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On most days, Alpha feels like he’s floating.
His form is lighter than he remembers it being. His mind is clear, but disjointed in a way that makes him frown.
Right now, he’s hovering over a dead world. One of many that 404’s pet project has decided to play with. What was that one’s name… Error? Rather uncreative in his view. But then again, it was just like William to take such a lookalike under him.
He’s heard rumors from that abyss dweller that 404 had wanted another before the destroyer. As for why, well… Alpha has long since stopped trying to understand anything his siblings do.
It’s been so long since he’s seen Omni… and as for how long it’s been since someone’s seen him?
No one in the multiverse is able to see the true faces of the dead.
His transparent feet land on bloodied soil. It’s wet, and not from mud.
That doesn’t bother Alpha nearly as much as it would have Adam.
“How disgusting,” He murmurs to himself. Too long without sound grates on the nerves. And it’s not like anyone talks to him.
His sharp nails dig into the bone of his palms as he flexes his hands.
There’s no blood.
Corpses don’t bleed.
But there’s also nothing for corpses to do. He can scarcely interact with the world around him, no matter how many books he manages to read for long enough to rewrite from memory.
That seems to be the only thing he can do nowadays. Look over the shoulder of monsters as they flip through scriptures, memorizing every piece of information and rewrite it back at his home to add to his ever expanding library.
And what a beautiful library it is.
He walks through the decayed town. The smell of death swathes around him.
It doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it once did. Or, at least, as much as he thinks it once did.
Omni always smells like death. Flowery on the surface, but the underlying hint of dread, musk, and sulfur moves through him like a gust of wind.
It’s much like how his own form now travels through the world, little more than a shadow, only able to interact with the world through brief, easily missable interactions.
It’s like that, as Alpha is about to pick up what’s left of the vestiges of a human soul, that he happens upon a dead skeleton child.
Except, Alpha thinks as he tilts his head at the supposed corpse, it doesn’t seem… dead.
The think is looking at where Alpha’s standing - floating - with the oddest eyelights the ghost has ever seen. It’s like staring into two pools of pure, whispering magic.
“... hello?” The skeleton greets in a high - very high - voice.
Alpha tenses briefly, looking at the corrupted expanse around him, wondering if he missed another monster.
Surely, a skeleton that survived (?) a genocide timeline would not be so blase if they were greeting another human. But Alpha does not see either species in the wasteland so who--
Something tugs on his robe.
Something tugs on his robe.
Immediately, Alpha is stumbling backwards. His eyes scan the scene, trying to latch onto whatever eldritch threat was able to see through his veil of death.
But the only thing he can see is this… child - a child without a soul - that’s still holding onto the ancient fabric of his clothes.
It almost looks comical, how far the length of his robe has been stretched. Alpha can feel the subtle, subtle, strain it puts on him.
Alpha can feel it.
“Hello!” The child, utterly oblivious to the magnitude of what he’s done, chirps, “What’s your name?”
Alpha doesn’t deign that dreadfully plain question with an answer. Instead, he stares at this… impossibility before him.
Never has something so unassuming managed to even glance at him. The most he’s been able to muster - after thousands of years - is a gust of cold air.
“You…” Alpha croaks, voice hoarse from decay, “How can you… see me?”
Despite the meager strength of the word’s, Alpha’s cold voice smiths the question into the sharpest of blades. He wrenches his cloak away from the boy, letting it drift back down to its proper place.
The child doesn’t seem bothered by the rough feature; Instead, he merely cocks his head and bounces closer to Alpha with a happy smile.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to see you, mister? You’re right here!” Inexplicably, the child tugs on his cloak again, as if to demonstrate how present Alpha is.
Alpha’s eyes widen. He did that. He managed to hurt something. To leave his mark on something that lasted for more than a second.
The child holds his injured hand close, but, strangely, no tears spring into those sockets, “Ow. That hurt.”
But there’s something wrong with the words. A lack of inflection or true animosity.
The child is lying.
Slowly, almost tentatively, Alpha’s hand reaches out. It lands on the child’s skull, palm open, with an unceremonious thunk.
The child blinks up at him. Alpha blinks down at the child.
He can feel this, Alpha realizes. For once, something that isn’t his own form feels solid in his grasp. It’s as if, for a moment, when it’s only the two of them, Alpha can pretend he’s alive again.
And the way the boy is looking up at him, with eyes full of trust and happiness…
Another thought strikes him as he stares down at those magical, powerful eyes.
The child is naive.
So, so naive.
“What’s your name?” Alpha asks, hand still resting on the boy’s head.
The boy smiles up at him and then proudly declares, “Ink!”
It’s obvious the little skeleton thought of his name himself, but Alpha can’t bring himself to care as he smiles down at the little corpse.
“Ink,” He hums, “How would you like to come home with me?”
“Again!” Alpha shouts, smacking Ink on the back of the head and shoving him back into the arena.
As expected, Ink doesn’t say a single word of protest, merely assuming the exact position that Alpha taught him.
There’s a shimmer of blue magic from the runes that make the circle and ten training dummies appear around Ink. They’re perfect illusions that Alpha conjured, each meant to mimic a foe that Ink could face out there.
Ten.
Ten to match how old Ink has turned… he thinks. It’s certainly been four April 15th’s since the boy came to live with him. It was a ‘birthday’ the child picked for himself.
It was a good birthday present, if Alpha had anything to say about it. Which he most definitely did, given the fact that everything in this little pocket dimension belonged to him.
He supposed that rule also applied to Ink.
“Don’t you dare get hit,” He warns, watching as the child jumps around the arena.
Of course, Alpha won’t let Ink stop until he gets hit, but Ink’s long since grown accustomed to that.
Ink’s grown into quite the agile young monster, Alpha thinks as he watches Ink deftly dodge an arrow with a backflip.
The child lasts for a good hour until Alpha gets bored and wills one of the training dummies to lodge its ax into Ink’s arm.
