sans. I'll make you some pie." And Toriel began leading Ink through the Ruins.

<first temmie's skip>

They were in her home. Ink was twiddling his thumbs along the cold handle of a porcelain tea cup. The floral decoration along the China was beautiful. Thin intricate spirals and even turns with each glance.
Ink looked up at Toriel, who had rolled her sleeves up so as not to get too messy. Flour dusted the apron, and she hummed a strange tune. The skeleton looked down meekly at the steaming fluid in his cup. He shouldn't be here. Toriel must be so confused. He should be laying dead on the bed of flowers, blade strewn along his palm. But instead, he was awaiting the Goat Mom's completion of the baked good. Ink was a sick, cruel, selfish monster. A real monster. He let go of the cup and reached for the butter knife Toriel had so ignorantly left near his grasp, and began to slide it between each of his finger joints. It hurt like hell. He wouldn't be able to use his left hand for a while, but that didn't matter in the end.
A large paw gripped Ink's slicing hand, halting the progress. He turned to look aggressively at the original Goat Mother, but the sadness in her eyes meant enough, and Ink looked back down weakly. This just wasn't his day.
Goat Mom slid a dish in front of him. The pie was steaming. She even hesitantly handed him a fork, and to her relief, Ink used it to cut through her masterpiece. The colorful skeleton played with his food in a quite drab manner.
Ink thought back to Error's reaction to UnderSwap. It wasn't something the creator recognized. In fact, it was unreadable. Strange for Error's best friend. There was one emotion that stood out to him. It was something that Ink feared. Something he wished he could forget. The look Dream used to carry with Ink, until the small AU did something about it. The artist wished Dream had left it as a silly feeling and forgotten it. But he hadn't. He hurt Ink in such a way, that hopefully, the creator would someday heal. Error's look almost resembled Dream's perfectly. He really was just an item. A stencil. Meant only to outline then be erased completely after the pen traces over his works. It didn't really matter. What could possibly bring anyone's interest in him truly matter? Ink was a speck in the universe, and compared to others, he was a pinprick. Less then a dot. Someday, his existence would be dealt with. Whether it was from means of his own self-harm, or from Error. Someday, Ink would die.

And for now, he could only hope it's be soon.