Chapter Text
It’s been six months since Ink fell through your ceiling.
It was painfully awkward at first. When you had woken up to find Ink sleeping with his head on your chest that second night, you nearly shrieked. It had taken some careful maneuvering to get out from under him. You wouldn’t think a creature made out of bone would be heavy, but Ink sure proved you wrong there. He stayed asleep, thankfully unperturbed by your gentle jostling. You've come to learn that Ink is an especially heavy sleeper.
After that fiasco, you insisted he stay on the couch as agreed.
He complied. Okay, well… at first. It only took him a few days before he started sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night and you’d wake to find him huddled under your blankets. He wasn’t handsy or anything so it honestly really wasn’t worth fighting him over, so you eventually just accepted it. Not like it could get any weirder.
Steadily the two of you grew to understand each other's routines and work around them. Ink was very artsy you found out, which shouldn't have come as a surprise considering his name. You gave him access to your old art supplies to give him something to do while you were gone and one of his eyes had turned into a star. The other was an exclamation point. That was cool as hell.
It made you feel good to make him happy.
Even if you’ve had to make a lot of art supply runs over the months. Ink promised to pay you back once he got his ‘broomie’ back, and you will hold him to that, because good lord he can go through paper.
Things are comfortable.
You let Ink sleep as you head off to work. He’s been doing that a lot lately, which honestly has you a little worried. You know why, you aren’t dumb. He’s explained to you his role, what his job is. He told you about his friends. His past epic (his words not yours,) battles. Everything. And yet he’s holed up here in some fresh out of the oven universe without a way home. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if you woke up one day to find him gone, off to get his brush back together alone so he can go back to normal.
But he has yet to do that, leaving you wondering what's going on in that skull of his.
—
Ink doesn’t know why he isn't in more of a hurry to leave.
He really should considering the circumstances, and he’s been gone for around half a year at this point. Well, half a year in your worlds time. Different universes have different time speeds, with the areas in between being particularly quick. He’s pretty sure as far as the multiverse itself is concerned, he’s only been gone for maybe three months at the max.
It’s selfish, really. And irresponsible. Dream will absolutely be on his ass as soon as he gets home, but… well, this feels like a vacation. He loves his job more than anything. It gives him a purpose. But sometimes even Ink gets tired. This has been kind of like a vacation.
I mean, c’mon. Free place to crash, free food, company in the form of an odd little human who just so happens to be kind enough not to kick him out? He really scored a jackpot.
However…
Ink does have a teensy, weensy little problem. His vials. This universe is able to keep his supply stable, but not steady. If he doesn’t get a move on soon he’s going to run out completely. He could technically chug some regular paint from like Home Cheapo or something as a last resort, but he would rather not.
He can’t do anything about that right now, as much as he’d like to. It doesn't stop him from being worried. And bored. He wants to go outside.
…He remembers the first time you brought him outside. You put him in disguise, which he found funny. It was a bit of a difficult accomplishment since you had to find something that would cover him without drawing too much attention, with it being as warm as it was. Not that it mattered to him, since temperature doesn’t really bother him anyways.
The shirt was black and had long sleeves, but it was thin enough to pass for the weather. On top of that you had him put a vest on in order to cover the ridges of his ribs and the hollowness in his stomach area since the shirt caved into the empty space. The vest had a hood to cover his skull. His pants were some baggy jeans with a very tight belt so they wouldn't fall off of his hips, and then some tennis shoes.
His scarf is a great cover for his mouth and you tape some sunglasses to his head. He passed surprisingly well as a human with all of his bones covered.
Once you were satisfied with how he looked you had taken him to a park. It was big and cute, thriving with children and couples of all ages. Play areas littered a lot of the grass and there were tons of paths for people to walk or ride their bikes. It’s the kind of place Blue would absolutely adore if he were here.
But Ink was quick to find out that that wasn’t the destination. Instead, you led him over to the lake, where you sat him down and handed him a bag full of bread crumbs.