Ink doesn’t even cry out, but the added weight prevents him from doing anything useful
Before the other illusions can maim the downed monster, Alpha clucks his tongue and dissipates the ‘living’ magic with a slice of his hand.
“Look at what you’ve done,” Alpha clicks his tongue, stepping into the arena to lift the injured boy into his arms.
“Sorry,” Ink pouts even as black blood gushes from his wound.
That was the benefit of having a magical child that couldn’t feel pain. Alpha was just glad the effects still appeared on the boys body.
“Hmm,” Alpha hums, balancing the child on his hand as he walks back into the manor. Ink immediately shoves himself into Alpha’s chest.
“You know,” Alpha hums, tugging on Ink’s hair roughly to reveal his face, “You would not falter so much if you stopped consuming those infernal paints.”
Ink immediately scrunches his face into a frown, wrinkling his nose. “They’re my vials.” He says, like that makes it completely okay to ignore one of Alpha’s indirect direct commands.
Alpha’s claws extend, digging into the child clutched in his arms. The magical claws leave puncture wounds in Ink’s bones but Alpha doesn’t stop walking.
Given the fact that Alpha’s entire being is held together through a collection of otherworldly magic, it’s no surprise that Ink shrieks.
It seems the only thing capable of inflicting pain in the boy is a sufficiently magically charged weapon.
In Alpha’s case, those just happen to be a part of his body.
“Now, Ink,” Alpha reprimands, ignoring the sobbing and trembling that’s, frankly, rather annoying, “You know that wasn’t a request. We’ll be towering your dosage.”
He rips a set of claws out of Ink so he can will the door to the manor to open. Ink sobs and shoves his face into Alpha’s chest.
“But I don’t wanna!” Ink whines through gasping breaths. Despite the blood that’s rapidly pouring from his body, the boy still glares up at Alpha with eyes devoid of true pain.
Alpha rolls his eyelights and shoves his claws back into Ink’s bones as he steps into the perfectly marbled floor of his mansion.
“You’ve been spending too much time outside again,” Alpha sets Ink onto the floor.
“You’re confined to the manor for the next three resets,” Alpha commands, immediately raising a hand when Ink attempts to protest, “That’s an order, Ink.”
At the cold, unyielding tone, Ink’s face falls. The child’s wounds are already closing up. The puddle of blood that’s formed under Ink is also circling back to rejoin Ink’s form.
“Good,” He hums, both at the healing and the blatant display of acquiescence.
Still, as he lays his hand on Ink’s skull… something jerks in his soul.
He sighs, “Would you like me to read you another story tonight?”
And there’s that smile that Alpha has somehow, unknowingly, gotten used to. A yellow and blue eyelight stare up at him with bright and clear adoration. It reminds him too much of blue eyelights that he once knew.
“Yes!” Ink squeals, “Yes, yes, I want to! Can you read…” Ink thinks for a second, “that green book we couldn’t finish last time?”
Surprising even himself, Alpha chuckles, “Yes, that sleeping potion did work wonders on your insomnia, didn’t it?”
“Still didn’t dream, though,” Ink pouts.
“One day perhaps,” Alpha responds. He holds out a hand for Ink to grab, which the child, unsurprisingly, does.
“Now, then, let’s go find that grimoire you liked so much.”
.
.
.
“Stay still,” Alpha commands. He pushes down on Ink’s ribcage to send the boy back into his bed.
The bed.
Alpha scowls down at the thing. It’s much too childish for his liking, with patterns of swirls and paint stains that Ink refuses to clean. Not only that, but the entire room is polluted with all manner of artifacts that are utterly plebian. Stuffed bears that are strewn about haphazardly and frilly, torn wallpaper that Ink’s stuck onto the sides of his room in small, seemingly meaningless, places.
Or maybe those were stickers…
“Read to me!” Ink whines, and, well, Alpha’s glad that the boy is at least being assertive. But Alpha would make sure to punish that tone later. For now, though, he would read to the boy.
Why?
Because Alpha was tired -- even though ghosts didn’t get tired, but surely there must have been some mix-up in the lab that had affected him-- and proper discipline took energy and attention that he wasn’t fit to give. So, for now, he would let the petulance slide.
And if he forgot about it later? Well, that simply couldn’t be helped. After all, more important things deserved to be remembered.
“Very well,” Alpha huffs, “Lay down, little god. You can’t properly enjoy a story when you’re jumping around like a mangy mutt.”
“You’re so mean,” Ink pouts, but there’s no real heat to it. The child listened and fully leans back against the fluffed, partially torn pillow.
“Now, then,” Alpha hums and finally opens the book to where he remembers leaving off.
After all, his memory is utterly perfect. He raises a browbone as he previews the next page.
It’s on sleeping potions.
The very same kind of potion that Alpha prepared nightly to give Ink some semblance of sleep.
The boy had asked.
That was the only reason Alpha made it.
“Sleeping potions,” Alpha starts, “are often used by those plagues by insomnia or plagued by nightmares.”
Immediately, Ink has a question. Or, at least, that’s what Alpha infers by the raised hand that’s currently being waved in his face. Very rapidly.
Alpha sighs, not making any effort to hide it, but Ink most definitely isn’t offended. Somehow, Alpha knows this, and the strange feeling doesn’t twinge in his soul.
“Yes, Ink?” He asks, monotone.
“What’s a nightmare?” Ink raises his blanket higher to practically drown himself in the comfortable furs.
“A very bad dream,” Before Ink can ask his next question, Alpha cuts him off with a sharp, “And something that you will never experience, so there’s no need to concern yourself with something so normal.”
Of course, there’s the added reason of one specific potion that Alpha skipped over - the corrupted dream - but Ink didn’t have to know about that. It was practically why most of the recipes were locked away where Ink couldn’t reach. After last time, Ink had somehow infected himself with the black plague and that had made Alpha’s soul bubble with that unfortunately familiar, indescribable feeling that he couldn’t identify.
