2nd person POV (?):

Dusting off your hands on your shirt, you sigh, looking around your tidy house. You had just cleaned it in its entirety, even having cleared out some old food from your fridge, which resulted in you getting awfully dirty. You smiled gleefully as you wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, having worked up a sweat from bustling around your whole three-story house for more than 3 hours.

You glanced around the house one final time before deciding it was in presentable condition and walking up the stairs to the second floor.

You twisted the doorknob to your room, entering the spacious area whilst humming a cheerful melody. You began to look through your drawers aimlessly, momentarily forgetting why you came up here. Then you saw it; your old notebook.

Glancing at the door to check if anyone was there, you quickly flipped the notebook open to a bookmarked page. Moving the bookmark aside, you scanned the writing, your writing, for its information.

This wasn't just any regular old notebook, no, this was your notebook. Three-hundred fifty-four pages of information of all the Undertale Aus you ever came across, whether it be from Amino, Fandom Wiki, Tumblr, or Wattpad. It held everything you ever learned about these glorious creations.

Reading your page, you quickly discovered that this book held no new information, or even information you may have forgotten. No, these were facts that you knew with your heart and soul.

Facts about the destroyer.

You sighed and placed the notebook back in your drawer, feeling a slight damper in your joyus mood. You came up here in hopes of discovering more about the one that was presumably in your guest bedroom, but apparently would be leaving empty handed.

Closing the drawer and exiting the room, you pondered on what you would do next. You felt as if you should give the destroyer some more time alone, but you had already done all your household chores. You had even done the laundry in the midst of your cleaning, leaving you with nothing to do.

Cue your current question.

You walked aimlessly down the stairs, waiting for something to catch your attention, your usual method of figuring out what came next.

Walking around the living room in search of some form of entertainment or another, you saw the reflection of light on plastic. Turning your attention to the cause of the 'glare', your gaze ended upon a grand piano.

The sleek black instrument was perfect, freshly polished and all its keys were in excellent condition. The Una Corda, Sostenuto, and Damper pedals were all completely functional, and all of which would produce a beautiful effect if accompanied with notes.

You gently ran your hand over the keys, not enough to produce any sound, but enough to faintly feel the cold temperature of the instrument.

You sat down on the black bench with your hands in a ready position, outstretched and placed above the keys. You were about to begin playing, when the memories flooded back to you.

The memories crashed into you, like a wave crashing into the sand, sending your mind spinning. The difference between reality and memories became blurred, as you were sucked into one of your panic attacks.

No longer able to sit up properly, you teetered to the side, accidentally falling to the floor. You clawed at the carpeted floor, grabbing onto it desperately as if it were going to save you. Your vision grew blurry and distorted, as your breathing sped up until you were hyperventilating, before finally passing out.

* * *

Error sat on the bed, feeling two opposing feelings at once. He covered his eyesockets with his hands in hopes that it would calm the argument going on with his feelings, but to no avail. Instead, he just shook the bed, making countless wrappers fall to the floor around him.

"I . . . aTE tHeM." He muttered, spreading his fingers apart so he could peer between them.

Glancing around the room that was now littered with wrappers and chocolate crumbs, Error couldn't help but feel happy. The chocolate was delicious!!

A smile crept onto his face as he remembered the taste of the white chocolate, the creaminess of the milk chocolate, and the bitterness of the dark chocolate. The savory sweets were the edible version of heaven, and luckily, it wasn't poisoned!!

Error suddenly hunched his shoulders, hissing quietly in the slight pain it caused him as he did so. Guilt, the opposing feeling he was experiencing, came crashing down on him, bringing reality with it.

Because the reality was, he could've easily been poisoned. He had gobbled down all the chocolate rather fast, so how would he possibly have saved himself if there was poison in the dessert? Answer? He couldn't have.

He sighed as he laid his head back on the headboard of the bed, wincing because of the paint. He stared at the white ceiling of the room, reminding him of his home, the antivoid. The white surroundings made him feel slighty homesick, and he began to visualize blue string and puppets around the room, his dear belongings.

He closed his eyesockets to cease his cruel imagination that only caused him pain. Not physical pain, but emotional pain. As if his imagination decided it wanted him to suffer the evil reality of never being able to return home, nor the relief of saying goodbye to it.