That day, Ink learned that ducks are cute and geese are the bane of the earth. He had divots in his forearm by the time the two of you left. Since when does such a bloodthirsty animal exist? Despite the new trauma, though, Ink had fun. It was nice doing something so… mundane, for once.
–
“Ink, they aren’t going to ju- Oh my god they’re jumping you.”
“HELP ITS BITING ME GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF-!!!”
–
When autumn fell he did a lot of drawing. The sight of the ground covered in leaves of various shades of red, yellow, and brown had his bones practically vibrating with inspiration. Even when the rain started to fall, it was beautiful. He never noticed how beautiful the earth can be until he was forced to actually pay attention to it.
Rain steadily turned into thunderstorms, leaving the world outside dreary and dark. Ink found himself fascinated with the spectacle of thunder and lightning. Something he had always been aware of as a concept but never really experienced. It, too, was beautiful.
One evening during a storm you had sat by the window, just watching the rain as hundreds of stray droplets raced down the glass. The pale light filtering through painted you in a gentle blue hue that contrasted the rest of the warm light in the apartment. You had been so engrossed in watching the wet streets outside that you hadn’t noticed Ink sketching you.
The sketch frustrates him. He has the shapes down in a rough draft of messy pencil lines, but he can't get it to look quite right. Every time he tries to recreate it to get it right it's always missing something. Something he just can’t grasp no matter how hard he tries.
–
“Is surface weather always so… temperamental?”
“Depends on the time of year,”
–
The hardest part about being stuck in place is days like these. Days where you are at work or off doing some other boring human errand, leaving him all alone for most of the day. He hates it, the silence. His only comfort is that your home is so lived in, so obviously occupied that he can prove to himself he isn’t isolated in empty nothingness.
Still, he can feel himself getting antsy. It was when he was pacing restlessly through the living room that an idea struck him. He’s changing into his disguise - replacing the vest with a hoodie - and slipping out of the door before he has time to think about consequences.
It’s a short walk down to the cafe where you work, only about three blocks from the apartment complex. You’d shown him on one of your excursions outside. He made sure he noted it on his scarf.
This is the first time he’s left by himself.
When he walks through the doors he's greeted by the comforting smell of coffee and pastries. You and some coworker are busy behind the counter, making drinks or bagging food up to get customers checked out. It’s best that he doesn’t make himself obvious, so he finds himself a seat in one of the emptier corners.
Its a good time to people watch. Observing humans has never been Ink’s first choice of entertainment, but he doesn't really have anything else to do right now. He watches as customers come and go. He watches you and some dark haired lady buzz around like bees, and he watches people who walk past through the windows.
He zones out. So dull… How do you live like this?
Moments later a commotion snaps him out of his own head. His eyes drift over to the counter. You’re at the register, trying to give a drink to some gym bro looking dude. He seems agitated for whatever reason and is taking it out on you. He doesn’t see much of an issue - not his problem - until the guy starts to raise his voice.
The man slams the cup down on the counter and Ink finds his sockets narrowing in trepidation. He can’t hear what the guy is saying from his corner, but the look on your face tells him enough. Okay, nevermind. Hell no. Ink’s big brown scarf hides his scowl as he pushes himself up. The chair scrapes against the tile and the grating noise draws some attention, but Ink doesn't notice. His focus is zeroed elsewhere.
The skeleton is silent as he sidles up behind the jerkwad.
“Problem?”
The familiar voice catches you off guard. Your gaze drops from the angry man’s face to the figure behind him and you swear you can feel the exact moment your stomach drops. The figure lowers their sunglasses just enough to wink at you, the sockets that greet you just confirming your fear.
You can’t intervene without making even more of a scene.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of your neck and leaves you feeling clammy. You have no choice but to watch as the man turns to your smaller very-not-human friend. You fidget with your apron.
“This doesn't involve you,”
Ink is unperturbed and merely puts his hands on his hips. His eyelights travel up and down the brutes body, sizing him up behind the sunglasses sat precariously atop the ridge of his nose… hole.