So no, Alph was definitely not going to tell Ink about any even vaguely dangerous potions, only for fear of that feeling that Alpha wanted to avoid at all costs. He could care less if Ink got hurt.
It wasn’t like the boy could die so Alpha could afford not to care. Maybe that was why Alpha let the boy stay around.
“Do you dream?” Ink asks, not al all cowed by Alpha’s hostile demeanor. Then again, even Alpha could admit that he was almost always hostile. It was a trait that he wished Ink would learn how to mimic.
Alpha blinks, the question suddenly processing in his mind and… sent a rush of memories through his mind.
Ink had a bad habit of making that happen.
“I do,” Alpha answers simply, but, of course, Ink can’t leave it at that alone.
“What do you dream about? Is it good? Do you have nightmares?”
Every question makes Alpha’s shoulders tick higher and higher. He’s sure that, if his form actually appeared in mirrors, he would look utterly ridiculous.
Don’t hunch, Adam. Comes the reprimand, ringing through his head like a bullet. Immediately, Ad-- alpha’s shoulders hunker down with a trained quickness, if only to keep the rest of the memories at bay.
Alpha’s skull twitches, instinctively waiting for the clawed scuff that normally accompanied a reprimand.
He’s so loft in memories that he almost doesn't hear Ink’s whispered, “Alpha?” Which almost sounds like concern, but that couldn't be possible because no one had been concerned about him since--
Run, brother! She’ll stop chasing after you when you get to--
Alpha cuts the memory off with a quick hit to his own head. It stops the voices, if only for a moment.
“We’re done reading for tonight,” Alpha snorts, slamming the book shut.
Ink’s eye sockets widen, “What?! But you didn’t even finish one page!”
“Because you couldn’t kep your idiotic questions to yourself!” Alpha shouts, “How is one supposed to teach you when you pepper them with such a manner of-- of useless questions?!”
Ink flinches violently at the word and, mercifully, the boy looks sufficiently cowed.
“They aren’t useless,” He mumbles.
Alpha doesn’t deign it with a response. Instead, he stands up and begins to walk -- run, just keeping running away from everything like you always do ADAM -- towards the door.
“Don’t leave!” A hand latches onto his robe, practically wrenching Alpha back down onto the bed.
He lets out a very undignified squawk that reminds him of the chicken Ink had smuggled into the manor last month.
“What are you doing?!” Alpha’s settled awkwardly on the too-small bed, his circumstance made even worse by the fact that Ink’s cuddled into his side.
Cuddled.
Into his side.
Strangely enough, Alpha doesn’t shove him away. Maybe it’s the way Ink’s shivering despite the heavy blankets - and the fact that the boy can’t feel temperature - or the quiet whimpers that come out of him. It’s pathetic, really, but the emotion that rises in him doesn't feel like disgust…
But what else could it be?
“Stop making those infernal sounds,” Alpha snarls even as his hand comes up to rest on top of Ink’s skull, “There’s no reason for it.”
“But if I let go, you’re going to leave!” Ink cries.
“I can assure you, your hold is not what’s keeping me bound to this… race car bed.”
That finally makes the sounds stop and something in Alpha’s soul sings in content.
“You’ll stay?”
“You’ll stop asking questions?”
The response is immediate, “Yes!”
Alpha sighs, doing his best to make him comfortable amongst the confines of this race car prison and mumbles, “Alright, I’ll stay.”
Ink smiles and finally lets go of Alpha’s clock only to move further into his chest, as if attempting to squeeze into his ribcage.
He lets out yet another sigh and rests his own skull on top of Ink’s much smaller one. It almost feels familiar, even though Alpha knows he’s never done such a thing before.
Or, not familiar, but… comforting.
He doesn’t dwell on the feeling.
William had been wrong, Alpha thinks, she had never stopped chasing him.
But, at least… there wasn’t a reason to be running anymore.
“Undertop?” Alpha cocks a browbone, narrowing his eyelights as he stares down at the skeleton in front of him.
“Yeah!” Ink smiles. There’s an aura of crackling magic around him that seems to jump up and down, exactly how Alpha knows Ink wants to.
But, of course, the boy doesn’t. Such frivolity is expressly forbidden in the mansion.
Which is why Alpha is beyond confused where the idea of a circus came from.
Not only a circus, but one from Undertop!
That place was known for its outlandish and ridiculous denizens, spearheaded by a Gaster that most decidedly did not belong there. Alpha had avoided that place with a ten foot pole ever since he’d had a confetti canon exploded at him… somehow.
They couldn’t even see him!
Of course, the confetti had passed through his form like air, but it was the principle of the matter.
Besides, Alpha most decidedly did not belong in such a place. It was so different from anything back home that it couldn’t help but remind him of how far he’d fallen. How different everything had become and how nothing would ever be the same again.
No matter how much 404 wished it could be so.
Yes, Alpha definitely did not belong to something so vulgar as a circus, but Ink…
He thinks back to the day he found Ink dangling from the chandelier, swinging back and forth with delighted, child-like giggles. Another moment when, inexplicably, he’d looked up at the ceiling only to find Ink stuck to the wood, hanging upside down with little shrieks that were a blend of both excitement and terror.
“And what would you be doing at this… circus?” He asks, scarcely believing that he was considering such a thing.
A few years ago, he would have backhanded Ink for so much as leaving the manor.
His hand still itches with the urge to do just that, but Ink had grown to the point where discipline was either extreme or unnecessary.
Only Ink’s response would determine which path Alpha would go down. That itch was still there. To touch and mark and hurt, but it had been tamed by the years spent doing just that.
“Acrobatics!” Ink chirps, “They’re going to let me walk the tightrope and Muffet is going to teach me how to juggle fire!”
Alpha tilts his head, “Juggle fire?”