Why was life so cruel?

Error pondered this question while he rested, trying to minimize his breathing. The paint was getting worse and it was hurting just to breathe, due to the rising and falling of his ribcage. The mere movement was painful, the paint was eating away more and more of his ribs by the second.

He groaned as he felt a piece of his ribcage chip off and fall, thanks to that wonderful paint. Oh, how he wanted to rid himself of the vile substance, wanting nothing more than to scoop it in his hands and fly it out the window, where it would land on some other pitiful creature.

Unfortunately, he knew he couldn't do that because the paint would just get stuck to his hands, and he also had to save his energy. He certainly didn't want the paint on his hands, he was sore enough, thank you very much. He already felt like he was undergoing torture.

"HuH,I wOnDeR hOw tHiS wEiRd hUMaN pLAns tO tOrTUrE mE." He muttered to himself, his thoughts now on torture.

He wondered how bad torture methods are in this world, and if he was already being tortured. It was possible that you were putting him though some mental torture, wasn't it?

Yes, that seemed the most likely in his mind, why else would you have offered him chocolate? Surely that was just to put him in that whirlwind of emotions he went through, there is no other possible reason.

Is there?

Now that he thought about it, Error grew slightly unsure. You had been treating him rather nicely and even gave him CHOCOLATE, didn't you? Yes, you had, despite how unlikely the odds were of that happening. For who treats their enemies to chocolate? Certainly not him.

Despite the popular speculation, Error did not enjoy violence all too much, especially towards him. It was unnecessary and messy, and caused far too much pain. He always felt that there must have been an alternate, more clean solution to ones' problems, one that doesn't involve pools of blood ruining the floor of his antivoid. The white floor of his antivoid. He wanted to voice his opinions and tell everyone that violence was unnecessary, speak up for himself. But no matter what he thought, he knew that no one would listen to him and would only target him more, knowing they would believe he was weak for not jumping to the opportunity to pummel anyone who comes his way.

Error verbally scoffed upon this thought. What did they take him for, some brute who can't process simple information? Or some hulking mass that is too dull to think of anything other than to attack? Nonsense! That wasn't like him at all, he was very clever in actuality. But no one wants to listen to the 'bad guy', now do they?

Shaking his thoughts away, Error's gaze returned to the small desk beside the bed where the chocolate box now lay empty. Upon viewing the remains of the chocolate, he subconsciously licked his lips, thirst beginning to bloom. He scanned the top of the dresser, but found no water.

Well, no matter. It's not like he was going to say anything about it anyway. His first option would be to die of thirst before ever admitting reliance on an enemy. But unfortunately, he still needed water.

Laying back down, Error hissed at the feeling of the paint eroding away his bones, realizing it wouldn't be long before he died anyway. He'd either die of thirst in three days or from the paint. It really didn't matter anymore. But he was going to fight until death, so fight is what he decided to do. He hoped that he'd be able to sneak out of the room and treat himself come nightfall, before he becomes to weak to move.

The thought of nightfall made a wave of fatigue wash over the skeleton, who tried his best to fight it. He needed to stay alert! What if you decide to kill him in his sleep? He wouldn't be able to defend himself, that's what!

As he struggled to resist the temptations of sleep, he realized one unfortunate factor.

He was laying in a bed.

Well, that certainly was unfortunate. Especially in this particular situation.
Error shook his head, pinched his arms, and even dared as much to touch his wounds. A stupid decision, but he knew he needed to stay awake. He had to. But alas, try as he might, fatigue overcame the skeleton and he ended up drifting off into a dreamless sleep, praying it wouldn't be his last.

* * *

Shaking your head as you regained consciousness, you groaned in pain, your stomach and head aching. The world, that was seemingly spinning, was slowing falling back to an upright orientation.

Sitting in an upright position, you clutched the side of your head that was now throbbing in pain, glaring at the piano. The dang thing. Giving you panic attacks.

As you waited on the floor for the pain to become bearable, you glanced towards the window, which was still riddled with raindrops, ever flowing. While the amount of liquid on the pane of glass had never changed, the amount of light it allowed entrance to your house was different. It was fairly dark, the sky midnight blue in coloration.

