A story i saw by Stargazer_Aldroth (Stargazer_Nebula on ao3)

Link to the story: https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/32155165

Read it, it wont make sense if you dont

She said it was open ended, so this is my own interpretation

There are no relationships, i put this here because its so inkcentric

Edit: i wrote this entire thing in one go, are you guys proud of me-

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"I QUIIIIIIIIIT!"

He brought the hammer down a third time. The screen he was hitting cracked, shattered, and turned into nothing before it could hit the ground. Ink's legs were the first to go. They cracked and broke apart just like the screen did, before turning into dust. His arms went next. In a matter of moments, Ink was nothing but grey dust blowing itself across the room. 

And Error woke up. 

That moment had been haunting his dreams since it happened.

It had been a few months since Ink killed himself. When he did it, everyone was shocked...then went on with their lives. To his group, he was a problem now taken care of. To Ink's former friends, they would miss him, perhaps even shed a few tears, but would eventually move on. To everyone, he was just a disappointment, someone who never listened and never did anything right.

But Error needed to know what had happened. What had pushed Ink to do this?

Which is why he was going to Ink's house. 

It was 12, and he was tired, but he was determined nonetheless. He was going to find out, even if he spent all night searching. 

He teleported into Ink's house. It was dusty, and it had not been touched for months. Error coughed a bit as he walked through the unkept house. Neither Blue nor Dream had ever visited it. It took him a few moments to find Ink's room; the nameplate on it had been covered in dust. When he went in, he saw very...little. 

It was just a desk, a bed, and a jar of Ink's dust on the table. His outfit had been neatly folded on the bed and his vials laid empty beside his brush. He approached the table with some caution and began to look through the drawers. Soon, he found one that was locked, but forced it open anyways. In there, he found what appeared to be a small diary.

The creators haven't been so bothersome today. Error yelled at me for god know how many-th time about the balance. Dream and Blue have officially unfriended me, and Reaper hasn't visited me in a while. I wish I could tell Error. The creators wouldn't like that though, they might snap off my legs again...

Snap of his legs?! Jesus, what kind of sick sadist would do that? The creators apparently, Error thought. There were no dates on the pages. They were simply spaced out to signify that it was another day.

I just thought of the most best idea. Error's strings can destroy anything, right? What if they were able to break the code that the creators keep me locked in?

Is that why Ink had been collecting his strings? To...kill himself?

I tried it, and it broke off a bit of my code. This is perfect! If I had enough of them, I could completely destroy it! I would be free...

I wonder what heaven is like.

God...he had never noticed Ink was like this. No one did, he didn't think.

I think Dream and Blue has told everyone about the fallout. They all look at me weird, like I'm enemy.

Maybe I am the enemy. 

I wonder what life would be like if I could simply tell them.

There were only two pages left.

The weapon should be finished today.

That entry had been written messily with many spelling errors that were crossed out. Only one page left...

Hello. To anyone who finds this, whether you hate me or not, please read this.

You are most likely reading this after I died. There is no other way you could be, but that's beside the point.

You might be wondering, "Hey, why did he off himself?"

Or maybe not. Maybe you're reading this out of pure curiosity.

Well, I'm going to tell you the truth. And please, listen before you put this down.

I was never the one who created. Shocking, right? I simply encouraged the creators, but as of lately, I can't even do that anymore. So my main job is fixing worlds, even though they weren't meant to be fixed. You have no idea how many times I looked at a world like Dusttale or Handplates and wished that I didn't have to it. Now, why? I was scared. I was scared of the creators and what they would do to me if I stopped. I was scared of what others would think of me if I didn't do my job. And most of all, I was scared that I would be forgotten. That my now former friends would forget I even existed, that no one would care if I died. And now that I think about it, it sounds awfully selfish that I allowed so many to hurt and distance themselves from me all for the sake of me not being in pain. I'm tired. You have no idea how tired. I'm not just tired physically, I'm tired emotionally. The multiverse does not need me. The creators will continue creating and Error has only ever destroyed for the balance. Some of you might even be happy now that I'm gone. I don't know. I haven't talked to anyone in weeks.

I'm sorry that I was so selfish. I'm sorry for not being there for anyone. I'm sorry for never reaching out before this happened. I'm sorry to everyone who genuinely cared that I existed. I'm sorry to my old friends for letting you think you had to distance yourself from me. I'm sorry to Nightmare and his friends for always bringing them trouble. And I'm sorry to Error for all I have done to him throughout the years.

Will I be happier? Maybe. Not even Reaper knows what the afterlife is like. I can only hope that it is better than whatever hell I'm living in.

Thank you for reading until the end. Thank you for finding this. Thank you. 

For caring enough about me to read.

-Ink

Error hadn't even noticed he was crying. He never knew Ink was in so much pain. He didn't mean for it to come this. 

"I can't believe out of all people, you'd be the one to read it."

Error turned around. 

Ink was there, smiling. He was different though; his bones were cracked, the moonlight shone through him, and he had a pair of light gray wings and a broken halo.

"What's up Error? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"...Ink?"

"Who else? I doubt anyone else in the multiverse has a paint splatter on his right cheek like mine."

"...How are you?"

"Happier. Sad, but happier."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm happier now. There are people up there who care about me and understand me in a way no one else here would have been able to understand. My death was never and will never be your fault."

"What do you want me to do with your diary?"

"Go do what you want. Share it, hide it, go nuts. Just...don't destroy it okay?"

"...Okay. I promise."

"Thank you. I need to go now. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

And Ink was gone once more. 

Error shakily stuffed the diary in his pocket.

Ink died believing no one would care. He died believing no one would believe.

Error was going to fix that.