“Yes, yes!” Ink humps, “You should come watch me! I’ve been practicing with Top and he says I’m a natural! And the mansion is filled to the brim with toys and places to play and Top is always getting me gifts and clothes and--”
“And, and, and,” Alpha cuts Ink off sharply, “You talk like an oversized baby. Don’t jump like a child.”
Alpha smacks Ink upside the head.
Hard.
He watches with satisfaction as the bruise blossoms a deep purple on the top of the skull.
“Sorry,” Ink mumbles, finally staying still.
Alpha watches with a keen eye as Ink’s hands twitch before burying themselves into the fabric of his clothes.
“Quiet hands,” Alpha reminds.
“Quiet hands,” Ink dutifully repeats.
“Now then,” Alpha hums, letting the matter drop graciously, “I suppose I could allow you to join the circus, but you’ll be expected to be back before sundown, and do be sure not to--”
“Actually,” Ink cuts Alpha off, “I-I want to stay in Undertop. I’ll still visit!”
Immediately, Alpha’s demeanor changes. It’s like a switch has been flipped and any pretense of kindness falls away.
His hand shoots out to grab Ink’s hand before wrenching it as far upwards as it can go. Ink’s feet are lifted off the ground and his eyelights shift from blue and yellow to differing shades of purple.
“Do not cut me off, boy,” He commands. He gives the body in his grip a shake and watches with satisfaction as Ink quickly nods his head. He doesn’t bother letting Ink go. Not yet.
“Now then,” He whispers, bringing Ink close so the only thing the child can focus on is him, “You’ll be coming back to the mansion every day before sundown, and if you’re here so much as a wax drop later, I swear I’ll lock you in the white room for a fucking month!”
By the end of his tirade, Alpha’s voice has risen to a shout that makes the finery on the wall jitter and shudder.
“Yes, sir,” Ink mumbles.
“Good,” Alpha hums and finally lets Ink drop, watching as Ink unceremoniously crumples on the floor.
In truth, Alpha knew that Ink was almost destined to break a rule, despite the fact that Alpha had only really assigned one. The boy was just so… forgetful.
And if Alpha were to speed up the process by borrowing a few of Ink’s vials?
Well, it was just for the child's own good.
“No!” Ink shrieks, attempting to tug his arm back but helpless to do anything in face of Alpha’s strength as the man drags Ink down the hall.
Alpha merely rolls his eyelights at Ink’s pleas. They grate on him with how childish they are. Ink is supposed to be a guardian! Practically a god and to think that he still needed Alpha’s discipline?
It was simply pathetic.
“Hush it with your whining,” Alpha snarls, wrenching Ink forward and throwing him into the room with more strength than necessary.
Ink hits the wall with a loud crash and black blood begins to pool around him, but Ink doesn’t seem to notice, instead too overshadowed by his mania.
The room was specifically designed by Alpha to mimic the anti-void that Ink so despised. Of course, it isn’t endless like the true void, but it would certainly feel like it when Alpha shuts the door.
Ink is begging, but Alpha barely pays attention. They’ve gone through this song and dance enough times that Ink knows he won’t get out of his punishment and Alpha has long since lost patience with the errant child.
The door shuts with a loud bang that resonates through the empty hall. The wood shimmers and transforms into a glistening white, signifying the punishment that’s taking place.
He’d gotten the idea from his own past. The basement that housed Mothers lab was always leaking a viscous pink fluid that signaled to everyone that She was working.
Really, Ink should be thanking him. Despite his rather… rough handling, Alpha had never once treated the boy like a test subject.
He’d never ripped Ink apart only to put him back together hours later. Never filled him with poison that corroded him from the inside out. Never ripped his eye out just for the fun of it before making him stick it back in himself. Never, never, never--
Alpha lets out a shuddering breath that makes his shoulders shake and ribs heave.
“I’ll be back in a month,” Alpha mumbles, not caring if Ink heard him.
Alpha starts down the hall.
At least he was honest.
“Hello,” Alpha greets the man in front of him. Top, apparently.
Of course, the man doesn’t greet him back as he doesn’t hear Alpha’s words. He shivers, but Alpha knows the reason behind that is Alpha’s rather… unsettling presence. Strangely enough, Ink also seemed to be affected by it given the small shake of Ink’s hands.
Alpha barely holds back from reprimanding Ink again. There were more important things to worry about right now, but Alpha files the reprimand away from later.
“Tell him I say hello, Ink,” Alpha commands, waving his hand as he’s seen Multi do many times before. His demeanor was the one thing Alpha tolerated about the supposed king of gods.
“Alpha says hello, Mr. Top,” Ink says to the tall monster and then whispers in aid, “He’s standing right in front of you.”
At those words, the Gaster’s gaze finally drifts to Alpha’s vague direction. Alpha’s own falls on the cane that’s clutched between Top’s phalanges. Small cracks lie on the polished globe and creak just loud enough for Alpha to hear.
“Pleased to meet you,” Top smiles, “Ink’s told me so much about you.”
And there’s something about Top’s tone that makes Alpha want to scold him. Want to hurt. Instinctively, Alpha’s eyelights narrow into a glare, but, of course, the monster doesn’t notice.
“I’m sure he has,” Alpha says, which Ink dutifully repeats to the other. Despite Alpha’s invisibility, he finds himself straightening to his full height, hands clasped behind his back. Even at it, Top still towers over him easily.
“Yes, you’ve raised him quite well. He’s such an enjoyable member of the act. Everyone in Undertop loves him,” Gaster chirps with a wide smile that reminds Alpha uncomfortable of Ink himself.
Once again, Alpha gets the urge to hurt. To tear and mark and injure. But, of course, since Alpha knows how to control himself, his hands remain still and his back ramrod straight. After all, to jitter and move around like a hyper rabbit was to invite just criticism and discipline.
That was a lesson Mother had beat into him a long time ago.
Alpha wonders how long it’ll take for the same lesson to worm its way into Ink. Perhaps he would have to take the vials away all together, even if the thought made something in Alpha’s soul twist in discomfort for reasons that he most definitely does not want to think about.
