A Miscalculation In Space

Disclaimer: Undertale belongs to TobyFox and any AU's and characters used in this fic belong to their respective owners unless stated otherwise.

Warnings:
-OOC characters
-Plot holes, probably
-Mild cursing
-Error being a bit emo
-Unedited

A/N:

How to title???

Nearly all of this save for a few sentences was done while I was sleep deprived so no promises on the quality. I'm not really good at warnings, so if I miss something, I deeply apologize.
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“You can still change your mind.”

A mocking grin spread on his face, hiding the mixture of fear and relief underneath. Death is a scary thought, one he thought was far out of reach long ago ever since he fell into that damned place, into their grasp, but now that it was a possibility again it plagued him with uncertainty. Can he really do this? Does he want to?

“d-d-dOn’T maKe m-Me LaUgh!”

Maniacal laughter left him, a hint of hysteria mixed in. The arrow pointed at him falters, only for a second, before it's pointed square at his chest again. At where his soul likely is.

He might have jumped at the first opportunity a decade ago, a near certainty honestly, but now… memories of his friends entered his mind, his allies, what he could possibly call a family. Stealing Cross’s chocolate and blaming it on Killer, eating utensils in front of Horror and Nightmare if only to irritate them even if he apologised later on, learning how to bake together with Swap and so much more…

He doesn't want to give that up.

(He has to.)

“I d-d-DiDn’T taKe You fOr a cOwaRd, dReaM.”

His voice is condescending, mocking, and all that he can feel is a descending grief as he thinks of all that he'll leave behind. It is only a minor blessing that most of the people he cares about aren't here to witness this, his last moments played as the multiverse's greatest villain yet again. It's a pity Swap has to see this, the poor monster has tears brimming in his eyes and is held back by others in the crowd as he desperately tries to reason with them, to get to him.

A part of him is proud to see the way they have to desperately cling to his limbs to prevent him from moving, an evidence of his training that so many are needed to stop him.

He knows he'll be dooming them if he falls, but he's tired, his body is breaking apart, held together on a higher being's whim only. He wonders if there'll be another to replace him. He wonders if there will be none.

It's rather silly, really, since he won't even be around to witness that. The crowd, the rage and bloodthirst palpable in the air will ensure that. If he does not fall on his own, others will force him to.

“Please-!”

He does not let himself listen, does not let himself be swayed. It only takes one more step back and he is falling, arms swept wide in one finally mockery of a bow before the scenery is quickly fading, the uncertainty on the young (at least, compared to him) guardian’s face, the despair and grief on his closest friends gaze, and the triumph and relief in the eyes of the forefront groups. The creator isn't even here, perhaps uncaring of the event or wandering off who knows where as he is oft to do. Stars know not even his so-called best friends know where he wanders off to most of the time.

No matter.

As relief outweighs his other feelings at the thought of a final rest all that can tame it is the guilt at the small betrayal to them. Even in his last moments he is oh-so-selfish.