“It does now,” he answers coolly, standing tall despite the fact he doesn't even reach the guy's collarbones. He casually shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe stop harassing random employees just because you don't remember what you ordered.”
Ink fights back and amused snort at himself.
The man, trying to make himself look bigger, crosses his arms and straightens his back. He is, quite literally, looking down on Ink. Who still remains just as unfazed. In fact, he leans forward in challenge when dickhead speaks again.
“Mind your own goddamn business.”
“No,”
You have a feeling that if you don't intervene you're going to end up having to call the police, and stars you really don't need the monster you're harboring involved with the cops. His disguise wouldn't do him much good in that situation and then the both of you would be in very, very hot water.
You don't get the chance to break it up.
All you can do is watch in absolute horror as Ink leans in as close as he can to the disgruntled man and lowers his sunglasses just enough.
No one else can see it, apart from you and the other human. His back is to you so you can't see his face, but the way his spine goes rigid tells you all you need to know.
“Wh- the fuck…?” Pale. His face has gone sheet white, and Ink relishes in it. Gone is the cocky son of a bitch persona he had just been flaunting like an overly exuberant peacock. Now he looks like he might piss himself.
Inks teeth quirk up into a pleased grin behind his facemask. He lets the glasses fall back into place and leans back casually. “Whoa there, my guy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Maybe you should head home before you pass out or something.”
It's a thinly veiled threat. Barely. Ink is bluffing. He's not stupid, he's not about to fight this bigger human in a cafe filled with more humans. He's completely relying on his face and human superstition.
Why, he might as well be a harbinger of death!
Much to Inks relief - and yours - the man seems to be convinced he just met the grim reaper face to face and makes a break for the door.
You are furious.
It's not that you want to control your skeletal friend, but you thought that it was agreed that he would not leave the house without you accompanying him. He deserves his freedom, but it’s way too risky for the both of you for him to be out and about like this alone.
It’s lucky that the other patrons have gone back to minding their own business. You round the counter and grab Inks wrist before tugging him towards the break room. He yelps as his smaller body is helplessly dragged after you.
The door clicks shut and Ink’s hands go up in surrender when you round on him with all the fury of a thousand suns.
“What the fuck!? ”
He shrugs and his fingers splay out as if to say ‘what do you mean, what?’
“What was that?” you continue. Your heart is pounding in your ears and it’s giving you a headache. “What were you thinking?”
Oof, someones snippy. Gloved phalanges pull down the scarf covering Ink’s mouth. His lips(?) are pursed, and his sunglasses are swiftly pulled off and tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. His voice is sassier than he deserves when he finally bothers responding, “What was I doing? I was saving your ass, that’s what I was doing?”
“From what? A rude customer? I work in customer service, Ink, I'm kind of used to that shit. I don’t need you to play knight in shining armor over some coffee drama.”
“A thank you would be nice,”
“Go shove a cactus up your coccyx.”
Silence. The two of you glare at each other, Inks head held high and haughty even despite the fact the oversized hood makes him look hella goofy. He seems to realize this, because he pulls it down, exposing his skull. Neither of you say a word until the skeleton you desperately want to pop in the mouth right now raises a brow ridge at you. As far as Ink is concerned, you’re overreacting. He didn’t have to help, compelled as he was to do so. Where’s the gratitude?
You have to force yourself to calm down. The grit in your teeth is making your jaw hurt and the last thing you need is to damage your teeth. “You shouldn’t even be here. What would you have done if you got found out?”
“I would have handled it,” he argues. Like it would have been easy.
“Says the guy who was worried about ‘unprecedented consequences’ in the first pla-”
WHAM
“Hey, ___, what just happened? Where did you-?”
Silence.
Kate is standing in the doorway with her mouth agape as the door slowly swings shut behind her. Her gaze is locked on Ink, eyes wide with shock before they dart to you, and then back to him. Ink grins sheepishly and then shoots her finger guns.
“___-”
Oh, fuck.
“...I can explain-!”