“Of course they do,” Alpha scoffs, “Your circus freaks have somehow managed to convince Ink to tolerate them, despite how utterly disgraceful it is to think that a god has to find excitement with little scurrying ants.”
For some reason, Ink is giving him a look of horror. Odd; the boy has never reacted to any of Alpha’s comments like that before.
But, the boy repeats Alpha’s words perfectly. Obviously, Alpha wouldn’t have settled for anything less. Still, the slight moment of hesitance is worrying nonetheless. Alpha would have to talk to the boy about it later.
Top’s eyelights flicker in and our, “Ah, a critic! No matter, we all have these! But, you know, sir, I’m sure you would love the show! Why, Ink has quite a special part in it tonight!”
“Does he?” Alpha asks, a not of true surprise in his haunted voice, “I didn’t know.”
And he didn’t. He truly didn’t.
Ink didn’t tell him.
It makes the bones of Alpha’s hands itch with the need to scratch and claw at… something. But strangely enough, not Ink.
Alpha doesn’t dwell on the feeling. Instead, he turns his attention back to Top and grits out, “I… suppose I could spare a moment of time for such… frivolity.”
Every word feels like it’s grating on his very being and he has to pause multiple times to keep his voice from sounding strange. Of course, Ink would be the only one to hear it, but the thought of someone he was looking after seeing him as weak was simply unacceptable.
“Wonderful!” Top chirps, patting Ink on the back even though the boy didn’t do anything, “We’ll give you the true royal treatment!”
“Hn,” Alpha grunts, “I wouldn’t settle for anything less.”
Top responds to those word with a smile full of teeth, “I know.”
Before Alpha has time to contemplate the meaning behind those words, his hand is being grabbed by the only one who can.
“Bye, Mr. Top!” Ink waves goodbye with his free hand as he starts dragging Alpha down the gaudy main street of Undertop.
Alph allows this sudden maneuver only because of the presence that it provides -- grounding, solid, feeling-- even though he knows that, obviously, Ink needs it more than him. Ink wa so clingy, and if Alpha punished every instance of attachment, he would have to wear permanent bandages over his hands.
“This universe looks horrible,” Alpha says, not at all pouting.
“Really?” Ink cocks his head, hand still firmly clasped in Alpha’s own.
He squeezes Alpha’s hand in acknowledgement before gesturing to the scene around them. A large fountain plastered in marble sits surrounded by leagues of perfectly sculpted trees and manicured bushes. The very walkway they stand upon is carved with the same marble as the fountain.
How… outlandish.
It’s nothing like anything he’s seen in all of the other worlds he’s visited. But then again, there’s no other world headed by a Gaster that doesn’t belong.
“Top made it,” Ink smiles, “and he let me help with the fountain.”
“Bonding,” Alpha scoffs, “What a useless venture.”
The hand clasped in his own squeezes tight, equal amounts of cold, dead magic latching onto the others as Ink’s smile falls to little more than a grin. The light that seemed to bounce off of Ink’s eyelights now avoids it like a deadly illness and Alpha finds himself responding with an almost identical frown, if slightly more confused.
“I don’t think so,” Ink mumbles, but oddly enough, Alpha doesn’t interrupt to admonish, “You used to read me stories from the library.”
Something in Alpha freezes and screams out at the same time. Memories rush back before he can push them away again and Alpha’s hand itches with the urge to hurt Ink for what Alpha knows he didn’t mean.
“Don’t you remember that story you told me about the Salem witch trials?” Ink’s grin grows a little bit more real, “I really liked that one.”
Brother! Will you read to me? Mother’s busy, come on!
Alpha shakes his head as if those horrible flashes could be shaken off like water from a dog.
“That was only because you asked,” He grunts.
“Was it?” Ink whispers.
They’ve stopped walking.
He cranes his skull to face Ink directly. It’s the first time he’s seen an expression on Ink that looks so… serious. Unless crying, pleading, or wailing counts. He’s heard plenty of that. But now, there’s a light in those eyes that Alpha immediately decides he doesn’t like.
“Yes,” Alpha responds in a voice as quiet as Ink’s, “It was.”
That small spark of something dies out immediately.
“Oh.”
.
.
.
They saved a seat for him.
Corpses don’t need to sit.
Alpha stares at the seat, a cold air rapidly gathering around him. The many denizens who’ve already entered the tent are looking around with quick eyes and chattering teeth. He sees a plethora of eyes land on the single empty seat and narrow them.
The blank looks make his fists curl. A growl escapes him that no one can hear.
It has to be some kind of joke. A reminder of just how much he doesn’t belong.
That dark, filthy urge rises in him again. They thought that he would roll over for some marginally prestigious position?
A balcony seat.
How fucking cute.
A brief moment passes through him - hah - where he considers turning the plush leather to cold, dry ice.
But no.. that would be rude.
He was a guest, after all. Mother may have been difficult, but she had been diligent in teaching all of her children the proper way to conduct themselves.
Those lessons guided him,e ven in death. If only 404 had continued to follow them; maybe he would have been saddled with more acceptable servants.
The second his bones make contact with the chair, frost flies along the red leather. It travels almost all the way to the wood that covers the armrests.
There’s no rush of cold that seeps into his bones, so there’s no reason to pay attention to it.
Perhaps that was why he was placed so far from the rest of the masses.
And yet, he could feel the stares from down below.
Years ago, when his family was still standing reasonably whole, his mother had been quite fond of fire. Next to scalpels, it had been her favorite form of torture research.
He remembers being startled awake late at night to her grinning face and pink, wispy hair. She would lead either him or one of his brother - but not Ares, never her perfect little Ares - to the basement only to be subjected to flames that were always any color but orange.
Honestly, he’s surprised it took Jacob so long to snap.
Now, as he grips the sides of his chair with barely leashed strength, he wants nothing more than to get rid of everything in a storm of beautiful fire.