You were about to shrug and lie back down when you came to a realization. The house didn't feel as empty as ususal. Odd.

Looking over at the clock at was mounted on the wall near the window, you read the time, a feeling of forgetting something began to wash over you.

"8:47, eh, I should eat a late dinner. Maybe some chocolate, AW SH-"

Realizing what you had forgotten, you jumped to your feet, bolting for the guest room. When you were about five inches away from the door, you skid to a stop, not wanting to make your presence behind the door known.

Quietly, you grabbed and twisted the doorknob, making virtually no noise. You pushed the door open, just a jar, and peered into the room. You had forgotten that this was your room in your house.

Eyes trailing to the figure on the bed, the first thing you noticed was that he was asleep, snoring softly. You sighed a breath of relief and entered the room, leaving the door open. You giggled as you noticed all the empty wrappers on the floor.

Slowly walking to the side of the bed, you noticed that the red liquid you originally thought was blood was still wet.

Tilting your head in confusion, you wondered what the substance could be, blood would've already dried up. And oddly enough, it smelt like paint.

You stared at it for a second before noticing a hole in your blanket. That wasn't what caught your attention, no, what had caught your attention was the fact that the same red substance ringed the hole, making it wider.

Your eyes widened as you realized it must have been some type of acid, and immediately rushed out of the room, grabbing a bucket of water, disinfectant, gloves, a sponge, a spare change of your largest clothes, an empty bucket, goggles, bandages, a spray bottle, a large trashbag, and an apron.

You quickly put the goggles, apon and gloves on, placing the spare clothes on the dresser and leaving the rest of the materials on the floor at your side. You took the blanket and dumped it in the trashbag, examining the legs of the skeleton. There was a minimal amount of acid there, so that's where you started.

Dipping the spone in the bucket of water, you placed it on his leg, allowing it to absorb as much acid as possible before ringing it out in the empty bucket. You repeated this tedious process for the entirety of his body, having to remove his jacket and shirt to do so.

Putting the clothes in the trashbag, you dared not to breathe, and quickly yet efficiently finished the job. His ribcage was the most damaged, and was cracking and chipping, the paint bearing holes into his body. Despite all the damage the paint had caused, you still found it awfully attractive, based off of the dark red hue on the entirety of your face.

Once all the acid had been removed, you took to disinfecting the wounds. He hissed in his sleeping, making a small apology escape your mouth, before continuing.

Once you had finished disinfecting, you gently bandaged the wounds, making him look slightly like a mummy, considering the fact that his arms, legs, ribcage, and neck were all wrapped.

Taking all the materials you had used to the sink, you washed them throughly before putting them back to their rightful place, excluding the bucket of the acid. You carefully poured the acid into glass vials you had recieved with a chemistry set for your birthday. You wanted to study the chemical to figure out just exactly what it was. Leaving the vials in your kitchen, you handwashed the skeleton's clothes to remove all the acid before putting them in the washing machine to finish the job.

Returning to the guest room, you cleaned up the chocolate wrappers, placing a small trashcan near the bed so you wouldn't have to do this everyday. You put a bottle of water and new box of chocolates on the dresser beside the clothes before sitting on the floor and turning to the skeleton.

You smiled widely, a look of pure admiration in your eyes as you rest your arms on the bed in front of you, leaving some space between you and the destroyer.

He suddenly stirred, turning to face you and in turn, moving his hand on top of yours and giving it a small pat.

This small and unintentional action caused your face to turn a dark shade of red, your head suddenly feeling light. You shut the door behind you as you bolted out of the guest room and into the bathroom, proceeding to nosebleed in the toilet. Oh yeah, this would definitely be a recurring habit.

Welp, this is what you signed up for when agreeing to take care of him.

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Hewo!! Ah, sorry about not updating, online school is a killer, haha. QwQ

Updates might be coming out slower, so if you want something to read in le meantime, check out BabiNyx 's books! She has such good stories, and I absolutely adore her and her work, but she's frustratingly underrated. All her work is amazing. Please go check her out and give her some love!!<3
(I recommend "Our One Sassy Servant", it's one of my favorites ♡)