Maybe that was why Mother was so obsessed with it. Once the fire finished burning, everything was new. It destroyed whatever it torched and reworked. Hid.
“You’re here!”
He whips around, still in his chair, only to be greeted with Ink’s smiling face.
A face that is standing much too close for comfort.
“I’m here,” Alpha leans back, settling into his seat once more. There was no need for Ink to know he’d startled him.
“What? Did you think me a liar?” He scoffs, “Unsurprising. Spending so much time with these plebians has limited you.”
Ink pouts -- a very undignified look for an almost god -- “But, Alpha! Even you have to admit they’ve been nice!”
“I must do no such thing.”
“They gave you a balcony seat, all for yourself!”
“A clever trick designed to make me lower my guard.”
“They could save the manor from being burned down and you would still hiss at them like a kitty,” Ink huffs.
Alpha growls, “I am not a kitty.”
The word ‘kitty’ leaving his mouth is so… so…
Working class.
And yet, with Ink, Alpha finds himself doing a series of things that he would have never, in his entire afterlife, imagined.
Like attending a circus.
“Ugh!” Ink groans, like Alpha’s the one who’s being difficult, “The point is that you’re on edge literally all the time! I don’t even know why since I’m the only one who can see you. Who were you even scared of before me? No one! You were lonely! So make some friends here and, boom! Loneliness gone!”
Who were you even scared of before me?
Alpha’s breath hitches on the edge of a gasp and his shoulders rise one single tick.
“That’s none of your business.” But even as he says it, he knows Ink won’t let it go.
Such a fickle memory, and yet it latched onto the most inopportune of things.
As expected, the rising whines comes quickly, “Oh, come onnnn. There’s gotta be a reason you’re all…” Ink gestures to all of him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alpha asks, a hint of real annoyance leaking into his voice. The ice spreads with a sharp crack.
Ink’s eyelights flicker quick as light. The colors flash too quickly for Alpha to be able to decipher their meaning but the change in the air is noticeable even to a dead being like him.
“... I’m glad you came,” Ink says, completely unprompted.
The sudden change of topic almost makes Alpha startle. Ink had never been able to interpret social cues before, but now he knew when to change the subject? And for what-- someone’s comfort? Or was it a fear of punishment?
It makes Alpha’s mandible clench. One mortal year in this ‘Undertop’ and the fake Gaster had managed to instill a lesson that had eluded Alpha for years?
It was painful, shameful! Only, Alpha couldn’t tell if he was talking about Gaster or himself.
Alpha shakes his head. The thoughts fall away and, once more, he can focus on the boy in front of him. On what he said.
I’m glad you came.
Such simple words, and yet Alpha could feel the tension behind it. An objective knowledge that there was something more beneath them.
But he couldn’t figure out what.
The only thing he can bring himself to say is, “I did.”
A silence falls over them that does not… feel like silence. It reminds him distinctly of the books he’d read: the hero, trapped in a room with the walls inching in closer… and closer…
“You’ll be on the rope, then?”
Ink breaks into a beam, “Juggling fire?”
“Hm?” Alpha rocks his hed, “Well, which is it then, boy. Juggling fire or walking the rope?”
“Both, Alpha!” Ink laughs, “Muffet taught me how to do it! And I got rid of the safety net.”
A wave of apprehension washes over him, “How do you mean?”
What if you fall? Goes unsaid. But Ink isn’t dumb. He has to know that’s what Alpha meant. It was obvious that he wouldn’t want to see his-- the boy fall.
Ink merely shrugs, “Does it matter? I can’t die.” He says the words like Alpha’s the one who’s being ridiculous.
It was a fact of life, of course, that Ink couldn’t be felled by a simple fall. He was sure that Ink could survive a bellyflop from an asteroid. In truth, Alpha has no idea what could kill him.
After all, what could kill something that was already dead?
“So you would allow yourself to be injured for their amusement?” Alpha scoffs, “You seem to forget that you’re a god, Ink. A guardian in title, but amongst the denizens of the multiverse, barely any can hold a candle to you.”
Ink rolls his eyes, “Alpha. You always take everything so seriously. If I get hurt, then they’ll help me!”
“And if they attempt to poison you in the infirmary?”
“Then I’ll live, feel sick for a little while, and you can raise this place to the ground if you want to.”
“Hmmm,” Alpha hums, “Acceptable.”
“Yay!” Ink squeals -- like a child -- and…
Gives Alpha a hug.
It lasts for little more than a second and is incredibly awkward from Alpha’s position in the chair. Still, the hug is tight, warm, and all-encompassing.
When Ink’s hands fall away, he backs from Alpha’s chair with a bright and happy smile. He stares at Alpha like he hadn’t just done… just done…
“Why did you do that?” He murmurs. Look at how far he’s fallen. To the point of mumbling. Ridiculous.
“I wanted to,” Ink chirps, like it’s that simple. Like someone can just do whatever they want. “Besides, you like touching.”
“I do not!” He protests immediately. Touching always felt like little needles and pricks of poison hat sent leagues of what felt like electricity through his body. When it came to Ink, definitions of emotions never made sense. They never applied.
“Oh, Alpha,” Ink rolls his eyelights, “You don’t have to lie. You always loved to cuddle when I was a kid.”
You still are.
“Posh,” He scoffs, “Your fickle memory betrays you once more.”
He can feel control failing back into his grasp. But, of course, it only applies to him. Controlling Ink was about as easy as outrunning death, and not even Mother could beat that devil.
“Sure,” Ink giggles, “Just admit you liked the hug and we can be done here, Alpha. I have to be behind like… now, but Top let me come and see you! Isn’t he the nicest?”
“The… hug…” Alpha spits out the word like a curse, “was not… comparable to torture.” There.
Ink laughs at him -- again! -- and is pouting playfully, “You’re such a character.”
“Not one to be forgotten,” Alpha echoes.
The lights finally dim and Ink startles, as if surprised by his responsibilities despite the fact that he’d mentioned them mere minutes prior.
“That’s my cue! I have to go, Alpha!” Ink says quickly, hopping from foot to foot before scurrying out of the balcony.
The curtains billow long after Ink is gone, swinging back and forth in an air of beautiful, swirling crimson red. He can hear the quiet pitter-patter of Ink’s feet as they run down the hall, already faded to nothing more than a distant echo.
Once Alpha is sure Ink’s left the upper floor, he allows his eyelights to focus back on the scene in front of him.
A stage.
Everyone’s talking amongst each other, mumbling and murmuring with an air of anticipation. The only thing Alpha can focus on in the lack of net that lies below the tightrope.
The tent is so high already and the tightrope resembles more part of the scaffolding than a part of the actual act.
“Welcome!” A voice booms from seemingly nowhere.
A moment of complete darkness falls over the crowd. Not a single speck of illuminations for Alpha’s honed eyes to lock onto.
That gaudy Gaster was making his entrance, then.
“Welcome to the Circus!”
What a creative name.
Alpha’s only just finished the thought when a puff of smoke explodes on the stage. It’s colored the same shade of red as the curtains and tent.
Gaster appears, arms spread and teeth curled into a wide, welcoming smile. His cane rests in his left hand, curled open but apparently not beholden to the laws of gravity.
The monster stays in that positon for only as long as comfortable. When the moment is just right and the entirety of the audiences attention is focused on him does Gaster slam the pole against the stage. The sound echoes through the space and makes a few member of the audience giggle… for some reason.
“We’ve got a series of new acts prepared for you lovely folks, including the very first ever performance of our own little mini Muffet, Ink!”
A roar of applause rises, despite the fact that Alpha knows all these people can’t possibly know Ink. Why would they even be so excited about someone they’d never even seen before?
It was no wonder Gaster had been so successful with this Circus. The monsters here were so easily entertained.
“Yes, yes, I know you’re all excited for some variety, but let’s hear some noise for all your favorites! Tell me who you want to hear!”
Another ush of applause, only this time they’re interspersed with hours of vaguely familiar names.
“Sans!”
“Papyrus!”
“Mettaton!”
“Alphys!”
“Undyne!”
Gaster laughs joyously at the crowd, “My oh my, someone’s rather excited. No need to worry, my good fellows! Tonights show shall be even better than the last!”
“Get on with it, then,” He murmurs. The plebians seem to be rather enjoying it, however.
He rolls his eyes. What else would they be doing? They were made to be nothing but an audience. Their faces were so… forgettable.
Not for the first time, Alpha wonders what it would be like to be made for the simple purpose of decoration. Discarded like nothing more than used furniture. Worldbuilding. Planned obsolescence.
Ink steps out onto the small -- it’s barley large enough for the boy to stand on comfortably -- and gives the roaring crowd a wave.
“Does anyone have any requests?” Top asks, tapping his cane against the stage against with a tap-tap.
The rush of noise that accompanies that question is nothing short of ridiculous. It makes his eyes blink; his frown growing more pronounced. Despite himself not being able to make out more than a word, Top makes a show of putting his cupped hand next to his skull and nodding along solemnly.
“Well, I believe you all want to see the same thing,” Top snaps his phalanges with a crackle of red magic, “Fire!”
It’s like a stone’s just been thrown down his ribcage, left to grown cold and fester.
His bones feel like lead.
“Fire?” Surely they couldn’t be serious. This -- this was just a circus! It wasn’t meant to be dangerous! Entertainment was meant to be neat and orderly and --
What’s the point of having fun if no one gets hurt?
He’s almost glad he was given the balcony seat. That way, none of the commoners could feel how utterly cold the room had gotten. Ice crystals were starting to form on the walls. The wood creaked and groaned, straining under the weight of Alpha’s… Alpha’s…
“Let’s see if our little boy-wonder can make it through his set before the rope snaps, hmm?” Top laughs. It sounds shrill and haughty. A torch is clutched firmly int he mans skeletal hand.
With a flourish, the rope is set ablaze. But Ink doesn’t look bothered. If anything, he matches the crowd’s enthusiasm with reckless abandon.
Reckless, reckless, always reckless!
The fire has already moved a good way down the rope when Top claps his hands together.
Ink jumps onto the flimsy thing with a flourish. Immediately, he balances the entirety of his weight of his hands.
The arm rests of his chair snap off. They freeze over almost instantly in his hands.
“Foolish boy,” He manages to get out. He doesn’t even know why he’s speaking out loud. To calm himself? A lack of control?
His soul pulses at the latter. It couldn’t be -- but what else could it be? Whenever Mother got… tense, it was always because something hadn’t gone to plan. Whether it be because an experiment had gone wrong or Father had actually reprimanded her for cheating on him (again.)
As he watches Ink flip and twirl on the burning rope, he’s certain that he’s not in control. Every trick, fear of the crowd, Top’s goading words… none of it is beholden to him. It’s not like home--
It’s different,
Unknown.
His vision blurs around the edges. It would’ve been concerning, but Alpha’s thoughts -- and eyes -- were speared right at the boy on the rope. A boy who was swaying once, then twice, then--
“And he sticks the landing!”
Alpha blinks.
There Ink stands, arms spread much in the same manner that Top had just moments ago. His ribcage rises and falls rapidly as the crowd cries their applause. It’s almost like Ink’s… breathing.
But that’s impossible, of course. Ink’s as dead as Alpha is. Obviously, Ink’s been picking up.. Bad habits from this world. That only meant that Alpha was right. He’d warned Ink against the outside and look at him now: imitating those of lower station and even letting them try to burn him alive!
Oh yes, Alpha saw right through this little… act. This was an insult at best, and at worst, an attempt on Ink’s life by those that couldn’t understand that such a thing was impossible.
What a foolish child he’d raised.
Once the applause has died down somewhat, Alpha gives Ink a look, curling a phalange out to beckon Ink back to him.
From where he never should have left.
Ink frowns, but his arms fall back to his sides and in a snap of magic, Ink’s back in the booth.
“Did you like it?” Ink asks. Like a fool.
“No.”
Ink blinks, “What? But… but I worked so hard on it! What was wrong? Didn’t you see how I stuck the landing?”
“Hush, boy,” Alpha snarls. Ink’s mouth shut closed with a decisive clack Perhaps everything isn’t lost if Ink’s still obeying directly as trained.
“What were you thinking?” He continues, voice only barely softened, “Letting them make a fool of you? Had that been 404’s brat Undertop would no longer exist!”
“You hate Error!” Ink protests, “You can’t compare me to him!”
Alpha ignores him, “Do you have any idea how this reflects on me?”
“No one even knows about you!”
“Mind your tongue, boy!”
“Why do you always have to ruin everything--”
CRACK
Ink’s head snaps to the side, a bright mark blooming on the bone. Alpha’s hand remains raised. There’s the smallest tingle on the bone of his palm.
“Look at what you’ve done,” Alpha scoffs. He lets his hand fall down to his side, “Obviously, this place isn’t good for us. You won’t be coming back.”
“But I like this place!”
CRACK
“You--” Alpha grabs onto the top of Ink’s skull. If this was any other skeleton, he’s sure the bone would have already shattered, “-- will. Not. Question. Me.”
Every word is emphasized with a SLAM against the iced wall of the booth.
He leans in close, right next to where a humans ear would have been. Black blood, drip, drip, drips against the floor but Alpha pays that - and the whimpers - no mind.
“Am I understood?’ He whispers.
There’s no response save for more of those infernal noises.
“Am--” SLAM “-- I --” SLAM “-- understood?”
“Yes!” Ink sobs.
“Oh don’t be dramatic,” Alpha snorts, watching as the boy crumples to the floor, “You can’t feel pain. There’s no reason to be making such a scene.”
There’s no response.
So, naturally, Alpha focuses on the booming voice from down below, “Thank you! Thank you! Now then, I believe we have to let the lions rest before our next rick. Until then, do have a ride on the elephants!”
“Get up, boy,” Alpha snaps his phalanges, “and tell the Gaster that you won’t be returning.”
When Ink doesn’t move, body instead heaving with these large fake breaths, Alpha lands a sharp kick to the boys ribs. “I said up!”
Finally, much too late, the boy rises with a disgusting looking face. Tears that have no place on a god are now littered on bruised bone. The hole in Ink’s head -- it’s rather small, really, nothing to make a fuss about -- is still pouring that stream of blood.
He sighs, “Must I do everything for you?”
With a wave of a hand, a shimmer of royal blue envelops Ink’s head. Barely a second passes before the bone has completely regrown. The bruises remain.
“I won’t do everything for you,” He hisses at the pathetic sniveling. “Now then, do what I’ve said or do I need to prepare your room again?”
“No!” Ink’s entire body seizes, “I’ll go tell him!”
Once more, the pitter-patter of feet rings through the hall. Of course, it’s much faster now, but Alpha wouldn’t expect anything less.
Not Muffet.
Not Gaster.
Him.
Ink’s missing an arm.
“Again?” Alpha scoffs. He moves closer to grab onto the joint of Ink’s shoulder. There’s no bone beneath it.
Ink pouts, “It was Ruru!”
“Error,” Alpha corrects, practically on autopilot by now. At least the boy had known not to assign such a gross butchering to Alpha’s own name.
“Why do you insist on calling him that… thing?” He scowls and then chimes, “We’ll need to go to the lab. Come.”
Ink trails after him happily, “He calls me ‘Kiki’ when he’s in a good mood. It’s normally when we watch that show he likes…” Ink trails off, eyelights moving through all kinds of colors and shapes, “umm… it’s called… uhh…”
“Undernovella,” Alpha reminds, if only due to how long he knows the boy can go when left without guidance. Despite the cacophony of years that had passed since their little… incident… Ink had been coming along as well as one could hope. Except for one thing, of course.
His memory.
Sometimes Alpha wished he could just take away everything from those early days.
It was so hard to take care of a child. He much preferred Ink when he was all grown up.
Three hundred years, seven months, and fifteen days.
It’s been three hundred years, seven months and fifteen days since Ink last came to visit him.
If he counts in days, the weeks don’t seem so long.
Dust hs collected on almost every surface of the manor. He doesn’t have a reason to clean anymore now that Ink isn’t polluting the walls with splotches of paint. Or… whatever else the substances he played with were. Alpha never asked.
Now, he floats through the halls like the specter he is. It shouldn’t be that hard, really, given the fact that it’s the same cycle he had repeated for millenia.
But is.
It is… so hard.
Some days, he contemplates finding out how to go back in time just to warn his past self what a dirty, faithless, ungrateful liar he was raising.
‘I’ll visit.”
What a load of horse shit.
The only reason he’d let Ink leave so long ago was because 404 had released his little pet mistake into the world. And that little pet had started wreaking havoc that… did something to Ink. Made the boy even foggier than normal.
Was… was Ink even still a boy?
Alpha shakes his head. When that doesn’t work, he raises his hand and smacks himself as hard as he can.
It’s not nearly as satisfying as the solid bone that was Ink. Alpha’s own from feels like little more than cold air. The condensation that plagued the humans world during the peak of their winter months.
Ink had almost felt… real.
He thinks back to the day Ink had left. Ink had stopped aging around a hundred years before he left. Maybe Alpha should have taken that as a sign that his little bird was ready to leave the nest.
Alpha should have… he should have…
What should he have done? Lessened the discipline that was so necessary? Coddled the boy with lies of affection like almost every book he’d picked up on the subject had said he ought? Pat him on the back like that infernal Undertop Gaster?
No, Alpha had done everything right.
Utterly perfect and reliable and disciplined and thorough and flawless andandand--